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Monday, September 15th, 2003
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2:59 pm - Bubblegum blizzards.
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Here's the deal with livejournal.
Last year I needed an outlet because I was crazy.
This is not quite so necessary right now, for I am utterly content.
Once y'all start messing up my life, I will begin again. Or when I've gotten into the groove of things once again. Right now I have a lot on my plate and cannot always update.
It'll happen though.
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| Wednesday, September 3rd, 2003
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12:28 am - Chut up.
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Shut up, all of you.
Here is my freaking update.
It is now September 3rd, many months since my last update. Several things happened in the intervening time period, many of which involved a small, generically named Camp Arrowhead nestled on the humid shore of the Delaware Bay. I sailed some boats, climbed some walls, laughed heartily and started dating the hot lifeguard. I mean, she has a really good personality.
More on Laura later.
I was charged with several small children. The counselor's main job at camp is to not touch the campers. Their other job is to keep them from dying, which is not as easy as it appears. Children try to kill themselves every day. They fall out of trees, capsize canoes and eat pinecones. The counselor must be there to catch them, swim them to shore and/or laugh.
I will explain more about camp in my next post. This update was merely to get me back into this hellish commitment of amusing Andrew Leahey.
PREPARE FOR HILARITY.
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| Thursday, May 29th, 2003
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7:09 pm - The livin' is moderately easy.
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Fo sho.
Look, we had a few laughs this year.
It's time for the summer now.
And I have better things to do.
This year was a test, and I think it went pretty well.
Livehournal will resume next year, once I return to lovely Charlottesville.
Until then, have a great summer and keep in touch.
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| Sunday, May 4th, 2003
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3:05 am - This is where my update will be.
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Tomorrow.
This has been the craziest week ever. I'm bubbling over with junk to write about, but it's too late now and I've gotten very little sleep recently.
Fear not, pilgrams, your wait is almost over.
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| Wednesday, April 23rd, 2003
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10:27 pm - Secondary hiatus.
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My life has temporarily gotten too complicated to write about. There are too many papers to write, too many exams to study for and too many people to deal with at the moment. When I have regained some semblence of sanity, then perhaps we can speak again.
Until then...
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| Tuesday, April 22nd, 2003
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2:00 am - Lynch and company.
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| Monday, April 21st, 2003
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1:14 am - This is my weekend update.
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What is noble nowadays?
I'm in an extremely odd mood right now. My emotions this weekend have gone every way possible. I'm not feeling extremely clever, so here's a rough approximation of what went down.
I went to go see Big Love con la cubana on Friday - it had some interesting things to say about love. It reminded me of a latter day Sex and the City, with a lot of killing thrown in. There was also a nude female butt. Totally gross. That's where cooties come from. Ebenezer Quaye was Constantine.
Let's contemplate the name Ebenezer Quaye for a moment. I don't think "Quaye" would fit with any other first name so well or be quite so cool. Good ole Neezer.
Afterwards, Zach and I headed to the U-Dems party. I was scared that they might smell the Rep on us, but fortunately we escaped unscathed. I left my blue jacket though. I want it back.
Peter wasn't here this weekend. I don't know if he celebrates Christ's resurrection with his family, but I find it doubtful that he does. Maybe it was Nietzsche's birthday or something.
Saturday was a fat waste.
Although I did interview to direct FYP next semester.
Just got a call saying that I didn't get it. Ah well.
I WILL CONQUER FYP YET.
No biggie. Saturday night was outrageously boring. I ended up eating Ben & Jerry's and watching Terms of Endearment alone (yes, I am a recently divorced middle-aged woman). I manlied myself up after that by watching Starship Troopers. I can't wait for the future...
Here's my problem with the aliens from Signs. They drive their spaceships hundreds of millions of miles to invade a planet that's 80% water and expect not to get wet? Seriously, if you have the technology to buil spaceships capable of interplanetary travel, you should be able to make a fucking umbrella. Or a decent raincoat. Or a forcefield that kills people. Stupid aliens...
Now I have to read 700 pages of Brothers Karamozov in ten minutes.
Thank you Speedreading. God bless you, David Mills, wherever you may be.
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| Friday, April 18th, 2003
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2:57 am - Bwah ha!
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I just checked over my last posted entry to make sure all was well, and I saw that in the third to last section I used the word "repoopulate". This typo is too funny to my adolescent mind to fix.
Sweet dreams y'all.
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2:22 am - In a day or two.
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So today was jam-packed with fun and goodness.
Studied well into the wee hours of morning last night. Checked the webpage for information and saw that the lowest grade is dropped. Immediately went to bed.
Did awful on said test this morning.
Went to bed.
Woke up. Called parents.
Disproved post-modern precepts.
Ate.
For some reason, today smelled like my grandmom.
Racquetballed with Adam.
It was pathetic. Imagine a legless newborn playing rummy with a squirrel. That's approximately what playing racquetball with Adam Segaller is like. I taunted him mercilessly. He was totally awed. It kind of makes me wonder why I took directions from someone so pitiful for so long.
Also, he beat me.
Then - karaoke. That place smelled like mixture of a barn and Scope mouthwash. Paul, Chat, Nate, Walt and I were definitely going to sing a very erotic version of I Want It That Way, but the DJ decided that booty rap was far more appropriate to the Charlottesville area. Never the less, I'm not one to complain. I certainly dropped as though it was hot. It reminded me of my days back in the ghetto. I mean Delaware.
Here is what I posted in Anne's journal when her Mom asked for my qualifications for MBP:
I hail from the Nottingham Eyermans. The name itself means "Noble Valient Knight Who Slays Fierce Invisible Dragons By Day and Roams the Forest Nude at Night" (we suspect this is a translational error). We were one of the first families to colonize Delaware. Our DNA is more valuable than silver. We are handsome, loving, virile folk and give birth to hearty, non-ugly babies. I am a direct descendent of Abraham Lincoln, Charlemagne and Moses. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I invented leather. I am the current monarch of Portugal. My smile cures SARS, impotence and most livestock diseases.
In short, I am the end product of several thousand years worth of selective breeding meant to create the Uber-Eyerman, an unstoppable being destined to conquer and repoopulate the Earth.
I changed it a little. And I'm tired.
Now I drift off to sleep to the sounds of crickets and drunk first-years puking off Ruffner bridge.
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| Thursday, April 17th, 2003
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1:37 am - Waxing serious.
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I decided to work at an overnight summer camp.
This was a very difficult choice to make.
It means leaving a lot behind.
It means leaving a lot of people behind.
Monica, Judah, Andy, Josh and incommunicado Mike.
Kristin.
Delaware is a tough place for me to be in.
It's home, but it's less home.
There are too many memories floating around, too much emotional static charge.
I'm not ready to sell my soul to the big pharmaceutical or credit companies that dot the First State's landscape in the form of an internship.
I'm terrified of waking up in an empty house, going to work, coming home and watching TV.
I need something satisfying, something to keep me busy.
I need some surrogate kids to drive me crazy.
I need the creative outlet, the ocean and the outdoors.
So I made my choice. I'm sure it'll be regretted a few times throughout, but in the long run, it's right for me right now.
Serious posts do come out every now and then. Y'all just gonna have to deal.
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| Tuesday, April 15th, 2003
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7:42 pm - Irrelevant televants.
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Yo peeeeeeepz.
Beach Week is on.
Here is an excerpt from my conversation with Chris, our friendly realtor in North Myrtle Beach:
"Hey Chris!"
"Sup dawg!"
"Listen up, dude, we need a fuckin' house and quick."
"Alright, we have some shitty-ass apartment quads left..."
"Listen, we're a theater group from UVa. FYP. You've never heard of us? That's hard to believe. Adam told us that angels have been trumpeting our glory all over the Earth for the past week and that several sovereign states have declared April 10-13 national holidays. We're all very nice, responsible and attractive people. Are there really no other houses?"
"Actually we do have one left. It's brand new and totally kick-ass. We needed a good group to rent it to, a gentle group. Are you gentle?"
"We are so gentle. If FYP was a house making love to this alleged house, it would be soft, slow and sweet. We'd whisper sweet nothings into its ear and gaze deeply and meaningfully into its eyes. We'd spank - but oh-so-gently. While we lie on the beach in post-orgasmic bliss we would feed your house stawberries while the sweet croonings of Al Green drifts through the night air."
"Alrighty. Let's talk cost. It'll be about $189 each for you guys, but we do have a special discount for Christian organizations. Is FYP religiously affiliated?"
"Are the First-Year Protestants religiously affiliated? LOL, I would certainly think so!!"
"Sounds like we have a deal, new friend! We'll see you the week of May 10th!"
I totally love Chris.
I am totally terrified of the Newcomb Hall dining staff.
Andrew Leahey, resident redhead U2 wannabe, requests a shout-out, but shout-outs are tacky, so I thought I'd write a nostalgic anecdote about the first time Andrew and I met.
I remember we were at a party, hanging out on a porch with a few other FYPers, just listening to the music and talking. I noticed Andrew's Star Trek II: Wrath of Kahn T-shirt and decided to strike up a conversation.
"Hi!" I said. "I noticed your shirt, are you a Trekkie?"
"You know," Andrew said to me, "The Holocaust was just a piece of propoganda created by the Jewish conspiracy."
"Excuse me?" I asked.
"I like to light things on fire," Andrew continued, "and I ate kittens."
"You hate kittens?!" I exclaimed.
"No, that mispelling was correct, I ATE kittens," Andrew stated.
"You are an insane person," I yelled.
"Nope. I'm Andrew C. Leahey. The C. stands for "Can't stand that women and minorities can vote"." Then he smiled and drank some more beer, which I quickly realized wasn't beer at all, but a STRAWBERRY/KITTEN SMOOTHIE!!!
And that's how we met.
Who wants some?
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| Monday, April 14th, 2003
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2:54 am - I'm hongry.
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Here is my long-ass, much anticipated livejournal entry.
Guys and Dolls went up this weekend. It had a great turn-out thanks to all the wonderful people who took time out of their busy schedules to come spend an evening enjoying the arts. It did not have a perfect turn-out however, because of all you selfish fucks who had "other things to do", like Tim who had to "visit" his "girlfriend" in "New York" because she "has a terrible case of mono". Whatever, Tim. "Real cool".
The first night of the show went well.
The second night went better.
The third night was terrifying. Someone reanimated the corpses of the Alderman Graveyard and commanded them to sit in the front row of Guys and Dolls.
Tonight was the best acting I think. And strike was fun.
It's hard to remember all the particular things that happened over the past week. My sleeping and eating schedules have essentially reversed. I went to bed at 7:30. I wake up at 3:30. Orange juice is like sweet ambrosia. New friendships were made. Old friendships were strengthened. The cast of Guys and Dolls is totally alright.
I think I want to mock each and every one of your personally, but I can't right now because I don't have time. I don't have time because resident whiny crybaby doucheface Peter Farrell is about to poop his pants if I don't post my new journal.
Peter Farrell - Despite being born in a wet cardboard box to a mountain goat and Carrot Top, Peter has become a impressive young man in his own right. Peter now attends UVa and hopes to major in both Drama and Anal-Related Sciences. He has a lot of red hair and he likes to give people the finger when he's not using up oxygen to sustain an utterless pointless existence. Despite the fact that he lacks functional genitalia, he has a very vigorous sex life and a very finely muscled right arm and hand. Peter enjoys early 80's Cher memorabilia, attention, Ken dolls, cranberry juice, prostitutes with clearly visible disabilities and giving cigarettes to babies. Peter is a fine young man. He has the will, determination and that certain brand of endearing obnoxiousness that makes you want to throw a brick at his head.
Also, Peter poops his pants.
That is all for tonight. I must sleep at some point and study and do all that fun stuff I used to do before I became an FYP-bitch.
So anyhow -
Life returns to normal.
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| Saturday, April 12th, 2003
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5:23 pm - Filler.
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Alright, the craziness is almost over.
Just two more shows. Sad? A little. Tired? Yes.
It's going to feel weird having free time again.
My mind is fuzzy. A more hilarious update is in store, fear not.
You'll just have to wait.
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| Thursday, April 10th, 2003
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12:23 pm - Eep gads.
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So here's something Emily Greene wrote over the FYP collective which I thought was witty, and will now post in my own very contained and non-flamboyant form of protest:
Don't soil your Cav Daily in inclement weather; find a
better, more subtly pretentious make-shift umbrella! Pick
up a copy of The Declaration!
Do you find yourself missing the high-quality toilet humor
of last week's Dec? Rest assured that our fart jokes
haven't changed a bit!
Written by people who couldn't get published in the Cav
Daily!
Don't, worry, the poor quality of our printing and copy
editing more than make up for our terrible graphics!
Our parents don't read this either.
Be impressed with how clever and indie you are, work for
the Dec!
These little blurbs satirize the jokes made about FYP. Check out the original at www.the-declaration.com for comparison, it's a funny showdown. While you're there, marvel at the website design, for it is the birthchild of one Peter Roommate, Established Weblord.
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| Wednesday, April 9th, 2003
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2:01 pm - Sporadic update.
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Oh dear God.
Rehearsal is sooooooo much fun. Seriously. I thought four hours was great - eight is near orgasmic. I get home at two. This is unacceptable. There are a good sixteen hours left in the day, what am I supposed to do with that kind of time? Just sit around and wait until the joy can start up again, I guess.
Southerners don't get sarcasm.
Southerners, please see above paragraph.
This is hell week which, to you theater-ignorants, is the week before the opening where everyone and everything smashes together to form a show. This one is going later than most, but I'm also having a lot of fun. Mostly, Peter F. and I sit around saying nice things and complimenting people on how well their dress stays down when they twirl.
Almost made Alaina cry:
"Alaina, your hands are cold like death."
"Did you have to say like death?"
"Your hands are cold like a puppy."
"That's better. Cold like a puppy's nose."
"Your hands are cold like a dead puppy's nose."
::Alaina weeps::
Fin.
I normally hate it when people quote their own cleverness, but I've gotten very little sleep in the past few days and my brain refuses to vomit up funny.
Seriously though, I hate to wax sentimental, but I'm really enjoying this. FYP is a fun and talented group, looking forward to acting with all of you in the years to come.
Just got back from my Immunology test. I've never been sodomized, but I have a general idea of what it must feel like. It was hard.
Southerners, I am referring to the test.
This is called metaphor.
Now to analyze Go Down, Moses.
Have a wonderful day.
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| Sunday, April 6th, 2003
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2:20 pm - Dink dink dink.
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Ben Folds was awesome.
It was a very good night.
But here's the crux:
This is tech week. I have a test in Immunology on Wednesday and a project in Psychoanalysis due Thrusday. There is too much to do this week.
So my journal will only be updated sporadically.
My apologies to my loyal fans.
See you soon.
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| Saturday, April 5th, 2003
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1:26 am - Associated free babble.
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I slept through Virology today because I was having a dream that I was a pirate in outer space or something. It might have been Australia.
Speaking of Australia, I saw two kangaroos going at it once. They were hopping all over the place. It was awesome.
Squids go at it like this: The male fills up one of its legs with sperm and the female bites off the leg and the sperm become disseminated throughout her body.
Speaking of sloths, some are so slow and stupid that instead of grabbing a branch when they're moving through a tree, they will accidentally grab their own arm and plummet to their death.
Final Destination 2 was an extremely effective horror movie. Think about it. You saw the previews and you saw the fire ladder stop right before impaling the dude. In the movie, it does indeed stop, but only for a second. Then it squishes the dude's head. You're not expecting it at all if you've seen the commercial. Good use of an outside source to create shatterworthy expectations within the story's narrative. I'm recommending this one to the Sour Patch Kid.
I call my Cinema teacher, Prof. Korte, the Sour Patch Kid because I think that's his favorite type of candy to eat during his movie viewings. This is purely speculative.
Zach and I racquetballed for high stakes.
Jen and I discovered that Sex and the City actually takes place in Wise, VA.
Paul and I used power tools to build the set and as a metaphor for penis size and power.
Peter and I actually discussed the possibility of cleaning our rancid bathroom.
Mark and I took back the night and the toaster, but left a few T-shirts.
Current music - "Your Song"
Current mood - Everything that goes with it.
Goodnight, sleep well for Mr. Ben Folds tomorrow.
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| Friday, April 4th, 2003
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12:17 am - So very tired.
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Okay...
I just got back from racquetball with Zach, Anne and Katie.
I smell funny. And I'm dead tired.
See you tomorrow.
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| Wednesday, April 2nd, 2003
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11:48 pm - Good ole ambiguous Angie.
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Guys and Dolls approaches PERFECTION.
Adam and I have some creative differences though - he seems to think that Angelo the Ox should be played by a can of soda; I think he has pointy elf ears.
I tried to think of a follow-up joke for that, but my mind is currently fuzzing over, so you'll have to just assume I said something devastatingly insightful and witty.
Ahhhh yes, I talked to Leah last night and learned that she in fact did not smooch one
Big Loser Howard in eighth grade. My first kiss story remains good and pure. Leah, Charlottesville is a hell of a lot closer than England and we can get you just as drunk. Just ask your old nemesis, Judith.
James, in case you're reading this, ANNE IS SORRY! She didn't see you, she swears and still want to have ten thousand of your beautiful, finely chiseled babies, please don't hold this against her.
On a related note, vote for me in 2036. I'm running on an independent pro ninja-robot ticket.
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12:27 am - Thirty-nine inches forward and twenty-one back.
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I remember when I was a little boy in East Berlin. I met this really nice politically correct army officer who offered me candy. In return I saw a doctor who chopped off nearly all of my wanger... but he botched the job. I was left with a very furious foot and a half.*
This journal entry is otherwise devoted to one Chris Pollard, a goofy-looking Scottish guy who called me today, very long distance. We spoke of many things including how old people love to stare at the sun and how he's going on American Tour 2003 this summer. Chris and I amuse each other. We made a suicide pact - we would collaborate on a comedy/scifi written piece sometime in the next year or take our own lives. But we decided that was much too harsh and since both of us enjoy living, we decided it would be safer to go a day without eating solid foods.
Thus are the interactions between Chris and myself.
Ladies, he's single AND Scottish. Ladies love accents, right?
It's not the sexy, mysterious type of accent though; it's more the incoherent, inflected mumbling type that is the arousal equivalent of a cold, cold shower. However, if funny is your thing...
Have a nice night, y'all.
*This is a reference to Hedwig and the Angry Inch, a musical about a transgender rock star currently playing in the background. It's a joke. I do that sometimes.
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