Could you go the rest of your life without smoking a cigarette?
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Lies and anime (or maybe manga I can never tell)
Today I sat in my normal seat on the first day of this class, and my neighbor sat down and, first things first, changed the background of his computer screen to his token manga chick that's been sitting next to me for many months now.
"It's your favorite." He said to me.
"Not the manga-cat chick who flips me off!" The picture is drawn from the ground looking up at this chick rolling dice--the dice rolling hand position is mid-middle-finger-birdie.
He shrugs and then seems kind of offended. He likes his furry comics but I wasn't expecting him to be offended because:
"Rachel. She's a dog, not a cat."
"She's a manga chick with cat ears, though--they're pointy, sticking straight out of her hair like a kitty."
"No, those are dog ears. In fact--she's only part dog, more like three qua-"
"You kidding me? That's a cat-girl, not a dog-girl."
"Let me show you a corgi."
He pulls up a corgi picture with triangle ears, "See how this dog's ears are pointed? Like a husky? Dogs have pointy ears."
"See how that human with cat ears is a human with cat ears anime-ized sort-of and it flips me off?"
"She's a dog, Rachel."
Then I realized something. It dawned on me slowly and horribly.
Everything I knew was a lie.
"So...wait...are you saying that all those cat mangas--all those are...DOG mangas? You mean every cat-girl I've seen is actually a dog-girl? Every furry I've seen on the internet? Every anime show--they're all--DOGS?"
"Mostly, yeah."
"They were dogs this whole time!"
"They're sometimes hamsters, or foxes too..."
He could tell I was upset by this.
"Did you want her to be a cat-girl flipping you off, is that what you wanted?"
"Yes, That is what I wanted." I decided. "Actually I just want her to stop flipping me off. Also, she's hardly an animal. I mean...they didn't even change her legs or give her a tail or anything."
"That's because she's a half-breed. Well, three-quarters because she married a-"
"All the anime cat-people shows I watched as a little kid were wrong. They were all dogs. All the cats were all dogs."
"All the cats are always all dogs, Rachel." He said.
And then I changed my desktop background to a murky gray plaid. It was the loneliest raincloud of plaid.
"Thats very depressing, Rachel. Here, I'll change mine, too."
and he changed it to another furry chick.
"Dog." He whispered, "She's a dog, too."
"I thought she was a vampire!"
"No, she's a dog."
"But her--those are ears? Those hair-things are ears?"
"And she's got whiskers too."
Then it dawned on me even more slowly and even more horribly.
More lies.
All of this kid's vampires. Maybe every vampire comic he browsed during class when he should've been working. They were DOG ANIMES.
It makes sense now...I remember wondering most of his vampires had tails...I thought they were really long scarves. I can't believe we live in a day where furries turned into lazy blobby manga-esque people with wide elf-ears.
Oh shoot. Those weren't elves!
Some day it's going to step over the line--where these blobby furry-mangas are so lazy that they're basically just people with whiskers. Where they're basically just stick figures "eh just pretend it's a dog 5/18's breed once-removed, OK?" One day it's going to step over the line, and all the art has been all furries. All art. Everywhere. Picasso's guitar blue guy? Dog. Van Gogh's sunflowers? Dog. The Lincoln Memorial? Dog. That walking dude in the crosswalk traffic sign? Dog.
They are all dogs. All the art was all dogs. All the time. Everything is dogs.
"It's your favorite." He said to me.
"Not the manga-cat chick who flips me off!" The picture is drawn from the ground looking up at this chick rolling dice--the dice rolling hand position is mid-middle-finger-birdie.
He shrugs and then seems kind of offended. He likes his furry comics but I wasn't expecting him to be offended because:
"Rachel. She's a dog, not a cat."
"She's a manga chick with cat ears, though--they're pointy, sticking straight out of her hair like a kitty."
"No, those are dog ears. In fact--she's only part dog, more like three qua-"
"You kidding me? That's a cat-girl, not a dog-girl."
"Let me show you a corgi."
He pulls up a corgi picture with triangle ears, "See how this dog's ears are pointed? Like a husky? Dogs have pointy ears."
"See how that human with cat ears is a human with cat ears anime-ized sort-of and it flips me off?"
"She's a dog, Rachel."
Then I realized something. It dawned on me slowly and horribly.
Everything I knew was a lie.
"So...wait...are you saying that all those cat mangas--all those are...DOG mangas? You mean every cat-girl I've seen is actually a dog-girl? Every furry I've seen on the internet? Every anime show--they're all--DOGS?"
"Mostly, yeah."
"They were dogs this whole time!"
"They're sometimes hamsters, or foxes too..."
He could tell I was upset by this.
"Did you want her to be a cat-girl flipping you off, is that what you wanted?"
"Yes, That is what I wanted." I decided. "Actually I just want her to stop flipping me off. Also, she's hardly an animal. I mean...they didn't even change her legs or give her a tail or anything."
"That's because she's a half-breed. Well, three-quarters because she married a-"
"All the anime cat-people shows I watched as a little kid were wrong. They were all dogs. All the cats were all dogs."
"All the cats are always all dogs, Rachel." He said.
And then I changed my desktop background to a murky gray plaid. It was the loneliest raincloud of plaid.
"Thats very depressing, Rachel. Here, I'll change mine, too."
and he changed it to another furry chick.
"Dog." He whispered, "She's a dog, too."
"I thought she was a vampire!"
"No, she's a dog."
"But her--those are ears? Those hair-things are ears?"
"And she's got whiskers too."
Then it dawned on me even more slowly and even more horribly.
More lies.
All of this kid's vampires. Maybe every vampire comic he browsed during class when he should've been working. They were DOG ANIMES.
It makes sense now...I remember wondering most of his vampires had tails...I thought they were really long scarves. I can't believe we live in a day where furries turned into lazy blobby manga-esque people with wide elf-ears.
Oh shoot. Those weren't elves!
Some day it's going to step over the line--where these blobby furry-mangas are so lazy that they're basically just people with whiskers. Where they're basically just stick figures "eh just pretend it's a dog 5/18's breed once-removed, OK?" One day it's going to step over the line, and all the art has been all furries. All art. Everywhere. Picasso's guitar blue guy? Dog. Van Gogh's sunflowers? Dog. The Lincoln Memorial? Dog. That walking dude in the crosswalk traffic sign? Dog.
They are all dogs. All the art was all dogs. All the time. Everything is dogs.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Observations without a phone.
Today I lost my phone.
I was taking a class at the local community college (it's a 3-D computer animation class full of a few talented students, some barely getting by students, and then some other "student" people who I know are reading sonic the hedgehog fan fiction instead of doing classwork because I can see their monitor screen. In fact, while I am talking in parenthesis, lets talk some more about this class. First off, I'm taking this class because I was curious, not for the grade, which is why I can spend my time looking around a little bit and enjoying the weird company around me.
There's this kid in front of me who has taken 3 other semesters of this class--I know because I was there--and he has only modeled corbin bleu. This kid--who is nothing like the person you'd expect to be obsessed with corbin blue, has been staring at corbin bleu's face on his screen for over a year now.
This kid made the most terrifying short film of my life--pure horror. You walk into a room, and there's pixelated corbin bleu posters everywhere, and there's a sole jack in the box in the middle on a little table with corbin bleu on the outside, and it slowly opens and spins and then OUT POPS CORBIN BLEUS FACE in clown makeup it was so freakin creepy.
Anyway, he totally failed the past three semesters but is still taking the class for some reason, and now he's supposed to do a self portrait, which, considering that he isn't black or a singer or corbin bleu, would mean that corbin bleu should not be his reference material. But no, this creeper is modeling corbin bleu--again-and making corbin bleu look like the Guy on the Pringles can but in a fro and dead, dead eyes . I'm scared for my life sometimes.
And every day he freaks out for no reason, turns to me or whoever's around and goes
"EXCUSE ME?"
and I pretend to ignore him
"EXCUUUSE ME?"
"Yes?" I finally say
"Do you know how to...to...make this work?"
and I look at his corbin bleued screen and ask
"Make what work?"
"Could you make this work?"
"No." I lie "I don't know how to do that."
and he'll continue to do that until someone either a.) does it for him or b.) he gives up and decides to rock out to something on his earbuds as he stares into corbin bleu's eyes. Since it's about that time in the semester that everyone has stopped helping him, he's basically moved a pixel back and forth for three days. One vertex, he moves it to the right. Thinks about it. zooms into corbin bleu. zooms out. Then moves the vertex back, and repeats the process.
Which is better than this one dude from a different class who tried to pay me to do his art homework for him. First of all-it's art homework. My art would look nothing like his. And when I said 'no' he said,
"but then I'll fail this class and it will be all your fault"
"I already have an art degree. I don't need to do yours."
"That's really unfair to me."
and legit stormed away.)
Anyways, so the class I was taking was over and I forgot my phone. I said phoooo because it was raining and I had heavy things and was wearing a rediculous shirt.
And I need to talk about my shirt for a second because I have somthing to get off my chest: What the hell am I wearing? I've been wearing it all day, and I haven't been sure whether I should tuck it in, or wear it with a belt, or button it or unbutton it, or if it's just ironic or whatever. I don't even know if I look fat or skinny in it. It defy's all laws of physics and common sense and I don't know why I bought it or why I still want to wear it all the time.
But I did. It's called a High-Low hem shirt, so the back is a full on dress, and the front the hem cuts off at normal shirt length. It's for a much wider person, and it's see through and black. It also has the Dread Pirate Roberts sleeves. Anyways, now that you know why I bought it (because who could resist this) I just wanted to get that off my chest because...this is so weird. It's real guazy, too, and I swish around everywhere like I'm Severus Snape with about a foot longer than necessary train on my back for some reason and I feel like casting spells on people but I don't think they'd get it.
So anyways, I just got out of class and realized I was right next to a payphone.
I haven't used a payphone to call someone since College, back when I had a phone card (remember those?) and I called the parents once a month from the dorms to tell them I wasn't dead yet and they'd tell me they weren't dead yet and then they'd put more money on the card because they really enjoy those sort of conversations.
So anyways, I am right next to a payphone, and I decide, I have some change, lets use a payphone to call and get a ride. As my ride came I sat at a bench and looked around and waited. I waited like the good ol times like when I used to use payphones and phone cards.
I hadn't waited like that in a long time, without my phone to tweet, without anyone to talk to, without music to listen to. Instead I looked at the trees and tried really hard not to look at the people next to me as I shuffled. Then I decided to reach into my purse and pull out my journal, and my first thought was
"No, I only have a sketchbook. I used to journal all the time back when I would write. But I don't do that anymore"
And this thought KILLED me. I never write anymore! Thus why I have decided to start this sketchbook-blog up again. where I freewrite and don't care about who reads it or any of that nonsense. Because you know what? If I don't, how will I ever remember about the creeper with the corbin bleu problem, or the dude in the back row who always clarifies how to Ctrl-Z, or the unnatractive guy next to me who reads romance manga and sighs heavily every day as the main girl falls farther and farther in her doomed, vampiric love triangle? I wouldn't remember, I couldn't. And I should remember. I should remember these stupid things.
All of these stupid things I should remember as I wear this stupid shirt. I should always remember to remember the stupid things by remembering to remembering to write about them.
I was taking a class at the local community college (it's a 3-D computer animation class full of a few talented students, some barely getting by students, and then some other "student" people who I know are reading sonic the hedgehog fan fiction instead of doing classwork because I can see their monitor screen. In fact, while I am talking in parenthesis, lets talk some more about this class. First off, I'm taking this class because I was curious, not for the grade, which is why I can spend my time looking around a little bit and enjoying the weird company around me.
There's this kid in front of me who has taken 3 other semesters of this class--I know because I was there--and he has only modeled corbin bleu. This kid--who is nothing like the person you'd expect to be obsessed with corbin blue, has been staring at corbin bleu's face on his screen for over a year now.
This kid made the most terrifying short film of my life--pure horror. You walk into a room, and there's pixelated corbin bleu posters everywhere, and there's a sole jack in the box in the middle on a little table with corbin bleu on the outside, and it slowly opens and spins and then OUT POPS CORBIN BLEUS FACE in clown makeup it was so freakin creepy.
Anyway, he totally failed the past three semesters but is still taking the class for some reason, and now he's supposed to do a self portrait, which, considering that he isn't black or a singer or corbin bleu, would mean that corbin bleu should not be his reference material. But no, this creeper is modeling corbin bleu--again-and making corbin bleu look like the Guy on the Pringles can but in a fro and dead, dead eyes . I'm scared for my life sometimes.
And every day he freaks out for no reason, turns to me or whoever's around and goes
"EXCUSE ME?"
and I pretend to ignore him
"EXCUUUSE ME?"
"Yes?" I finally say
"Do you know how to...to...make this work?"
and I look at his corbin bleued screen and ask
"Make what work?"
"Could you make this work?"
"No." I lie "I don't know how to do that."
and he'll continue to do that until someone either a.) does it for him or b.) he gives up and decides to rock out to something on his earbuds as he stares into corbin bleu's eyes. Since it's about that time in the semester that everyone has stopped helping him, he's basically moved a pixel back and forth for three days. One vertex, he moves it to the right. Thinks about it. zooms into corbin bleu. zooms out. Then moves the vertex back, and repeats the process.
Which is better than this one dude from a different class who tried to pay me to do his art homework for him. First of all-it's art homework. My art would look nothing like his. And when I said 'no' he said,
"but then I'll fail this class and it will be all your fault"
"I already have an art degree. I don't need to do yours."
"That's really unfair to me."
and legit stormed away.)
Anyways, so the class I was taking was over and I forgot my phone. I said phoooo because it was raining and I had heavy things and was wearing a rediculous shirt.
And I need to talk about my shirt for a second because I have somthing to get off my chest: What the hell am I wearing? I've been wearing it all day, and I haven't been sure whether I should tuck it in, or wear it with a belt, or button it or unbutton it, or if it's just ironic or whatever. I don't even know if I look fat or skinny in it. It defy's all laws of physics and common sense and I don't know why I bought it or why I still want to wear it all the time.
But I did. It's called a High-Low hem shirt, so the back is a full on dress, and the front the hem cuts off at normal shirt length. It's for a much wider person, and it's see through and black. It also has the Dread Pirate Roberts sleeves. Anyways, now that you know why I bought it (because who could resist this) I just wanted to get that off my chest because...this is so weird. It's real guazy, too, and I swish around everywhere like I'm Severus Snape with about a foot longer than necessary train on my back for some reason and I feel like casting spells on people but I don't think they'd get it.
So anyways, I just got out of class and realized I was right next to a payphone.
I haven't used a payphone to call someone since College, back when I had a phone card (remember those?) and I called the parents once a month from the dorms to tell them I wasn't dead yet and they'd tell me they weren't dead yet and then they'd put more money on the card because they really enjoy those sort of conversations.
So anyways, I am right next to a payphone, and I decide, I have some change, lets use a payphone to call and get a ride. As my ride came I sat at a bench and looked around and waited. I waited like the good ol times like when I used to use payphones and phone cards.
I hadn't waited like that in a long time, without my phone to tweet, without anyone to talk to, without music to listen to. Instead I looked at the trees and tried really hard not to look at the people next to me as I shuffled. Then I decided to reach into my purse and pull out my journal, and my first thought was
"No, I only have a sketchbook. I used to journal all the time back when I would write. But I don't do that anymore"
And this thought KILLED me. I never write anymore! Thus why I have decided to start this sketchbook-blog up again. where I freewrite and don't care about who reads it or any of that nonsense. Because you know what? If I don't, how will I ever remember about the creeper with the corbin bleu problem, or the dude in the back row who always clarifies how to Ctrl-Z, or the unnatractive guy next to me who reads romance manga and sighs heavily every day as the main girl falls farther and farther in her doomed, vampiric love triangle? I wouldn't remember, I couldn't. And I should remember. I should remember these stupid things.
All of these stupid things I should remember as I wear this stupid shirt. I should always remember to remember the stupid things by remembering to remembering to write about them.
Friday, October 15, 2010
My cat is a mutant.
Here are some illustrations based on my cat, Kitty:
This is how Kitty used to wake us up. Like she's in some intense graphic novel about the apocalypse or something and She Will DIE If I Don't Open The Door.
This is how Kitty used to wake us up. Like she's in some intense graphic novel about the apocalypse or something and She Will DIE If I Don't Open The Door.
This is how Kitty wakes us up now. Like a Zombie.
I sleep with the door shut. Because Kitty eats us if we don't feed her on time. For reals, my Mom has full on bandages on her hand from it.
Friday, September 10, 2010
My Emo's (because the only hip term we knew back then was emo)
I decided I will come up with a formal theme and goal for this blog: It's my freewrite blog! That and my free-draw blog. hooray. Come and enjoy my sketchbook-quality sketches (AKA not good) and my rants on things that have nothing to do with what I was talking about in the first paragraph by the last paragraph!
Anyways, what I want to talk about today is this site I found a while back, where a teenage boy in a teenage-boy-emo-phase discovers knitting. Come see the hat's based on emo haircuts.
http://www.rocdove.com/work/cool-boys-knit/home.htm
It just brought back so many memories for me: You see, I used to be all about boys like this. Like seriously--this was my type of boy to a T--Super Emo(as in really moody and whiny)--likes weird fashion--delights in pushing gender boudaries--plays music--I was obsessed with these boys my Freshman year of College, as well as my entire High School years and OK maybe it lasted up until my Junior year when I gave up on a certain kid who was like 30 years old and lived with his mom and was an inch shorter than me and had that swoopy emo hair and was a piano/film/english/history major.
Good times stalking that piano/film/english/history major, man I was in love with him...
Anyways, so although that time of my life has come and gone (now that I've outgrown my emo phase and have graduated to my rent-a-blogger's-boyfried) Lets have a picture to commemorate my boys:
In no particular order or any degree of likeness...because that would be awkward.
Anyways, what I want to talk about today is this site I found a while back, where a teenage boy in a teenage-boy-emo-phase discovers knitting. Come see the hat's based on emo haircuts.
http://www.rocdove.com/work/cool-boys-knit/home.htm
It just brought back so many memories for me: You see, I used to be all about boys like this. Like seriously--this was my type of boy to a T--Super Emo(as in really moody and whiny)--likes weird fashion--delights in pushing gender boudaries--plays music--I was obsessed with these boys my Freshman year of College, as well as my entire High School years and OK maybe it lasted up until my Junior year when I gave up on a certain kid who was like 30 years old and lived with his mom and was an inch shorter than me and had that swoopy emo hair and was a piano/film/english/history major.
Good times stalking that piano/film/english/history major, man I was in love with him...
Anyways, so although that time of my life has come and gone (now that I've outgrown my emo phase and have graduated to my rent-a-blogger's-boyfried) Lets have a picture to commemorate my boys:
In no particular order or any degree of likeness...because that would be awkward.
I ran out of space, so you get only this many. For some crazy reason I put them as frolicking. Half because I wouldn't put it past half of them to frolic in real life and I know one in particular thought it was healthy and valid to frolic at least once a day around the grassy knolls on campus. And then spend the rest of his day moping around and trying out eye-shadow.
And yes, that one guy had a guitar hero instead of a guitar. Looking back, it wasn't really a talent. At the time I was confused.
Oh yeah, and basically with anyone else on here. Absolutely confused--concussed--delerious--virtego-eous--blind. What I would have given for a guy who's only claim to standing out was knitting. That's so much more bearable and innocent than certain guys who one day you'll have to confront like this:
"I'm pretty sure you're getting high every morning before class but can you put away that giant jar of Advil, it's not going to help."
"This is my breakfast. I'm just sleepy is all."
"Just put it away. It makes a lot of noise."
*starts devouring giant jar of advil defensively.
*You begin to doubt it is really advil.
Also, it wasn't until I put this montage together that I realized most of my unrequited loves have all been wearing that same super skinny sweater...just in different girly colors. I mean, all except for Poncho who was actually the best guy of these six. I guess I like skinny sweaters. Even if it was rainbow-colored and stolen from the girl down the hall (that guy was such a klepto.)
But thankfully no one follows this blog and so the many boys I have known who wear any version of these skinny sweaters won't care or assume I have ever stalked them.
Not like I ever did of course. Except for a little smidge during my sophmore year. A smidge. I got over it.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Reflections on Tyer Florence
Why do men hate Tyler Florence?
And I know that's generalizing quite a bit, but I know quite a few boys who are pretty normal, who generally don't decide to pick on and hate on celebrities, but the moment I turn on jovial Tyler Florence in his nice little sweaters and overpriced lasagna, they freak out.
"It's his voice." They tell me as they pedal foot to foot in animosity. "I hate it."
Is it his manly, burly, soothing voice that bothers them so much? Or is it more? Is it deeper than that?
Is it like how women tend to hate on the pretty women? Because we secretly want to be them and secretly want to wear their pretty little sweaters and do the pretty expensive things they do?
Thats probably it. I mean, he's a good looking guy. I'd totally have a little celeb crush on him if I were 10 years older and he were about 10 times gayer. Tyler florence is the hated women of the man-verse I've decided. Tyler Florence and this guy:
Guys seem to hate this kid. Probs because of the hair. Most guys start loosing those locks at 25 and like...in the 90's, when we were growing up, this type of hair wasn't cool so all those 25-and-over guys never got to try it when they were young and are totally jealous of this kid.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Movies that Weren't that Great, but Altered my Young Life.
The filmic moments that really affected me in my younger years were really um...not all that filmic. They were random things from really not-too-amazing B movies that I became obsessed with (because I was 11 and easily obsessive.) and so I give you the top Five Filmic Moments from some pretty bad movies that Changed my Little Middle School/High School life.
5.) Ever After: The Story with Drew Barrymore and the Awkward Cod Pieces
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