I recently took a rather startling perambulation down memory lane, and realized that I have been in a LOT of embarrassing video projects during the course of my life.

List of video recordings that will seriously hinder my chances of being President:

1. The one where I name a whole bunch of Lego men after my 7th grade teachers and then proceed to destroy them all with a succession of tidal waves, volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and typhoons.

2. The one where I’m pretending to be a Nazi. (I was the costume designer for a history class video-skit project on WWII, and they needed extras. The writer, the music guy, and I all got roped into playing Nazis).

3. The one where I am dressed as a drunken business man and get seduced by a flamenco-dancing drag queen. (This was another history project, believe it or not).

4. The one where I’m being attacked by a sheet of lined paper to the tune of Phantom of the Opera.

5. The one where I tried to make a documentary about the floating blue Jesus statue near my house and ended up comparing it to Dr. Manhatten and accidentally zooming in on its crotch.

6. The one where I tried to give a video presentation about a calculus problem and my visual aid fell on me and I fell on the camera.


Eheh. Vote me!

Blogging.

This is my concerted effort to write in my blog regularly. Despite the fact that I live at home in a small town stuck in the 1980's bad music scene, I swear I live an interesting life. Reeaallly.

Yesterday I found a torn up note on the ground. It was a simple love note at one point, I think, but only a small shred of it remains. It was torn in such a way that what was written looked like a very poignant poem, which I will post here when I ask permission from the person I suspect wrote it such a long time ago.

Updates:

I got into a car accident
I bought a plastic lightsaber
I figured out a few things about death
I have an art studio that I'm all too often afraid of.

Also! I was supposed to have a 48 hour EEG beginning today, but the guy before me decided not to turn in the equipment, so they had to send me home. This gives me time to create a NEW blog, since I obviously spend so much of my time blogging...:-p. So, I'm at Rosemont Hall starting a blog about working at The Nevermore, since everything that happens there is too crazy not to be plastered all over the internet. Evan will write in it too. Hopefully, we won't be caught by management anytime soon.

This is how I bake:

Step 1: Hmm. I missed baking pie with Liz, and that's our fourth of July tradition. Not ok. I shall make her muffins.

Step 2: Oops. She can't eat gluten. Grocery store time. Excuse me, sir, now, this isn't exactly an oxymoron, but where do you keep flour that has absolutely nothing to do with wheat?

Step 3: Ooo! Chocolate chips.

Step 4: Ok. Two cups rice flour, some baking powder, salt. Hmm...I don't really want to do a wet mixture in a different bowl. I think it'll be ok if I stir it enough. I'll just beat the eggs first. Ok! This seems to be working.

Step 5: (Taste)

Step 6: Urgh. This is kind of grainy. Gluten must be some sort of binding agent. What should I put in instead? Well, baking's a science. Vinegar has a really strong taste, so it's probably capable of breaking bonds or something - I mean, it tastes like the sort of thing that does. Worth a shot.

Step 7: Ok, science. Vinegar is a new addition. Every action must have an equal yet opposite reaction, that will neutralize it. Hmmm...the opposite of vinegar is honey, because they're contrasting concepts in that aphorism about catching flies. So I'll add honey.

Step 8: Ok, I'm just gonna put these chocolate chips in. Chocolate chips ROCK.

Step 9: Bake. Don't set the timer. The muffins will tell you when they're ready

I've had my fair share of baking fiascos in the past(as I'm sure you can guess, but these muffins tasted really good!

The Supermarket, New Hope PA

A few thoughts on supermarkets, primarily involving the cereal isle:

1. Fiber One does, in fact, taste like cardboard. Specifically the kind kindergarteners use in art projects and cover with macaroni and Elmer’s glue. It is also Boy Cereal. Special K is Girl Cereal. It doesn’t taste like anything.

2. High School Musical Cereal?? What is the world coming to???

3. They discontinued Berry Berry Kix. That is BLEAK. They think all-new Honey Kix will somehow replace the pink and purple void left in my life by the Berry variety. It won’t.

4. Supermarkets wield their music like the cruel and sarcastic thing it is. When I’m in a rush, they inevitably play “Under Pressure” as I try to decide between 25 different kinds of yogurt. After a break-up, they play either Celine Dion or “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Whenever they play “Edge of Seventeen,” which is of course awesome, the song gets interrupted by something like, “Mrs. So-and-so, will you please pick up your lost and permanently psychologically scarred toddler from the cashier?”

When it is not being the ironic soundtrack to my problems, supermarket music is always “They Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot.” Which, really, is the ironic soundtrack of the world’s problems, so it counts.

5. Dry milk is kinda freaky, but not as freaky as the mom behind you in line telling her son that he might have swine flu. Willing to bet it’s the same kid whose disappearance interrupted my favorite song.

6. Making eye contact with the guy who lives in the secret room behind the milk shelves is surprisingly awkward.

The Nevermore, New Hope PA.

Today I was introduced to one of the most attractive guys I've ever seen in my life, and my mouth was stuffed with bread.

I ate an early dinner at work, and got reeeally hungry around 8, so I snuck into the kitchen and grabbed a dinner roll. When I got back to the desk, I could hardly contain myself and shoved about half the roll into my mouth. It was good. It was that really squishy kind that gets stuck behind your teeth.

At that moment, my boss sauntered up, followed by a living, breathing Greek statue in a fantastic black t-shirt. "Have you met Ares?" my boss asked.

I looked up, blushed, and tried to swallow the sodden ball of fluff lodged in my mouth, to no avail. "...Ploomph?" I replied, kind of pathetically. I don't know how they reacted because I started staring really intently at a spot on the counter in front of me. Damned spot. I need to keep careful watch on it, see, because last week it attempted a hostile takeover of our business cards. Really. >.> <.<

Oh, welcome to my life.

I am consoled by repeatedly telling myself:

1. He was probably gay. Never mind the strait vibes.
2. Devastatingly handsome men are totally not my type. Seriously, who's into that?? *pout*
3. Realistically, I would have been equally charming and articulate even without a dinner roll stuck in my face. Ploomph.

The Internet, Cyberspace.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qxWGr8VhzQ

!!!! WHAT THE DEVIL ARE THESE THINGS????

Swarthmore, PA

Today I stomped in all the amazing puddles behind Wharton.

Then I dried my feet on my heater.

Sometimes, I really love Swat.