Lobsterita

Guest blogger Mirdulon today:

Utah looks like a washing machine. Its the only state that looks like an appliance. Kentucky looks like fried chicken. What's up with that? Both Colorado and Wyoming are dumb square boxes. Ha Ha. Stupid dumb boxes. On a relatively unrelated note, down with Canada. Damn Canooks are up to something.

Who does this to a dog, really?

When I think of where I want to be in a year or two, what I want to accomplish, I come back to a few basic things. I see myself in a house or apartment, where I can paint the walls whatever colors I want, and hang paintings everywhere. I see myself with a dog, a dog with a clever name I can take for walks early in the morning before I go to work. I see myself with a part time job and plenty of auditions, some of whom turn into actual paying jobs. I want clever plates like they sell at Pier One and friends to spend my friday nights with. I want to be doing...something. Something is much better than nothing.

El Nino 2: Back in Fire Version



I have so many things I want to do with the rest of this year and the next one coming. I want to actually buy normal plain shirts so I can wear half of the crazy clothing I own without mixing them all and looking like Crazy Bag Lady. I want to finally get started re-learning my spanish. I want to go to Disneyland. I want to get another job and start actually saving money. I want my roommates not to get married. I'd like more acting to happen. I need to get into the performing arts school I have myself set on. I want nice boots. Maybe some real art, framed. A date now and then. That would be nice. I'm also thinking of signing up for a photography class somewhere, maybe Salt Lake Community College. I do loves photographing things.

Eric conveys more things that are funny. Go look.

The smoke from El Nino 2: Back In Fire Version is currently blowing down onto Provo and away from Salt Lake. More importantly, it blows the fire AWAY from Heber. So once again, go lake!

Only You Can Inhale Forest Fires

So my hometown is one lake away from being in flames, which makes me say "go lake!" but also makes me cough quite a bit. The wind is blowing the smoke down into Salt Lake valley so now everywhere I go I can taste when I breathe. According to the news people are discouraged from exercising outdoors but I seriously have to question the sanity of anyone out there trying to do more than walk from their car to the store and back, because that simple act is making me as wheezy as Grandpa Simpson. Ew. My lungs are smokey mesquite flavored. Also, I'm craving a cigarette.

Go lake!

Lessons from Disney


All my sitting around time has led me to re-watch old Disney classics, and I've realized some very important life lessons from them.
A, that love solves everything and
B, pretty people deserve more respect. Apparently ugly people hate them simply for their beauty and goodness and who deserves that, really? Geez.

This is from an email I sent today:

I've started on a short script and a story today what with the insomnia so I'll send them along when they're a bit more fleshed out. Scripts need flesh! In a not so...creepy...way...I...guess..... ew.

I mean, its not like scripts are zombies or...

nevermind.

Read this because I tell you to.

Dear lady who works at London Market,

You are the nicest old lady EVER. I like your stories about things that would seem boring if told by anyone else but from you in your wonderful accent they seem so damn wise. You always bring to my attention the fact that my coin purse is darling. Somehow you always telling me my coin purse is darling never gets old because you make it sound so wise. I wish to purchase your dialect, and with it, your wisdom.

Yours,

The girl with the cute purse

Hey, learn more about soccer!

A quote from Everything Halloween:

The art of costuming, of adopting temporary personas for celebration and/or awakening, is among humanity's oldest traits. But the way middle Americans (even young, urbane middle Americans) do it is like the way middle Americans do a lot of things, half-hearted and aloof.
"Square" middle Americans often keep their inner passions inhibited because they're afraid; "hip" middle Americans often keep their passions inhibited because they're afraid, but pretend they're doing it because they're too cool.

I think this is true about a lot of things we middle classers do. Stupid middle classers. Its like people never taking a chance on anything and pretend they're just "accepting that life can't be as fun as you want it to be."

(Rest of the article can be found at Everything Halloween)

I am cordially invited to the Westminster University President's Ball (insert curliqued fancy handwriting here) to be held tomorrow night in some really tall building. Hooray.

Why must my clever plans to attend gallery openings turn into ordering pizza and watching Valley of the Dolls with my roommates? I'm hopeless. I'll pretend I'm resting to recover from some amazing ordeal in the jungles of somewhere. That deserves pizza.

Utah girls are dumb. Dumb dumb dumb. I'm not referring to all girls that live in Utah. I'm referring to very definitive Utah-Girls.

Dear Utah-Girls,
Your pastel colors and flowers just make you look like you're trying to look five years old. You are too blonde. You only want to talk to me about how all men either suck and are dumb and we should be able to live without them, or all about how you want to be married and how your boyfriend is so dreamy and you just know he's THE ONE. Shut up shut up shut up. I don't want to hear about how sweet and cute your fiancee is. I have seen him. He is fat, bald, and unattractive. Do not pretend we will still be friends after you are married. Do not expect me to wow you with tales of my dating life after you are married, bored, and pregnant. In conclusion, go away.

And people think our art is weird NOW. I sure could invest in one of these glamorous helper monkeys.


Hee hee hee. No reason for this. It just makes me laugh.

S'cuse Me While I Rant, I mean, Ponder:


Why do people get married? More importantly, why do my friends get married? Why do I live in a state where somehow picking some dude before you even have a college degree is considered necessary? We are in our late teens and early twenties, for crying out loud! What is it that makes girls my age spend thousands in tuition, schooling, and books to train for a career they already know they will never actually go on to pursue??? I can't date "good" boys because the good boys want the same thing the "bad" boys want. They want sex. The "bad" boys do this by being all smooth-talky, paying for a dinner, and then trying to get me back to their room. The "good" boys spend as little money as possible on you while trying simultaneously to sell you on the exchange of not only sex, but all your sex, ever, plus your uterus and rest of your life.

I understand that sounds harsh, but let me ask you, dear all-of-the-internet, just how much respect and emotional love can marriages be based on if the people getting married are hormonal college students who have known each other all of a month? To me it just sounds like long term prostitution. You're picking a guy because he doesn't completely turn your stomach and selling your tricks to him in exchange for jewelry and real estate. I'm not saying marriage is bad. I'm just saying that the fact you want to get some somehow instantly means love or that marriage is something you collect like another I'm-good merit badge is completely daft.

Dumbest People Ever

I had an audition today. I was in line behind two of the dumbest damn human beings ever. The conversation I overhead went something like this:

Boy: Hey, whose class are you taking?
Girl: Rae-Ann. She's so pretty.
Boy: How long have you been coming here?
Girl: A couple of months. I came in for some audition and they were like "hey, you're pretty" and I like totally was comfortable with the camera or something.
Boy: Yeah, I was the same way. I just came in to try out and they were like "wow, you're so good, we totally want you to come be with our agency" and I was like, nah, it must be like a ploy and---
Girl: Whats a ploy?
Boy: You know, like a gimmick. Like they sign you up for classes and then just take your money
Girl: Oh. Ploy. Okay.
Boy: So I was like "this is totally a ploy" but they were like "no, you're really good" and I was like [insert lame gay voice] "Shut uuuup!"
Girl: You're funny.
Boy: No I'm not. I think I'm cute though. [fake laugh] nah, just kidding.
JRP lady: Its your turn
Boy: Now don't be nervous, just go in and be ALL THAT. Slate all confident, show it off.
Girl: How do I slate?

You get the picture. Dumb dumb dumb!

I see big t-shirt endorsement deals for Tyler Toast. Courtesy of Ryloc.

Today's Progress Report: I am wearing a stupid hat, and the plot of Charlie's Angels 2 totally confused me. What the hell kind of sense did either Crispin Glover OR the Holes kid make?? Bllllrgh. Good fake fighting though. And now I'm off to the Utah State Fair. I'm going to look at some cow carved out of butter and buy me a lame mini-pizza before harassing the chickens in the poultry exhibit.

Courtesy of The Onion

I'm off to Dee's for some late night cuisine with my "homies." Not Freaky Dees, where I normally go, where the person-of-ambiguous-gender-and-early-nineties-fashion waits tables, but some Dee's out on 72nd to meet up with Miranda's boy Preston. We're crashing his traditional Wednesday night and making sure those two don't try any smooching. They'll be married by next thursday at this rate if we don't slow 'em down a little.

Ultratart says-
When Necking, It's Rude to Wear Stabby Chokers.

Trying Myself On
by Me

I'm a pretty typical girl. I love clothing, even buy shoes that don't fit, and I am convinced each and every time I buy new makeup that it will magically transform me into someone newer and more glamorous. But I have to wonder. I look around my room, my closet, and I wonder, what exactly am I trying to prove?

Somewhere along the line I took the sitcom american dream to heart. You know the one. Its the standard formula where the family owns a ridiculously large house, and every morning our heroine trots downstairs for breakfast wearing a perfectly coordinated, never-before-seen outfit. Her friends stop by to pick her up, all wearing their own shiny new ensembles and somehow this keeps happening, day after day. Where do those clothes come from? How does a struggling salesman/mechanic/author/whatever comfortably own such a large home for his family where every member of the family has his own large bedroom, car, and bathroom? Comparing this fantasyland to my own relatively pathetic life of one long-distance friend, and a mother who considered twenty dollars a price only movie stars paid for a shirt and loafers a classy shoe, I developed my own ideas of how fashion worked.

I do get riled up if I have to wear the same shirt too often. I'm convinced it means something and it really doesn't. Its a shirt. I'm always trying to tackle some new style or figure out how to wear some new shoes. I thrift like mad so its not a huge chunk of change but still...I wonder if there wasn't some deep-seated insecurity with who I am that makes me keep trying on personalities. Maybe I'm just curious, testing how far I can take myself. But I still get worked up sometimes, thinking if I can find the right earrings or pick a lipstick, the world will step in and announce "by jove, she's done it! This girl is the perfect version of herself!"

If I had the money to buy people's paintings, Susan Synarski's would be it. Her style is so quirky and clever. The fact that she illustrated a wonderful little book about women pirates might have something to do with it as well.

Stepford is BACK!
I just found out but The Stepford Wives is going to be friggin awesome. The original creeps me out beyond all reason and I love the book, pulp paperback though it seems. And of course, growing up in a family-oriented town full of wifely types makes it seem all the more scary. Brrrrr. Go read it and then rent the 1975 version. Full of silly hats but also, as I've said, brrrrrr.

My inner child is sixteen years old!

Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but while
adults might just accept that, I know
something's gotta change. And it's gonna
change, just as soon as I become an adult and
get some power of my own.


How Old is Your Inner Child?
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Words of wisdom from Ross:
You can't tell if a kitten is a boy or a girl until about nine weeks. By that time, you've probably already named the cat with the wrong gender.

Wow. Really makes you think, id'n it?

I think most people have seen Edward Gorey's work. Even if they don't know his name, they reconize the style, or at least really dig that catchy animated intro to "Mystery" on PBS. Part of his appeal is the fact much of his work was done illustrating other people's novels. Part of the thrill of being a Gorey fan is the moment when you're walking down the aisle of a used bookstore or library and catch a glimpse of some random book and go ping! because you've just discovered a Gorey print you didn't know existed. If its a library you tend to want to steal the book but that's not advised. I remember for like a week I wanted to run away and find Edward and become his lover and muse, but then I realized he was in his seventies and odd-looking. This last weekend I went home for some things and came across my books of his artwork, and now I'm all into it again. So check it out, and if nothing else, when you're sitting around your apartment watching television with some hottie and "Mystery" comes on, you can point to the animation and say "Edward Gorey, an amazing artist. I've seen his work" and it will totally make you look cool.

For some reason today I thought this guy at the gym was scowling at me. Turns out he was mad at this guy next to me for kifing his machine. All is well.

Ladies and Gents, I give you... Septemberprov!

If you were talking directly to me instead of reading what I've written, you would see that I am currently jumping up and down with anticipation (making it very difficult to type) for tonights long-form-stravaganza in Clearfield. I haven't done any longform in months and I'm itching to try again.
My friend Ryan Locante is back from Chicago to teach a workshop and I get to see all the friends I don't see as often as I'd like anymore. It will be like old times. Except this time I'm 21 so I don't have to wait in the car with the windows cracked a little listening to the radio while they enjoy themselves inside the bar afterward.

Just a thought...

When I think of the musical "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," one phrase comes to mind. Stockholm syndrome.


A GARAGE-GURL. Youre into loud music, hot guys and
wild fashions. Youre most at ease when youve
got all your mates around you and you like to
party. Boys are a game and youre always on the
ball because you make sure youre always number
one.
Your virtues: Confidence, fun nature, sociability.
Your flaws: Loudness, jealous tendency, need for
attention.


What kind of girl are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Into every generation, a Slayer is born. One girl
in all the world, to find the vampires wher
they gather, and to stop the spread of their
evil and the swell of their numbers. In our
time, that girl is Buffy Summers. But Buffy is
merely one Slayer in an eternal continuum of
warriors for the Powers That Be.


What is your Buffy the Vampire Slayer Superpower?
brought to you by Quizilla

Ah, the life of a lunatic. This weekend I thought my life was falling apart in the most horrible way, that there was going ot be massive angry fighting, social hell, and possibly running away to start a new life. Flash forward to Tuesday morning when I realize the entire ordeal was based on....absolutely....nothing. We're talking social irritation on a level so low it doesn't even register as conversation filler. And somehow I had decided this was my own personal world war. I don't know whether to feel silly or really freaked out.

Seeing as I am alone. loveless and crazy enough to need pills, I decided to take a day off and just post someone else's nonsensory. I give you Dan Goldstein's...

Dating Advice for Male Undergraduates

Rule one: Know the magic words
Ever wish there were some words you could say to cause that special someone to fall for you? Well, the good news is that there are! The magic words are “hey there”. Open an email with “hey there” and she’ll know that you're playful, good natured, and available! Watch it, though: you need to be careful about confusing “hey there” with “hey you”. “Hey you” is powerful stuff like nitroglycerin ... it's best left handled by the experts!

Rule two: Be well connected
A guy who can maintain a vast network of contacts must be a winner with Emotional Intelligence. Find ways to advertise the size of your network. Post your numerous IM conversations on the 'net. Call her often (to show you’re on top of things), but make sure you end first by pretending that “you have to run”. She’ll think you’re darting off to a polo match or something. When she calls and you are on the other line, be sure to tell her “I was just on the other line” ... she’ll think you were talking to the president!

Rule three: Be an artist
Every girl knows that no man can provide for a woman like a drummer, with his hand-eye coordination and wrist strength. Try carrying around a pair of drumsticks for a week. Organize and promote your own rock concerts! Playing guitar in the stairwell is another terrific strategy – everyone who wants to leave the dorm is forced to see what a talented, thoughtful young man you are!

Rule four: Woo her with a fact-finding mission
If you don’t have the courage to talk to her, try sending out some emissaries. What girl can think straight after fielding provocative questions from you friends, like “do you know who David is?” and “what do you think of David?” If she previously found you shy or pathetic, being approached by "your people" will make her see you for the A-List Celeb you are!

Rule five: If you got it, drop it
Use the first five minutes of a conversation to spell out the facts that make you an irresistible catch, like: how many years of French you took in high school, the names of the countries you’ve visited, the elite suburb you come from (girls love suburbs), and so on. Trust me, friend, after hearing these facts she’ll want to hop on the “you” bandwagon making its first stop at Successville!

Rule six: Be big and strong
If you’re lucky enough that your dream girl takes you by the upper arm, make sure you flex those muscles. “This dog can hunt” her instincts will tell her, “and I bet he can fend off predators, too!”

Rule seven: Be deep
If you’re ever sitting with your dreamgirl or a hill or a rooftop, looking out at the ocean or the night sky, be sure to lean back on your arms and talk about big ideas like Infinity or Time. She’ll see you as the wise old philosopher every girl wants to hang out with!

Special rule for girls!: Say his name three times, followed by “what am I going to do with you?” Suppose David sees you as a friend, but not as the “special friend” you want to be. Next time you see him at a party, just say “David, David, David, what am I going to do with you?” It’s much better than being direct! And he’ll be up all night thinking about how he’s going to ask you out!

First one to buy this shirt, wins!