First Installment of 'Shit Written On Walls'

Found in St. John's, Newfoundland.


I took this just round the corner from the 'financial district,' which is more or less a block in the city that has all the banks on it. It reads "MAKE YOUR SELF SCARCE" which just goes towards promoting the stereotype that everyone there is nice. Even their graffiti is more polite. Anywhere else you'd find the standard "FUCK OFF" written unimaginatively next to a giant penis with eyebrows or something.

to be 30.

Well, it's a pretty sorry time in the life of a writer when the writer hasn't written for seven days.

But I haven't anything to say.

Life is boring. I'm pretty sure I've successfully hermitized myself. One of the only things I've been successful at in a long time. Sadly.

I'm going to end up a 30 year old who feels the need to get shitwrecked at parties and say really obnoxious things really loudly and dye her hair platinum blonde and in general be a plastic whorish type lady because of my wasted youth.

Which reminds me, I did go out the other day when aunt brought me to a 30 year old version of a house party. It was, at moments, fun, and had delicious jello shooters. There were two types of people there: the chill ones getting a bit tipsy and having a bang-up time, and the ones who despite being 10+ years older than me were acting about three years younger than me. The latter group included at least one plastic whorish type woman (PWTW). I think she even took a shot of amaretto from between her ginormous fake boobs. Pure class. She was the first person we ran into coming in the door. I briefly tossed around the idea of leaving.

At one point the host of the party couldn't be found (we found out later that he was pissed that people were hiding bottles and caps around his house and went outside to cool off. Apparently alcohol makes him a real pain in the ass Type A.) and PWTW, no doubt believing she is being incredibly helpful pipes up with "O my god, he's MIA. O. My. God. He's. M. I. A. He's MIA! OMG. O my fucking god, he's MIA. He's MIA. O my goddddd!"

No word of a lie, that is exactly what she said.

I wanted to punch her right in the silicon boob.

Instead, I stood behind her and imitated her, silently mouthing her words, much to my own amusement.


Ps, I changed the song of the week. Give it a listen, Regina Spektor is amazing.

Happy Moon landing Day

Yay for space.

For you skeptics, here.

Post that should be about Newfoundland but isn't because I don't feel like it. It was wonderful but I'll write about it later.

Well, I'm home now. And I fully plan on writing a Newfoundland overview at some point....later. But these days I haven't felt much like writing, which is an odd way for me to feel. It is also very bad because I've come to the conclusion that the only way for me to become famous is to write a book or something, as I have neither the talent nor the skill to do anything else. I probably don't have enough writing gusto and je ne sais quoi to be an author anyways, but at this point it is the only way I see to potential fame. FAME.

Buuuut... I haven't written a journal or a blogge or lyrics to songs I never finish in a while. It's been a lazy little while, mentally speaking. This lethargy is just another reason why I'm a failure at life in general.

I ALSO fail because I completely forgot about Song of the Week. So I am going to change it right now.... Ain't she gorgy?

I don't know why exactly I want to be famous. It's insane really. I'm crazy and stupid enough as it is, I'm sure I'd end up as one of those coked out, drunken famous people whose name rings vague bells in people's minds but they can't quite remember why. Still. Despite seeing the private lives of the rich and famous splashed across the tabloids and told in daily 30 second clips on TV, every mundane thing they do twisted into a 'top story', I'm intensely jealous of them. Secretly. So don't tell anyone.

To want fame is probably one of the most masochistic desires there is.

This is like when I was little and all I wanted out of life was the ability to do magic. When I was eleven I cried all night once because my letter to Hogwarts never came..... I'm still convinced the owl carrying it just died along the way and they never realized.

Well, now I'm older and my dreams are more realistic, yes, but just as unlikely to ever come true.




So remember kids, if you shoot for the stars, you will probably land among asteroids. So wear a helmet and elbow pads.

And even if you do make it, you will probably be incinerated by the stars' heat. Or die from lack of oxygen, because, DUH you're in space dumbass.


God I hate those stupid metaphors.
That is why I choose to butcher them.

Newfoundland and more to come.

I have a load and a half to write about Newfoundland.... but there isn't internet access in the cabins we're staying at. Right now I'm sitting in the lobby area/general store/library/icecream shop of the cabin place, the only spot nearby with internet. But I have to go to bed. I'm so tired, plus the store is closing any minute.

So I'll maybe put some pics.... if I can manage to sort through the 56 788 933 ones I've taken so far.

O btw, its been sunny and warm the whole time so far. What? Madness.

I have even tanned.



EDIT: I have even burnt.

An Airport with free internet access?

NO WAY. this must be a dream. But no, it's true. I'm currently in the Halifax airport and I am using the internet without paying for it with my soul. Or money. It's amazing. Whoever thought of the novel idea of free internet is a winner. A true hero.

The East coast really is full of the bestest people.

Even the girl in the store where I picked up a magazine (Rolling Stone....it has the icky Jonas Hoes on the front, but we are all told as children not to judge a book by its cover, ya?) was genuinely nice. She actually seemed to be asking questions about where I'm from and where I'm going because she wanted to know (not in a creepy way) and not just because her employer was there checking to see if she was exuding the right amount of fake friendliness.

Anyways, know what I just realized? Well....since Newfoundland is super special and gets its own time zone that's an hour and a half ahead of Ontario, instead of having to wake up at 8:30 am to make my schedueled time ticket to pick my classes, I get to sleep in and do it at 10:00 am. Beauty, ainit?


Well, that's mostly all I can think of right now. Flights aren't exactly the most riveting things to talk about, unless you've survived its crashing or you joined the Mile High Club (ya it's got a website), neither of which I'm planning on doing, because to be a survivor the plane has to crash first, which would suck, and also, have you ever seen Snakes On a Plane? Well I have and let's just say that two members of that club came to a painfully awkward end upon receiving several venomous bites in places that should never be bitten. Or could be, I guess.... if you're into that.

So ya, that was scaring. And all I would be able to think about would be snakes slithering out of the toilet.

Gotta go. We is bording. Peace.
And remember kids, the only place better than where you are is anywhere else.

New Weekly feature perhaps?

I think I may add a new weekly feature to this here blogge.

It shall be called "Shit Written on Walls" and it shall be of the interesting graffiti I see. It won;t necessarily need to be written on walls, but I like that title, so that is how it shall stay.

Trouble is, most of the interesting graffiti in the world resides in washrooms and it is just a tad unsettling to hear a camera go off in the stall next to you whilst you're on the toilet. I would like to do this in a way that doesn't make me look like a total creepo.

You've got a bloody right to sing.

So the weather here sucks balls. It's rainy and cold. If it does this in Newfoundland, I will boycott talking about the weather for ever. I won't give it the satisfaction of getting my attention.

It already has every other Canadian to talk about it all the time anyways.

Geez I'm sometimes so stereotypical.
My fall back conversation starter? The weather.
My fall back blogge post topic? The weather.

I think it must be that we get so much of it up here. You know, diverse weather. It's constantly changing on us so it never really gets old. Hmmm...it's odd that I don't have a "weather" tag. I have a climate one, but that is different. Get it right.

You know what are dangerous? iPods. And I don't mean that people wear them and get hit by cars, or wear them and suddenly they're blind to the world because they're searching for a song, or wear them and go deaf because they're too stupid to turn the goddam volume down (yes I'm talking to you dumbass at the front of the bus whos music I can hear through the music I'm listening to on my iPod), or wear them and fall off cliffs because the music in their ears drowned out the telltale sound of the cliff breaking beneath them.... No, I'm talking about when I'm out in public, maybe at work or in the mall and I've got the damn thing plugged into my ears and a really top notch song comes on and I have to catch myself before I burst out singing right there and then.

Sometimes just for a moment I can't catch myself and I end up with wierd stares because I just sang something like "Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead..." (Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen - though I sincerely hope you already knew that, and me telling you so was just redundant because that song is probably the most bomb song to ever be sung), and they're thinking, 'let's get outta here, there's some freak singing about her psychopathic murderings.'

So I guess the danger is that I may get put into a mental institution.

The music...I just can't suppress it. I just know I'm in for trouble when Bowie or Queen or Paramore or Supertramp or ..... (signifying endless list of artists) comes on.




So remember kids, the only fate you have is the one you take for yourself.
Peace.

Are YOU Heterobifunctional?

I swear, my vocabulary is expanding exponentially as I work at this job. It's boring as hell, but my vocabulary is not suffering. No sir.

So a guy was talking to my boss today and starts saying things about "heterobifunctional" something or others. Honestly, I didn't hear another word out of his mouth after he said "heterobifunctional" because my mind, of its own accord, started coming up with definitions of the word.

I basically came up with this, it's golden, no kidding: "Someone who is basically a heterosexual individual, but, if the conditions are right, can swing the other way should the need arise. They are probably not very good at it. They are just functional."

Eh? That was the very first thing that popped into my head.

But, in reality, the word is not nearly so interesting as that, it just means Crosslinkers with different reactive groups at either end, enabling sequential conjugation between two different functional groups in proteins and other molecules.

Not overall a fun definition.

What I do with my time.

I leave for Newfoundland on Thursday! I'm so excited. All I have to do is devise a way to completely block out the bleating whining/shouting/angry mutterings of my family, and the trip should be a hoot and a half.

I don't know if I'll be able to post while I'm there. Have they heard of the internet?
Just kidding.
But seriously, there has to has to HAS TO be somewhere with reliable internet there so I can register for Fall classes. My stupid registration time ticket is while I'm there and if I don't register RIGHT THEN, I will end up with classes I would never consider taking but am stuck with because everything else will be full.

In other news, I realized that I have been doing absolutely nothing with my life this summer. Sure I'm working, but that is not personally fulfilling, and it is boring as hell. I need to do something real. So I decided to sign up for the MS Bike Tour, a 150 km bike trip spanning two days with all the raised funds going towards Multiple Sclerosis research, a cause very close to my heart indeed. I'm on a team and all. I'm psyched, but I am also sososososoooo out of shape it's scary. I need to start turning my useless self back into some semblance of an athlete so that I don't die embarrassingly on a bicycle on a lonely stretch of road somewhere between Ottawa and Kemptville.

It is a cluttered mess.

I was reading a blogge post, as I often do, of a random person's blogge whom I don't know. It was very fundamental Christian with lots of Atheist bashing and what I guess is called right wing extremism. Sounds scary, don't it? (Example)

And you know what's interesting is how Atheists and Fundies will sometimes visit each others' blogges and angrily comment on how absurd one view is, or how bad they are at making an argument. The anonymity the internet provides not only allows people to have well thought out debates, but also for lines to be crossed during those debates that might not otherwise be crossed in real life, face to face conversation (mostly because that type of line crossing gets people beaten up).

The internet makes for some of the trashiest, most honest, most thought-provoking, wildest and craziest, most unbearably mean-spirited, and most spot-on arguments you'll ever see. It's all a jim-jam of articles and blogge posts, critics and cynics, activist and apathetic sites that can spout all sorts of nonsense, or sometimes, all sorts of compelling arguments. You can say what you want, unchecked. All those thoughts popping around like jumping beans in your brain with nowhere to go now have a tiny internet sized soapbox to stand on.

[Did you just picture a jumping bean on a soapbox, because I totally just did.]

Anyhoo. As I read this particular post, which happened to be a Fundie ripping into Atheists like they are some sort of hydra exponentially growing new heads to eat at the 'truths' of the Bible, I had to laugh, partly because what the guy says is so ridiculous, and I had to cry.... because what the guy says is so ridiculous. And not just Fundies are guilty of this. Dumbass, horribly insulting works come from all sorts of groups, religious or not, political or otherwise. Stupidity is everywhere.

In the comments section of the post, someone said the author must be a Poe. Now whenever I see the word Poe, I think of my dear friend Edgar and his pally the Raven. Consequently, I thought that the commenter meant the author was a poet, or maybe a creepy bird. I knew this was an absurd notion, and I also knew that my knowledge of internet lingo is severely limited, so I looked up "Poe" and found many things including "Point of Entry," "Portal of Evil," "Polynesian staple food made from the corm of a kalo plant," and this Poe of the teletubby variety. I briefly thought that the commenter might have been calling the poster a Portal of Evil, until I came upon the Urban Dictionary and learned that a Poe is "A person who writes a parody of a fundamentalist that is mistaken for the real thing."

Now that makes more sense.

But I really doubted that this particular blogger was a "Poe".

But how can one know, in the end? And there are more than just Fundamentalist Poes. There are parodies of all sorts of sections of society, from Emos to bird watchers (maybe not bird watchers actually, but anything is possible).

So what if I am a Poe? An extremely convincing parody of a teenage girl who is sometimes bitter, sometimes giddy, sometimes confused, sometimes mad as hell, sometimes fed up, sometimes annoying her readers reader with her dumb and awkward - but not obviously fake - problems.

Well, I'm not just so you know.

But then maybe I am.

SPOOOOKY.

I'm here for the anonymity people. Not so I can argue, just mostly to vent... maybe comment on a blogge or two that I find particularly intriguing.

I don't wanna convert people to anything. I mean, what would I be converting people to anyways, Stupidityism? I think yes.

HAPPY CANADA DAY eh?

Take off ya hoser. Go have a beer.

With a beaver.
Or just eat his tail. SOOO delicious.

Ps. this is a picture of a beaver saying "Ok, so yes, I did just chew through a tree and put it through your roof. But really, what do you want me to do about it?"