Thursday, February 24, 2011
HIIIIIII
Sorry I haven't been on here in a while, I've neglected this blog in favor of KelseyComplains. Check it out. Please follow me. Suggest things for me to write about. Thanks!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Well today sucked. Hardcore.
:Guess who lost the Superbowl, and the Pens/Caps game?!
If you answered Pittsburgh, you win!!
(Shameless self-promotion: check out http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com/ for more Superbowl snarky-ness and videos)
I'm very bitter. I want to knock Lil Wayne's teeth out. I hope the bastards blasting Green & Yellow in Maple East get hit by a meteor. You idiots probably can't even find Wisconsin on a map.
The Packers played a good game. We didn't. I'm sorry, I'm a Pittsburgh fan through and through, but we just didn't want it bad enough. At least we lost to a team I respect.
We didn't play at all until the end of the first quarter. We picked it up a little, then we made some stupid turnovers, stupid penalties and we lost. They were just the better team. So, Packers, I don't hate you. I just hate Lil Wayne and IUP and will channel my anger as such.
The halftime show was terrible. I don't even mind the Black Eyed Peas, but they were horrible live. Then to watch them contaminate "Sweet Child O Mine" with Fergie shaking her ass in the general direction of Slash?!? Oh why didn't James Harrison come out of the locker room and tackle her... I can't say anything bad about Usher because at that point I was so bewildered that I was no longer able to comprehend the Tron and travesty happening in front of me.
s;dfjuna;dfjv. I don't want to go to class tomorrow.
The Caps were also the better team today. There were a lot of stupid mistakes made by the Pens. We were out-skated and out-maneuvered. Several stupid turnovers. I thought for a second that we killed Mike Green because he was laying on the ice in a puddle of his own blood, bleeding from the ear. Some other guy on the Caps got a stick to the face. It probably should have been a penalty, but it wasn't called, so too bad.
On the bright side, Wallace almost killed a guy, Ovechkin got hit really hard and Cookie wanted to rip some faces off. I love Matt Cooke. Sure he's kind of a d-bag, but he's our d-bag. I would hate his guts if he wasn't on the Pens. But he is. And he's my solid second fave.
I'm sick of blaming losses on missing Crosby, Malkin and Asham. (Malkin tore his ACL and MCL last game, so he's going to be out for a while.) It's a big dent in the roster, no doubt, but we've been okay without them for the past few games. Hockey's a contact sport. People get hurt. It's best not to rely too heavily on anyone.
Also, my general feelings toward NBC can be summed up in one of my tweets from today:
"I hate NBC, their commentators and their cancerous preoccupation with Ovi. We'll get 'em next time, boys. #LetsGoPens"
The Pens never play well when NBC is involved. Their commentators are douchebags. And they should be banned from Penguins hockey.
So, I'm irritated and disappointed. I may not be going to class tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep and forget today. I sort of feel like I'm going to cry and puke and pass out then my brain will explode....and with all that I would still probably get an unexcused absence in Environmental Lit.
I'll post about commercials tomorrow. Lots to talk about. Also, I'm pretty sure Letang is engaged. Not that we ever had a chance, but I hope I'm not the only one that just died a little on the inside.
If you answered Pittsburgh, you win!!
(Shameless self-promotion: check out http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com/ for more Superbowl snarky-ness and videos)
I'm very bitter. I want to knock Lil Wayne's teeth out. I hope the bastards blasting Green & Yellow in Maple East get hit by a meteor. You idiots probably can't even find Wisconsin on a map.
The Packers played a good game. We didn't. I'm sorry, I'm a Pittsburgh fan through and through, but we just didn't want it bad enough. At least we lost to a team I respect.
We didn't play at all until the end of the first quarter. We picked it up a little, then we made some stupid turnovers, stupid penalties and we lost. They were just the better team. So, Packers, I don't hate you. I just hate Lil Wayne and IUP and will channel my anger as such.
The halftime show was terrible. I don't even mind the Black Eyed Peas, but they were horrible live. Then to watch them contaminate "Sweet Child O Mine" with Fergie shaking her ass in the general direction of Slash?!? Oh why didn't James Harrison come out of the locker room and tackle her... I can't say anything bad about Usher because at that point I was so bewildered that I was no longer able to comprehend the Tron and travesty happening in front of me.
s;dfjuna;dfjv. I don't want to go to class tomorrow.
The Caps were also the better team today. There were a lot of stupid mistakes made by the Pens. We were out-skated and out-maneuvered. Several stupid turnovers. I thought for a second that we killed Mike Green because he was laying on the ice in a puddle of his own blood, bleeding from the ear. Some other guy on the Caps got a stick to the face. It probably should have been a penalty, but it wasn't called, so too bad.
On the bright side, Wallace almost killed a guy, Ovechkin got hit really hard and Cookie wanted to rip some faces off. I love Matt Cooke. Sure he's kind of a d-bag, but he's our d-bag. I would hate his guts if he wasn't on the Pens. But he is. And he's my solid second fave.
I'm sick of blaming losses on missing Crosby, Malkin and Asham. (Malkin tore his ACL and MCL last game, so he's going to be out for a while.) It's a big dent in the roster, no doubt, but we've been okay without them for the past few games. Hockey's a contact sport. People get hurt. It's best not to rely too heavily on anyone.
Also, my general feelings toward NBC can be summed up in one of my tweets from today:
"I hate NBC, their commentators and their cancerous preoccupation with Ovi. We'll get 'em next time, boys. #LetsGoPens"
The Pens never play well when NBC is involved. Their commentators are douchebags. And they should be banned from Penguins hockey.
So, I'm irritated and disappointed. I may not be going to class tomorrow. I just want to go to sleep and forget today. I sort of feel like I'm going to cry and puke and pass out then my brain will explode....and with all that I would still probably get an unexcused absence in Environmental Lit.
I'll post about commercials tomorrow. Lots to talk about. Also, I'm pretty sure Letang is engaged. Not that we ever had a chance, but I hope I'm not the only one that just died a little on the inside.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
T.S. Eliot
We're reading Eliot for my Brit/Am lit class. This poem's called The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock. I love it. Don't stop reading after the first two lines, because I almost did. The first thing on here is from Dante's Inferno. I don't know what it means. If you're not into poetry, just read it and enjoy the language. It's great. Enjoy.
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go 35
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare 45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress 65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while, 90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while, 100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . 110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old … 120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me. 125
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
HEYYY
I just put up a new blog, same name as my older blog. It's for my social media class, but it'll be the same kind of bitching I did on that blog, and the same kind of bitching I do on this one. Only difference is that it'll usually be political or semi-political in nature.
So follow me, por favor. The link is http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com
THANKS!
Also, reason 9,000 why I love Letang so much:
We both trip walking up the steps...especially when everyone's watching us.
So follow me, por favor. The link is http://kelseycomplains.blogspot.com
THANKS!
Also, reason 9,000 why I love Letang so much:
We both trip walking up the steps...especially when everyone's watching us.
All-Star Game
So, Letang's magnificent and Ovie's still a douche, so no surprises there.
What I'm talking about is the NHL All-Star Game. Tanger was on Team Staal and Flower was on Team Lindstrom. Tanger also shares the red and white with Ovechkin, who decided to throw a stick at a guy, which sparked the ONLY penalty shot in the history of All-Star games.
But Tanger got 2 GOALS!! He did really well. Flower had a rough first period. They scored four goals on him pretty quickly. Then Team Staal scored 4 goals too. But, Team Lindstrom won 11 to 10. The game was kind of lame because there was no real hitting, but I'm sure it was still a lot of fun for the players to share ice with the best in the league.
The skills challenge was fun. Letang won the skating backwards race-thing. Fleury made an ass out of a few guys during the shootout and the breakaway challenge. The best part was Ovechkin falling over a wire after taking his shot in the hardest shot competition. The idiot had already broken his hockey stick and had to use Letang's to complete his number of shots, then he tripped over the wire and acted like a moron.
Because Crosby and Geno weren't there, the camera people felt the need to focus on Ovechkin the whole damn time.
Clay Aiken sang the national anthem and 3 Doors Down played after the first period ended. This, NHL, is why more people in the U.S. care about football.
I can not wait for the superbowl. The town's gone crazy already. I was home this weekend for a wedding and to go to the Strip District to find a black and gold scarf. You couldn't go one block in Pittsburgh without seeing a jersey or something Steelers-related. I can't wait till I'm 21 and can go to South Side for Superbowls. Until then, I'll be yelling at the TV in my room and affectionately calling Roethlisberger every swear word you can think of because that man makes passes to his eye floaters at times.
It's like 6:30 a.m right now and I'm up. I fell asleep last night around 6pm, intending only to take a power nap, but then slept till 3:30 a.m. and had to wake up and read 125 pages of A Sand County Almanac and write a paper on it. Oh, college...
Just for fun, here's an interview with Letang after the skills challenge. The first 9 seconds are of him looking awkward while the other guy is getting interviewed.
What I'm talking about is the NHL All-Star Game. Tanger was on Team Staal and Flower was on Team Lindstrom. Tanger also shares the red and white with Ovechkin, who decided to throw a stick at a guy, which sparked the ONLY penalty shot in the history of All-Star games.
But Tanger got 2 GOALS!! He did really well. Flower had a rough first period. They scored four goals on him pretty quickly. Then Team Staal scored 4 goals too. But, Team Lindstrom won 11 to 10. The game was kind of lame because there was no real hitting, but I'm sure it was still a lot of fun for the players to share ice with the best in the league.
The skills challenge was fun. Letang won the skating backwards race-thing. Fleury made an ass out of a few guys during the shootout and the breakaway challenge. The best part was Ovechkin falling over a wire after taking his shot in the hardest shot competition. The idiot had already broken his hockey stick and had to use Letang's to complete his number of shots, then he tripped over the wire and acted like a moron.
Because Crosby and Geno weren't there, the camera people felt the need to focus on Ovechkin the whole damn time.
Clay Aiken sang the national anthem and 3 Doors Down played after the first period ended. This, NHL, is why more people in the U.S. care about football.
I can not wait for the superbowl. The town's gone crazy already. I was home this weekend for a wedding and to go to the Strip District to find a black and gold scarf. You couldn't go one block in Pittsburgh without seeing a jersey or something Steelers-related. I can't wait till I'm 21 and can go to South Side for Superbowls. Until then, I'll be yelling at the TV in my room and affectionately calling Roethlisberger every swear word you can think of because that man makes passes to his eye floaters at times.
It's like 6:30 a.m right now and I'm up. I fell asleep last night around 6pm, intending only to take a power nap, but then slept till 3:30 a.m. and had to wake up and read 125 pages of A Sand County Almanac and write a paper on it. Oh, college...
Just for fun, here's an interview with Letang after the skills challenge. The first 9 seconds are of him looking awkward while the other guy is getting interviewed.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Myspace and Kitchens
I'm looking through some of the old stuff I have saved on my external hard drive today. If I remember correctly, when I had a myspace, I'd get some pretty funny messages from creepers. Here was a particularly good one, in quotes, that I apparently felt the need to tear apart. I don't think I ever sent this back to the guy, but it would have been funny if I did. So, here it is:
"hay sexy wuts good wit i dam u r soo sexy can we talk"
1. It's "hey," not "hay." Hay is the yellow stringy shit that horses eat.
2. Wuts? = What's?
3. You need a comma after sexy, I assume it's direct address.
4. "Wit" = "With" Wit is something you have none of.
5. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that "i" is supposed to be "u"
6. Which brings me to "u" = "you"
7. You need a question mark after the supposed "u"
8. "Dam" = "damn" Beavers build dams.
9. once again "u" = "you"
10. "r" = "are" We have vowels for a reason, use them.
11. I appreciate the extra "o" in "soo" but you're a fucking moron.
12. You need a comma after sexy
13. You need a question mark after talk
On the bright side, you can spell "sexy," "can" and "talk." Also, you have an apparent understanding of how a keyboard and myspace messaging are supposed to work. While it worries me that you have a gun, you are making my case for the extermination of stupid people more and more plausible.
Thank you, douchebag. Try laying off the crackpipe.
Love,
Kelsey
There are probably more things wrong with it, but those were the ones I found at the time. Too funny. The gun reference came into play because he was showing off some handgun in his profile pic. I think I deleted my myspace shortly after receiving this. I mean honestly, no etiquette at all.
Also, I was looking though some of the older creative stuff I've written. This one was an assignment. I had to describe a kitchen in a way that it told a story:
Oranges are mixed right in with the apples in a wicker bowl that mom bought a million years ago, from a sale at some dead person's house. The bowl is leaning, lopsided on a stove stained by the last batch of potato pancakes it will ever make. An explosion of something has formed tiny dots of brown crust on the bottom of the oven fan. Those oranges are turning that familiar ugly shade of gray with a bruise of green in the middle. Oranges were her favorite. Their decay tells the apples that they need to become mushy. Towels with sauce stains are shoved over the broken handle of the oven. Broken, because mom always leaned on it when she talked on the phone.
The Mr. Coffee is the only thing without a layer of scum covering it. It's the only appliance bought within the last ten years, and it hasn't stopped making coffee for four days straight, because I'm here, the oldest of four, so she's my responsibility. Mr. Coffee stands alone on the sticky counter, next to the kissing Dutch salt and pepper shakers, faded with age, right near the pegs on the wall balancing mugs by their handles. One had a picture of a snarling bulldog. Another has something written in big block letters, in German. Their bright colors collide with the walls, doused in mousy tans.
In the sink, dishes are piled high. The only thing keeping the whole tower from falling is the mushy leftovers cementing them together. The dishwasher lets its empty mouth hang open, begging for something to clean. She always kept a clean house. She would murder me for this.
In the refrigerator is a forest. Someone, not me, thought to preserve the flowers that strangers bought. Harsh yellows, pinks, and reds jut out from behind pans and bowl and dishes covered with blue Saran wrap. It is all stranger-made food, and it turns to sand in my mouth. Something toppled, spilled and dried, lining the bottom, near the fruit drawers. Old, putrid milk is stinking up the whole fridge, making the meat loaf absorb its rancid taste. Under the fridge, black ants are marching toward a meal. Close it, that's better.
Faces and tiny to-do lists plaster the yellowed face of the fridge, supported by magnets that tell the history of the family. Tiny to-do's in my mother's handwriting, telling me all of the things she wanted to do, but didn't get the chance to. In the pictures, kids are smiling with their newly missing teeth, with their arms around each other, with that "mom said I have to" look. Hannah is wearing a soccer uniform, with grass stains at the knees, with a crooked smile taking over her face. She's my daughter, her grandma's favorite. Someone is smirking, wearing high red shorts with a white stripe, circa 1972. Turned on its side, a Polaroid frames mom and dad sitting on the brown scratchy couch, the one with the buttons in awkward places. Mom is peeling an orange.
I don't know. It needs cleaned up a bit, but I still kinda like it. It's almost like flash fiction. I'm going to try sleep now.
"hay sexy wuts good wit i dam u r soo sexy can we talk"
1. It's "hey," not "hay." Hay is the yellow stringy shit that horses eat.
2. Wuts? = What's?
3. You need a comma after sexy, I assume it's direct address.
4. "Wit" = "With" Wit is something you have none of.
5. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that "i" is supposed to be "u"
6. Which brings me to "u" = "you"
7. You need a question mark after the supposed "u"
8. "Dam" = "damn" Beavers build dams.
9. once again "u" = "you"
10. "r" = "are" We have vowels for a reason, use them.
11. I appreciate the extra "o" in "soo" but you're a fucking moron.
12. You need a comma after sexy
13. You need a question mark after talk
On the bright side, you can spell "sexy," "can" and "talk." Also, you have an apparent understanding of how a keyboard and myspace messaging are supposed to work. While it worries me that you have a gun, you are making my case for the extermination of stupid people more and more plausible.
Thank you, douchebag. Try laying off the crackpipe.
Love,
Kelsey
There are probably more things wrong with it, but those were the ones I found at the time. Too funny. The gun reference came into play because he was showing off some handgun in his profile pic. I think I deleted my myspace shortly after receiving this. I mean honestly, no etiquette at all.
Also, I was looking though some of the older creative stuff I've written. This one was an assignment. I had to describe a kitchen in a way that it told a story:
Oranges are mixed right in with the apples in a wicker bowl that mom bought a million years ago, from a sale at some dead person's house. The bowl is leaning, lopsided on a stove stained by the last batch of potato pancakes it will ever make. An explosion of something has formed tiny dots of brown crust on the bottom of the oven fan. Those oranges are turning that familiar ugly shade of gray with a bruise of green in the middle. Oranges were her favorite. Their decay tells the apples that they need to become mushy. Towels with sauce stains are shoved over the broken handle of the oven. Broken, because mom always leaned on it when she talked on the phone.
The Mr. Coffee is the only thing without a layer of scum covering it. It's the only appliance bought within the last ten years, and it hasn't stopped making coffee for four days straight, because I'm here, the oldest of four, so she's my responsibility. Mr. Coffee stands alone on the sticky counter, next to the kissing Dutch salt and pepper shakers, faded with age, right near the pegs on the wall balancing mugs by their handles. One had a picture of a snarling bulldog. Another has something written in big block letters, in German. Their bright colors collide with the walls, doused in mousy tans.
In the sink, dishes are piled high. The only thing keeping the whole tower from falling is the mushy leftovers cementing them together. The dishwasher lets its empty mouth hang open, begging for something to clean. She always kept a clean house. She would murder me for this.
In the refrigerator is a forest. Someone, not me, thought to preserve the flowers that strangers bought. Harsh yellows, pinks, and reds jut out from behind pans and bowl and dishes covered with blue Saran wrap. It is all stranger-made food, and it turns to sand in my mouth. Something toppled, spilled and dried, lining the bottom, near the fruit drawers. Old, putrid milk is stinking up the whole fridge, making the meat loaf absorb its rancid taste. Under the fridge, black ants are marching toward a meal. Close it, that's better.
Faces and tiny to-do lists plaster the yellowed face of the fridge, supported by magnets that tell the history of the family. Tiny to-do's in my mother's handwriting, telling me all of the things she wanted to do, but didn't get the chance to. In the pictures, kids are smiling with their newly missing teeth, with their arms around each other, with that "mom said I have to" look. Hannah is wearing a soccer uniform, with grass stains at the knees, with a crooked smile taking over her face. She's my daughter, her grandma's favorite. Someone is smirking, wearing high red shorts with a white stripe, circa 1972. Turned on its side, a Polaroid frames mom and dad sitting on the brown scratchy couch, the one with the buttons in awkward places. Mom is peeling an orange.
I don't know. It needs cleaned up a bit, but I still kinda like it. It's almost like flash fiction. I'm going to try sleep now.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Classes & Sid Vicious
Okay so Sid Vicious. Not THE Sid Vicious, but my hamster named Sid Vicious. He likes to do this thing where he lays under his hamster wheel in a little ball and breathes really slowly and appears to be dead or dying. Then several hours or a day later, as though to say "just kidding" he returns to his usual psychopathic self.
This has happen five times. The thing keeps dying and coming back to life. The latest was today. Yesterday my mom told me Sid was probably not going to last the night. I said something to the effect of "meh" because this hamster has been living to spite me. He's already 3, and hamsters are only supposed to live to be 2. He's a bastard. He likes to draw blood. He's loud as hell at night and he hangs from his cage like a spider and gnaws on the metal with his horrible yellow snagletooth.
But anyway, my mom goes into my room this morning and the bastard is running around and most of his food is already gone from the time she refilled it last night (and she gives him A LOT of food). So, in effect, I am harboring a demon hamster in my room that is able to die and come back to life. He's going to do to me what Freddy Krueger did to Johnny Depp in Nightmare on Elm Street. One night, I'll be watching HBO then my bed will swallow me and blood will spout out of it and the damn hamster will be laughing.
Need a visual? Fast-forward to 0:36
I don't know why the Pirates of the Caribbean music is playing in the background in this youtube video.
Now for classes....
I always scoff when I'm forced to do self-reflective stuff for my classes...you know, the obligatory "describe yourself in a few words." Or the ever-infuriating, "where do you see yourself in five years." I hate those questions. I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now, and I don't think sitting on the couch watching reruns of Sanford and Son counts as a good answer.
Also, for social media, I'm probably going to have to do some scrubbing of this blog. But I'd need a full time staff working round the clock to get every profanity and snide comment out of my posts. So we'll just have to see how that goes. Feministing's allowed to say fuck. Why can't I?
I'll probably just end up making a new blog or scrubbing my other blog on politics, because this blog has no real structure. I just post whatever I feel like talking about.
But I'm pretty confident that I'm going to love that class and gain useful stuff out of it. I've had the professor before and she's awesome.
Oh, and math. "Complete this sequence...3, 1902, 92, 200, 549, ?" I think an acceptable answer to these things should be "why the hell does anyone care."
I don't want to put down math. It's necessary for some people. And a person's accomplishments in math should never be diminished. Bad things would happen if our architects didn't know anything about geometry. But I'm an English and Journalism major. Percentages and basic arithmetic are all I really need. Ever. I can confidently say that, in my life, I will never have to rattle off the Fibonacci sequence.
I get the whole, "this is not about numbers, its about learning logic and problem solving skills," but the kind of logic I need care about is something that can be learned outside of math. I've already had to do this all through high school and before that. I've gotten all the problem-solving skills that I can out of it.
But I still think everyone in a traditional liberal arts college in the U.S. should be required to take English classes. No matter what you do, you need to be able to write and think critically about a text. A lot of people's grades would be trashed if they hadn't taken research writing and whatever the intro class is called. And English is one of the few departments that get really good student feedback from required courses.
In my major, I'll never need science either but at least they give you a range of things to pick from. I did Dynamic Earth and Exploring the Universe, AKA rocks and space. Little to no math, and it was stuff that I thought was interesting.
For people in a field that involves no math, I think they should be able to pick between taking a social science and a math. I would gladly have taken another politics class instead of math. And there's probably people that feel the opposite. The arts classes can be put in there too. Some people just don't care about the arts, and it will never be required of them. So go let them take another class in a field they care about.
Side note...I would have loved to take a decent art history class, but my professor was terrible. She insisted on telling us every single scrap of her accomplishments.She used a powerpoint, and it usually took her 5 minutes in the beginning of the class to figure out the computer. And she was tenured, so all of the bad reviews in the world wouldn't make her change her class. It was awful.
I think the mandated philosophy/ religious studies thing needs to stay. A lot of majors require you to read theoretical texts and these classes serve as a pretty good intro to that kind of reading. I think health is kind of stupid. We all had to take it in high school. We're all pretty much set in whatever habits we have, and will stick with them until we personally feel the need to change them. I don't think a class is going to do that. For example, the idea that smoking and drinking are bad for you has been drilled into our heads since preschool and people do it anyway.
Those are all of the required classes I can think of. I know there are more, but I guess none of those ones pissed me off enough to write about.
But tenure,that's something that irritates me. It's a great concept, and it provides job security, but if a professor is tenured and getting really bad evaluations and totally sucks on ratemyprofessor.com then something needs to be done. For example, one of my Spanish professors was at least five minutes late to almost every single class. She was never prepared or organized. She just wasn't a good professor, but her evaluations didn't matter because she was tenured. I'm not saying she should have been fired or something, but someone with authority needs to tell her she needs to change.
Oh, and also for some reason http://movie-ozone.com has put a link to my blog under "fellow bloggers," so go check them out. I put this in another post, but people continue to find my blog through them so here's a thank you.
This has happen five times. The thing keeps dying and coming back to life. The latest was today. Yesterday my mom told me Sid was probably not going to last the night. I said something to the effect of "meh" because this hamster has been living to spite me. He's already 3, and hamsters are only supposed to live to be 2. He's a bastard. He likes to draw blood. He's loud as hell at night and he hangs from his cage like a spider and gnaws on the metal with his horrible yellow snagletooth.
But anyway, my mom goes into my room this morning and the bastard is running around and most of his food is already gone from the time she refilled it last night (and she gives him A LOT of food). So, in effect, I am harboring a demon hamster in my room that is able to die and come back to life. He's going to do to me what Freddy Krueger did to Johnny Depp in Nightmare on Elm Street. One night, I'll be watching HBO then my bed will swallow me and blood will spout out of it and the damn hamster will be laughing.
Need a visual? Fast-forward to 0:36
I don't know why the Pirates of the Caribbean music is playing in the background in this youtube video.
Now for classes....
I always scoff when I'm forced to do self-reflective stuff for my classes...you know, the obligatory "describe yourself in a few words." Or the ever-infuriating, "where do you see yourself in five years." I hate those questions. I don't even know what I'm doing tomorrow, let alone five years from now, and I don't think sitting on the couch watching reruns of Sanford and Son counts as a good answer.
Also, for social media, I'm probably going to have to do some scrubbing of this blog. But I'd need a full time staff working round the clock to get every profanity and snide comment out of my posts. So we'll just have to see how that goes. Feministing's allowed to say fuck. Why can't I?
I'll probably just end up making a new blog or scrubbing my other blog on politics, because this blog has no real structure. I just post whatever I feel like talking about.
But I'm pretty confident that I'm going to love that class and gain useful stuff out of it. I've had the professor before and she's awesome.
Oh, and math. "Complete this sequence...3, 1902, 92, 200, 549, ?" I think an acceptable answer to these things should be "why the hell does anyone care."
I don't want to put down math. It's necessary for some people. And a person's accomplishments in math should never be diminished. Bad things would happen if our architects didn't know anything about geometry. But I'm an English and Journalism major. Percentages and basic arithmetic are all I really need. Ever. I can confidently say that, in my life, I will never have to rattle off the Fibonacci sequence.
I get the whole, "this is not about numbers, its about learning logic and problem solving skills," but the kind of logic I need care about is something that can be learned outside of math. I've already had to do this all through high school and before that. I've gotten all the problem-solving skills that I can out of it.
But I still think everyone in a traditional liberal arts college in the U.S. should be required to take English classes. No matter what you do, you need to be able to write and think critically about a text. A lot of people's grades would be trashed if they hadn't taken research writing and whatever the intro class is called. And English is one of the few departments that get really good student feedback from required courses.
In my major, I'll never need science either but at least they give you a range of things to pick from. I did Dynamic Earth and Exploring the Universe, AKA rocks and space. Little to no math, and it was stuff that I thought was interesting.
For people in a field that involves no math, I think they should be able to pick between taking a social science and a math. I would gladly have taken another politics class instead of math. And there's probably people that feel the opposite. The arts classes can be put in there too. Some people just don't care about the arts, and it will never be required of them. So go let them take another class in a field they care about.
Side note...I would have loved to take a decent art history class, but my professor was terrible. She insisted on telling us every single scrap of her accomplishments.She used a powerpoint, and it usually took her 5 minutes in the beginning of the class to figure out the computer. And she was tenured, so all of the bad reviews in the world wouldn't make her change her class. It was awful.
I think the mandated philosophy/ religious studies thing needs to stay. A lot of majors require you to read theoretical texts and these classes serve as a pretty good intro to that kind of reading. I think health is kind of stupid. We all had to take it in high school. We're all pretty much set in whatever habits we have, and will stick with them until we personally feel the need to change them. I don't think a class is going to do that. For example, the idea that smoking and drinking are bad for you has been drilled into our heads since preschool and people do it anyway.
Those are all of the required classes I can think of. I know there are more, but I guess none of those ones pissed me off enough to write about.
But tenure,that's something that irritates me. It's a great concept, and it provides job security, but if a professor is tenured and getting really bad evaluations and totally sucks on ratemyprofessor.com then something needs to be done. For example, one of my Spanish professors was at least five minutes late to almost every single class. She was never prepared or organized. She just wasn't a good professor, but her evaluations didn't matter because she was tenured. I'm not saying she should have been fired or something, but someone with authority needs to tell her she needs to change.
Oh, and also for some reason http://movie-ozone.com has put a link to my blog under "fellow bloggers," so go check them out. I put this in another post, but people continue to find my blog through them so here's a thank you.
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