Oh my god, the Internet

Ask and you shall almost certainly be added.
*♥*

FRIENDS CUT. Not because I secretly hate any of you (except you--yes, YOU), but because I feel bad about browsing everyone's posts but never really commenting. So, in an effort to actually respond to people's post, I got rid of a bunch of people who never update or whose journal I would never really comment on. If these actions propel you into a murderous rage, just let me know, because I probably did it accidentally. Or I just secretly hate you.

Also, if you haven't seen Flight of the Conchords on HBO or Comedy Central yet, you need to start watching it. Immediately. Here's a clip. And if that link doesn't satisfy you emotionally and physically, go read the webcomic Brain Fist or just look at some of the other stuff on that guy's site, because it's pretty awesomely insane. I am particularly intrigued/infuriated by the hypercomics and hyperfiction, because they're super weird and intricate. If, after all of this, you're too awake to sleep but too tired to masturbate, you could always go check out the "200 Bad Comics" at Nedroid.com. The guy accepted a challenge to draw a bunch of shitty comics, but I think he kind of failed because a lot of them are still hilarious.

Please respond to this post with an anonymous comment that has 3-5 facts about you. I'll then have three chances to guess who you are. If I get it wrong, please add another fact.

Lady Duckett. February 21st, 1998 to December 27th, 2006.

She loved chasing birds but freaked out the one time she accidentally hurt one. She loved harassing and humping Faith (our golden retriever) and she always sat perched at the top edge of our couch, waiting for us to come home. When she got sick, she was embarassed at her hair falling out, but we held her and rubbed her belly and she knew it was okay. My mom went to the vet to put her to sleep but came home sobbing because she couldn't do it. So Lady got a couple of more days with her family and died in her sleep, in her favorite spot. She was only eight. I'm just glad we were all home to say goodbye.

HOLY SHIT I'M 20!

Okay, yeah, it's pretty anticlimatic. But there are some things only a 20-year-old can do:
1) Underage drink without being able to write it off as teenage experimentation.
2) ...Multiply my age by 5 to equal 100?
3) ...Rhyme my age with "cunt...y?"

That's about it. But hey, birthdays are always awesome when you have them during break, when everyone can dedicate the entire day to celebrating the fact that you escaped your mother's uterus. Tomorrow we're getting breakfast hella early and then I'm hoping to see some of the people who are back in town before the celebratory taco bar with the family. That's right--celebratory taco bar. You just WISH you had my life.

Tonight I skipped hanging out with people to get to sleep early and now I'm regretting it because I woke up at 12:30 and couldn't get back to sleep and you don't care but THESE ARE THE THINGS HAPPENING IN MY LIFE. This means I can watch Craig Ferguson, though, which has been Harry and my (Harry and my's? Harry and I's? Why is the English language so hard?!) new show since Midnight Money Madness disappeared. It's not at all depressing to be an insomniac at Hampshire, where there's always someone inexplicably awake in your living room, but here it's sort of sad because it's just me and Faith, who isn't really terrific at late night conversation. She is keeping my feet warm, though, which Harry rarely does. Okay, maybe the lack of company will make me get back to sleep before 3. If I fall asleep in my funny face pancake tomorrow, no one will be happy. Well, except everyone that'll laugh at me. And if I could sleep and eat simultaneously I wouldn't be that bummed either...Christ on a cake, I just need to go to sleep now.

( Top 3 Reasons Why Contemporary Childhood is Hilariously Horrifying )

Oh sweet Neil, and I'm back at Hampshire on Monday. That's like sex in a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which would actually probably be pretty cold and chafing. And those chips could get stuck in some pretty uncomfortable places.

3. This dinosaur.

6. This movie.*

19. This puppet...thing?

37. The Polyphonic Spree's cover of Lithium. If you want to know how I felt when I came back home last week, this is pretty much it.

46. Me.

48. You.**

69. Cute gay birthday cards for some chick named Erika.

152.

455.How hot I am as Dr. Strangelove.

457. How hot I am right now (okay, so I'm currently trapped in the sun, but that in no way detracts from my legitimate hotness).

505. Terry Gross--well, except for her name, which is...er, I'm pretty sure you can put the right adjective here. I'm seeing her at the Tennessee Theatre tonight and then she's going to sleep over at my house and tell me all about tongue-kissing Ira Glass and Carl Kassell at the same time.***

*I might have posted this before, but it's the sort of heartwarming winter tale we should all treasure this time of year.
**Note how I am #46 and you are #48. But that means nothing. Really. Just note it. There'll be a quiz.
***NPR=Non-stop Pornographic Radio. Or it will be once I start working for done it.

HEY! You know what Black Bolt, king of the Inhumans, would say (if he could say anything without destroying the entire universe since his voice is actually that powerful and no I didn't just make that reference but yes, okay, I totally just did because Inhumans are freakin' awesome)?



RELAX.




Seriously, though, humanity. Deep breaths. Chill out. Eat a cookie.

This message brought to you by the general state of the world today. And also by Nabisco.

I didn't take that, by the way. It's from here. But it's pretty much the only way I can think to portray the past two days without sounding insane or self-destructive. Example: I rubbed pizza all over my face and arms last night and then ate it. Isn't this picture a lot more calming than that mental image?

I saw the Science of Sleep Friday night. Highly recommend it, if only because Gael Garcia Bernal's character is adorably awkward, there's some awesomely perverted French people in it, and the animation is kind of mind-blowingly cool. Be warned that you'll probably come out of it feeling like you just took a bunch of unidentifiable and bizarrely powerful drugs, however. And do you want a song from the soundtrack? Yes, you do, because Bernal sings it while wearing a kitten suit. If You Rescue Me, sung by Gael Garcia Bernal, Sacha Bourdo, Alain Chabat, and Aurelia Petit.

In addition: my sister Mary got hip-checked into a wall during a coed soccer game and busted her head open on Thursday. She's fine, but apparently everyone thought she was insane because as she was lying on the ground with her skull exposed she just kept laughing hysterically and making really awkward jokes. Plus she didn't know which finger was her ring finger, not because she was delusional but just because she wasn't wearing rings and apparently was never instructed in finger function identification. It was her ambulance driver's first day on the job so he had to ask her R.A. for directions to the hospital, which is onl hilarious because she didn't actually need to get there post-haste. She's pretty sure Ralph Nader put a hex on her because she left his speech early to go to the soccer game and he used his superhuman control over the environment to give her 12 stitches and a huge ghetto face bandage.

I just want things to turn out okay. But it's starting to seem like a lot to ask.

Donut burgers.

And this time the link's even real! And way scarier and more disgusting than zombies.

CORA IS THE MASTER OF ALL THINGS BREAD AND TEA. Also did I mention I got cast as a brothel owner in The Empress, a.k.a the Spopera? I'm noticing a trend in my theater career--I'm always cast as a prostitute, a crazy old woman, or both. Now I get how the crippled-ness could make people think crazy old women, but is there something about my walk that says I've been getting fucked for money since I was fifteen? Like, my limp is actually just a result of vagina overuse? *Pauses.* Oh my god...that's actually what I'm going to tell everyone from now on. "No, guys, I'm not disabled. I'm just a whore."

I really should update about this weekend, but I do have this thing called schoolwork which I avoided last night in order to watch Midnight Money Madness, which is kind of our mod's official show and also the reason we never get to sleep before 2 am. It's basically an interactive game show for stoners and insomniacs, which we all are in some measure. Plus it features a strangely attractive British woman shoving Ping Pong balls down Ron Jeremy's pants, so there's really no reason not to watch. So, until I have a chance to update for real, here's what you really need to know about this past weekend:

1) Watch the documentary Invisible Children. Seriously. These three teenage boys went to Uganda and made a film about the abducted child soldiers there that's just...depressing, intense, and amazing, especially considering these guys were complete amateur. It's incredibly powerful and something we need to deal with pretty much immediately. And they'll come show the film at your high school or college for free, with nothing asked of you except finding a good date for them to come.

2) Aung San Suu Kyi is a Nobel Peace Prize Winner and the democratically elected leader of Burma. She was imprisoned and then placed under house arrest by the military junta that currently controls Burma. Her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 1997 while he was in the UK--he was refused an entry visa to Burma and died without ever seeing his wife again. There was a Burmese delegation at PeaceJam and all of them had lived in refugee camps or had family members and friends murdered for opposing the current regime. And the U.S. and the UN? Pretty much not paying attention. So if anyone feels like writing letters to the UN being like, "Uh, hi...do something," or doing anything to raise awareness about the situation in Burma, it's a little urgent.

3) Nobel Peace Prize Laureates are hilarious. Okay, after items 1 and 2 it might not seem like this thing was all that much of a party, but honestly? All ten of these people were completely hysterical. The Dalai Lama, especially, has this high falsetto voice he would go into that just made me be like, "I love you so much." Plus he said he was skeptical about the power of prayer and values common sense and decisive action over spirituality in solving the world's problems, which just made me melt. Someone asked him about non-violence--like, if a guy's coming after you with a gun, should you fight him--and he goes, "Of course! It is stupid to just stand there and say, (then in his falsetto voice) 'Okay, I am non-violent, kill me now.' You run away or you hit him and then later, you can apologize." But as hard as the Dalai Lama rocked, Desmond Tutu rocked harder. He definitely was busting moves all over the place--he'd just break out with this crazy dancing and you'd be like, "Please adopt me." I mean, just look at him. How could you not want him to be your grandfather? He's adorable! And also intelligent beyond belief, of course, like they all were, but none of them were pretentious in the least. The Dalai Lama especially was like, "Look, I am not more special than any of you. In fact, you have more potential than me because I am hopeless with the computer things. I am not--what is the word? Superstar?" (Someone had just called him a "peace superhero.") "Superhero. I am not, I just use my sense. Even Buddha--in Buddhism, there are many things contradictory, many things confusing. And people ask me, (falsetto) what do they mean, and I say (even higher falsetto) 'I don't know!' I don't think even Buddha knew. I think he was confused in his own mind. The answers are not simple, you have to choose yourself and be logical." I really wish I could have recorded all of their speeches, because they were beyond amazing, but the BBC was there and is supposedly doing a PeaceJam series so I'm hoping to get my hands on that and see it all again.

Ummmm and I just ordered Andiamo for the first time this year. DELICIOUS.

I'm sitting on the patio of a restaurant while my grandfather waxes on about the world--how it was, how it is, how it will be. He starts talking about Bush and how Bush's administration is the embodiment of fascism and--I kid you not--exactly at that second a CNN headline pops up on the TV behind him: "Bush Declares War on Fascism." It was eerie, and it was also incredibly infuriating. How can the president of the United States fail to know what fascism actually means? How can he use it as a throwaway pejorative when his own government comes dangerously close to mirroring the dictionary definition of fascism? How can we allow this?

Now "fascism" is just another conservative buzzword, like "liberal" or "9/11." It will soon be stripped of any actual meaning, making it impossible for Bush's critics to effectively use it against him. It will get thrown around and applied to everyone from Saddam Hussein to Cindy Sheehan. It's an egregious offense against semantics and I'm hoping it will push some moderately conservative Americans over the edge. I'm not certain, though, because I'm afraid too many people don't know what fascism really means and are too scared of sounding "unpatriotic" or too swept up in the cult of Bush to bother finding out. Bush keeps commandeering these concepts by linking them with whatever he opposes: now that fascism and Iraq are all bound up, anyone who opposes the war in Iraq is, naturally, a supporter of fascism.

Calling the war on terrorism a war on fascism just doesn't make any sense, especially applied to the current situation in Iraq. We're not fighting a strong, nationalistic government there; we're not fighting any opposing government. If there's a fascist government to be fought, it's the one we put in place. Even the Iraqi government under Saddam was not fascist: it was authoritarian, meaning it advocated total state control without the backing of the sort of justifying ideology to which we in America have fallen prey. Saddam wanted total power, let everyone know he wanted total power, and simply wiped out anyone who opposed his possession of that power. Not admirable, but certainly not fascist. Fascism requires a nationalistic force, embodied by a supreme, dictatorial leader who uses anti-liberalist, militaristic rhetoric as the grounds for his unethical actions. Sound familiar?

Decide for yourself. That should be your right. Blindly branding a person or government as fascist may make sense in Bush's mind, but not in mine. For your consideration, though, here are three definitions of fascism that bear unsettling similarities to the ideological path our supposedly immortal, unimpeachable nation now follows:

1. "Fascism may be defined as a form of political behavior marked by obsessive preoccupation with community decline, humiliation, or victim-hood and by compensatory cults of unity, energy, and purity, in which a mass-based party of committed nationalist militants, working in uneasy but effective collaboration with traditional elites, abandons democratic liberties and pursues with redemptive violence and without ethical or legal restraints goals of internal cleansing and external expansion."--Robert O. Paxton, Columbia University Professor and author of The Anatomy of Fascism

2. "Fascism: a political philosophy, movement, or regime (as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition."--Merriam Webster Online Dictionary

3. "Granted that the 19th century was the century of socialism, liberalism, democracy, this does not mean that the 20th century must also be the century of socialism, liberalism, democracy. Political doctrines pass; nations remain. We are free to believe that this is the century of authority, a century tending to the 'right', a Fascist century. If the 19th century was the century of the individual (liberalism implies individualism) we are free to believe that this is the 'collective' century, and therefore the century of the State."--Benito Mussolini, in The Political and Social Doctrine of Fascism

Whether Bush is fascist or not, there's no question that what he is doing is wrong. Call it what you will, give it a foundation in nationalism or religion, but the fact still remains: war is mass murder. Mass murder? Pretty certain that's wrong. Mass murder with twisted ideological justifications, wrapped in the American flag and a self-righteous sense of being victimized by all Muslims (since really, the ones who crash into buildings with planes and the ones getting bombed by us in their living rooms are pretty much the same)? Perhaps even more wrong. Damn rhetoric, damn name-calling, damn slanted debate. Wrong is wrong, Mr. President. That's one word and one fact you can't change.

Bush of George: Bush of Ghosts Remix--Mentalhealth
George Bush Doesn't Care About Black People--KO
Bush War Blues--Billy Bragg

Lance Bass comes out.

And my dreams of becoming Katharine Hott McBass? RUINED.

Damn, I want a waffle.

I'm going to enter the world's second-largest mall today. And that's not even a metaphor.

The sun has sucked out my soul. I mean, it was worth it, because the Princes Islands's were amazing and necessary, but if anyone asks how I'm feeling today, I'll just go, "Have you ever been on fire? It's pretty much like that."

Also we were out in Taksim until 3 am, so my most ambitious move of the day is ordering food. Which is pretty damn ambitious, considering it will involve putting on clothes at some point.

LIVE TRUMPS 1.1

watch chocolate_cameo fight

CREATE YOUR CARD

p.s. I had some really amazing dream about Joseph Gordon Levitt and woke up wanting to make it into a screenplay and send it to him but then I sat up and completely forgot what it was about. Now I'm looking up all the pictures of him I can find in order to induce a dream sequel for tonight. Which sounds way creepier than it is.

ISTANBUL, BITCHES.


It's like six in the morning and I'm too tired to write much of substance. But I can see the Bosphorous Bridge from my window right now and I'm an hour away from a huge poolside breakfast and ohmyfuckinggodi'mbackinturkey. So everything's good.

Hey kids--i desperately need to get my hands on some packing boxes sometime tomorrow. Can anyone 1) recommend a place to get them that's on the bus route or 2) run me out to the U-Haul place in Noho or South Hadley (before 12 or after 3) to pick some up? I'll give you a couple of bucks for gas and my eternal devotion. Thanks!

EDIT: Dude, I so meant to post this in the Hampshire comm. and not my journal but I failed ridiculously. Finals weeks has lowered my ability to do simple tasks by about 700%.

The Antichrist is born.

Natalie Portman raps.

I've been showing this to pretty much everyone I can think of, because...well, watch it and it'll be obvious. It's also about 76 times more hilarious if you consider my dad is the one who sent me this link, along with the subject line "Natalie raps!!!1!1!"

My morning class got canceled, so I'm eating stuffed grape leaves, making new icons, and watching the Ellen show. Life is sweet.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ERIK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

May your day be filled with drunkeness, Polish music, and some guy's nuts on an old man's face. I'd give you your birthday present but I need to drink a lot of water first and find a five-gallon flask...yeah, you know what I mean.

I have never hated the Academy more than at this precise moment.

Grant, my film guru, I would tell you to call so we can comfort each other, but I can't find my cell. So please just send me psychic messages of empathizing-ness.

In honor of the only man who can simulataneously have sex with your mom while roundhouse-kicking you in the face and smothering Hitler, Osama Bin Laden, and five zombie bears in his chest hair, Happy Valentine's Day!