I put some new shoes on

callmewho @ 2007-04-29T19:46:00

2007-04-30T02:48:38Z

Fuck this trying to be something I'm not. Fuck this trying to please others at all costs. Fuck this trying to be an intellectual. Fuck all of it! I already know who I am. I'll follow my bliss!

callmewho @ 2007-04-27T10:12:00

2007-04-27T17:13:24Z

Kindergartners have swarmed the campus like bees. They're everywhere.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Redwood_City#Landmarks

The above is a link for the wiki page of my hometown, at the way bottom there is a list of famous people from the area. And the last guy, Ronnie Day, is real jerk that doesn't deserve it and that I unfortunately know personally. Damn him! Okay, and the rest of the people range from mildly interesting to really cool. Like the lead singer of The Mars Volta, he was born and raised here.

Also, I've realized that a junior college is an inadequate place to find a date. I know it because the guy I like never stays ling enough to get conversation going with him and because I turned down a guy that asked me out. I felt really bad about it, but I don't like him in that way.

Tyra is um all gunna eat yuuu

2007-04-24T21:31:33Z

Since this thing ain't gonna write it's ol' self, I am uh gunna do it. Someone I know joked tome that we have "perfectly boring lives" and I couldn't disagree and agree more at the same time, because the wise know that you don't know the value of something until you lose it. And I am so perfectly happy to be living as I am that I value every breath I take. Word. The Picture of Dorian Gray is a hecka cool book. At the heart of the story is the same stuff I wrote about two entries ago, if you read it you will understand. As I wrote it's hecka cool. And right now I feel positively lucky to have the pleasure to occupy myself with literature, and all things big and little, that make me shit and giggle with incorrigible delight. Aight, peace out, word up, euphemism, euphemism, bang bang, I is out.

And oh yeah, everyone should listen to Demetri Martin's jokes, they is funny.

callmewho @ 2007-04-22T13:10:00

2007-04-22T20:10:29Z

Excuse me, are you cinnamon buns?

You bet you're sweet ass I am.
-Demetri Martin

Part of hominid evolution is that we can no longer digest raw meat as a species, so that means that the stove is an extension of our gut. If we had a longer gut, like chimps, we could shit baked cakes.

callmewho @ 2007-04-20T17:39:00

2007-04-21T00:48:05Z

I noticed that the pope has a "green day look" going on. His sunken eyes make him appear to be wearing black eye shadow, and his pale skin completes the picture.

I am convinced that my superstition about the power of emotions is correct. yet, I wonder why no one else has noticed it enough to include it in the list of common sense. Whenever an emotion strikes me so that I momentarily cannot focus on anything more than the feeling, then whatever I touch, be it picture or book, coincides with my emotion. For example, if I'm thinking about a person very strongly, and I open a book it always shows a picture of someone very similar in appearance to the person I'm thinking of. I see this happen to other people too, it just happens. Or if I'm very upset and I open a book to read the first sentence my eyes land on always has to do with my feeling of upsetedness. It was strange at first, now I take it as common sense.

callmewho @ 2007-04-19T13:48:00

2007-04-19T20:48:37Z

Bill Withers - Lovely Day

callmewho @ 2007-04-17T14:02:00

2007-04-17T21:03:13Z

http://learner.org/resources/series105.html?pop=yes&vodid=395627&pid=1237#

And yet another reason to live XD

2007-04-14T04:12:39Z

callmewho @ 2007-04-10T13:01:00

2007-04-10T20:01:43Z

One down, one to go.

sigh

2007-04-10T02:30:46Z

callmewho @ 2007-04-07T11:35:00

2007-04-07T18:41:27Z

"The Namesake"

Everybody go watch this movie :)

callmewho @ 2007-03-31T20:34:00

2007-04-01T03:35:05Z

What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Social Nerd You're interested in things such as politics, psychology, child care, and peace. I wouldn't go so far as to call you a hippie, but some of you may be tree-huggers. You're the type of people who are interested in bettering the world. You're possible the least nerdy of them all; unless you participate in other activies that paled your nerdiness compared to your involvement in social activities. Whatever the case, we could still use more of you around. ^_^
Drama Nerd
Musician
Literature Nerd
Anime Nerd
Artistic Nerd
Gamer/Computer Nerd
Science/Math Nerd
What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace

I'm surprised, I thought I would get literarure or music nerd. Whatever, I be hippie.

callmewho @ 2007-03-31T19:56:00

2007-04-01T03:00:11Z

I wonder what the probability of being pooped on by a bird is? And more so, what the probability of the target missing the head is. Today, for the first time in my life I got pooped on by a bird.

callmewho @ 2007-03-30T17:30:00

2007-03-31T00:31:21Z

Just once, I'd like my day to happen exactly as I imgagine it.

callmewho @ 2007-03-27T22:10:00

2007-03-28T05:12:16Z

I've been going to bed on a full stomach. Horrible nightmares as a result.

People are FASCINATING.

I believe there are at least two reasons why students rush out of the class once it ends, mind numbing boredom and full frontal nudity.

callmewho @ 2007-03-26T21:13:00

2007-03-27T04:14:07Z

Hmmm..I have a crush on one of my professors. Eh, it was bound to happen.

Stolen from adrono2525

2007-03-26T20:21:26Z

Answer it for me, then post in your own LJ so I can fill it out for you.

1. Can you cook?

2. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator?

3. What talent do you wish you had?

4. Favorite place?

5. Favorite vegetable?

6. What was the last book you read?

7. Are you Dirty or Clean?

8. Any tattoos and/or piercings?

9. Worst habit?

HERE COMES THE FUN ...

1. How did we meet?

2. What's your philosophy on life?

3. Negative or Optimistic?

4. What was your dream growing up?

5. Worst thing to ever happen to you?

6. What was your first impression of me?

7. Tell me one weird fact about you:

8. What’s your favorite memory of us?

9 is missing. Make up something if you want.

10. Have you ever kept anything from me?

11. What do you think of me as a person?

12. Do you think I'm sane or insane?

13. Would you cry for me if I died?

14. Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?

15. If you could change anything about me, would you?

16. How do you fall asleep?

17. Ever gotten angry with me?

18. Would you go on a blind date if I set you up?

19. If you had one day to live, what would you do?

20. A million bucks… what would you do with it?

21. What is your worst fear?

22. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?

23. Can you sing or dance?

24. In one word, how would you describe me? Be honest....

25. Will you repost this so I can fill it out?

eight rules for writing fiction

2007-03-26T02:58:57Z

Writing

On pages 9 and 10 of his book, Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, Vonnegut stated that there are eight rules for writing fiction.

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.
5. Start as close to the end as possible.
6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

callmewho @ 2007-03-24T13:52:00

2007-03-24T20:53:18Z

I am not an ugly person. I am an exceptionally beautiful monkey.

I like this song and vid

2007-03-24T02:35:20Z

Found a Poem I Like

2007-03-24T00:15:30Z

THE WOMAN IN THE GLASS
(Author Unknown)

When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you queen for a day,
Just go to a mirror and look at yourself
And see what THAT woman has to say.
For it isn't your mother, father, husband or wife
Whose judgement upon you must pass,
The woman whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.
Some people might think you're a straight-shootin' gal
And call you a wonderful girl.
But the woman in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look her straight in the eye.
She's the woman to please, never mind all the rest,
For she's with you clear to the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous test
If the girl in the glass is your friend.
You may fool the whole world
down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be hearthache and tears
If you've cheated the woman in the glass.

I liked this story

2007-03-19T00:01:16Z

The Whore of Mensa
A Short Story by Woody Allen

From his book "Without Feathers", Random House, 1975 (tr.it.: Citarsi Addosso, Bompiani, 1976)
Estimated Online Reading Time: About 10 Minutes

THE CLIENT

One thing about being a private investigator, you've got to learn to go with your hunches. That's why when a quivering pat of butter named Word Babcock walked into my office and laid his cards on the table, I should have trusted the cold chill that shot up my spine.

"Kaiser?" he said. "Kaiser Lupowitz?"

"That's what it says on my license," I owned up.

"You've got to help me. I'm being blackmailed. Please!" He was shaking like the lead singer in a rumba band. I pushed a glass across the desk top and a bottle of rye I keep handy for nonmedicinal purposes.

"Suppose you relax and tell me all about it."

"You ... you won't tell my wife?"

"Level with me, Word. I can't make any promises." He tried pouring a drink, but you could hear the clicking sound across the street, and most of the stuff wound up in his shoes.

"I'm a working guy," he said. "Mechanical maintenance. I build and service joy buzzers. You know - those little fun gimmicks that give people a shock when they shake hands?"

"So?"

"A lot of your executives like 'em. Particularly down on Wall Street."

"Get to the point."

"I'm on the road a lot. You know how it is - lonely. Oh, not what you're thinking. See, Kaiser, I'm basically an intellectual. Sure, a guy can meet all the bimbos he wants. But the really brainy women - they're not so easy to find on short notice."

"Keep talking."

"Well, I heard of this young girl. Eighteen years old. A Yassar student. For a price, she'll come over and discuss any subject - Proust, Yeats, anthropology. Exchange of ideas. You see what I'm driving at?"

"Not exactly."

"I mean my wife is great, don't get me wrong. But she won't discuss Pound with me. Or Eliot. I didn't know that when I married her. See, I need a woman who's mentally stimulating, Kaiser. And I'm willing to pay for it. I don't want an involvement - I want a quick intellectual experience, then I want the girl to leave. Christ, Kaiser, I'm a happily married man."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Six months. Whenever I have that craving, I call Flossie. She's a madam, with a Master's in Comparative Lit. She sends me over an intellectual, see?"

So he was one of those guys whose weakness was really bright women. I felt sorry for the poor sap. I figured there must be a lot of jokers in his position, who were starved for a little intellectual communication with the opposite sex and would pay through the nose for it.

"Now she's threatening to tell my wife," he said.

"Who is?"

"Flossie. They bugged the motel room. They got tapes of me discussing The Waste Land and Styles of Radical Will, and, well, really getting into some issues. They want ten grand or they go to Carla. Kaiser, you've got to help me! Carla would die if she knew she didn't turn me on up here." The old call-girl racket. I had heard rumors that the boys at headquarters were on to something involving a group of educated women, but so far they were stymied.

"Get Flossie on the phone for me."

"What?"

"I'll take your case, Word. But I get fifty dollars a day, plus expenses. You'll have to repair a lot of joy buzzers." "It won't be ten G's worth, I'm sure of that," he said with a grin, and picked up the phone and dialed a number. I took it from him and winked. I was beginning to like him.

THE SETUP

Seconds later, a silky voice answered, and I told her what was on my mind. "I understand you can help me set up an hour of good chat," I said.

"Sure, honey. What do you have in mind?"

"I'd like to discuss Melville."

"Moby Dick or shorter novels?"

"What's the difference?"

"The price. That's all. Symbolism's extra."

"What'll it run me?"

"Fifty, maybe a hundred for Moby Dick. You want a comparative discussion - Melville and Hawthorne? That could be arranged for a hundred."

"The dough's fine," I told her and gave her the number of a room at the Plaza.

"You want a blonde or a brunette?"

"Surprise me," I said, and hung up.

"I shaved and grabbed some black coffee while I checked over the Monarch College Outline series. Hardly an hour had passed before there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and standing there was a young redhead who was packed into her slacks like two big scoops of vanilla ice cream.

"Hi, I'm Sherry." They really knew how to appeal to your fantasies. Long, straight hair, leather bag, silver earrings, no make-up.

"I'm surprised you weren't stopped, walking into the hotel dressed like that," I said. "The house dick can usually spot an intellectual."

"A five-spot cools him."

"Shall we begin?" I said, motioning her to the couch. She lit a cigarette and got right to it. "I think we could start by approaching Billy Budd as Melville's justification of the ways of God to man, n'est-ce pas?"

"Interestingly, though, not in a Miltonian sense." I was bluffing. I wanted to see if she'd go for it.

"No. Paradise Lost lacked the substructure of pessimism." She did.

"Right, right. God, you're right," I murmured.

"I think Melville reaffirmed the virtues of innocence in a naive yet sophisticated sense - don't you agree?" I let her go on. She was barely nineteen years old, but already she had developed the hardened facility of the pseudo-intellectual. She rattled off her ideas glibly, but it was all mechanical. Whenever I offered an insight, she faked a response: "Oh yes, Kaiser. Yes, baby, that's deep. A platonic comprehension of Christianity - why didn't I see it before?" We talked for about an hour and then she said she had to go. She stood up and I laid a C-note on her.

"Thanks, honey."

"There's plenty more where that came from."

"What are you trying to say?" I had piqued her curiosity. She sat down again.

"Suppose I wanted to have a party?" I said.

"Like, what kind of a party?"

"Suppose I wanted Noam Chomsky explained to me by two girls?"

"Oh, wow."

"If you'd rather forget it..."

"You'd have to speak with Flossie," she said. "It's cost you." Now was the time to tighten the screws. I flashed my private- investigator's badge and informed her it was a bust.

"What!"

"I'm fuzz, sugar, and discussing Melville for money is an 802. You can do time."

"You louse!"

"Better come clean, baby. Unless you want to tell your story down at Alfred Kazin's office, and I don't think he'd be too happy to hear it."

She began to cry. "Don't turn me in, Kaiser," she said. "I needed the money to complete my Master's. I've been turned down for a grant. Twice. Oh, Christ."

It all poured out - the whole story. Central Park West upbringing, Socialist summer camps, Brandeis. She was every dame you saw waiting in line at the Elgin or the Thalia, or penciling the words 'Yes, very true' into the margin of some book on Kant. Only somewhere along the line she had made a wrong turn.

"I needed cash. A girl friend said she knew a married guy whose wife wasn't very profound. He was into Blake. She couldn't hack it. I said sure, for a price I'd talk Blake with him. I was nervous at first. I faked a lot of it. He didn't care. My friend said there were others. Oh, I've been busted before. I got caught reading Commentary in a parked car, and I was once stopped and frisked at Tanglewood. Once more and I'm a three time loser."

"Then take me to Flossie."

She bit her lip and said, "The Hunter College Book Store is a front."

"Yes?"

"Like those bookie joints that have barbershops outside for show. You'll see."

I made a quick call to headquarters and then said to her, "Okay, sugar. You're off the hook. But don't leave town."

"She tilted her face up toward mine gratefully. "I can get you photographs of Dwight Macdonald reading," she said.

"Some other time." FLOSSIE'S

I walked into the Hunter College Book Store. The salesman, a young man with sensitive eyes, came up to me. "Can I help you?" he said.

"I'm looking for a special edition of Advertisements for Myself. I understand the author had several thousand gold-leaf copies printed up for friends."

"I'll have to check," he said. "We have a WATS line to Mailer's house."

I fixed him with a look. "Sherry sent me," I said.

"Oh, in that case, go on back." he said. He pressed a button. A wall of books opened, and I walked like a lamb into that bustling pleasure palace known as Flossie's. Red flocked wallpaper and a Victorian decor set the tone. Pale, nervous girls with black-rimmed glasses and blunt-cut hair lolled around on sofas, riffling Penguin Classics provocatively. A blonde with a big smile winked at me, nodded toward a room upstairs, and said, "Wallace Stevens, eh?" But it wasn't just intellectual experiences. They were peddling emotional ones, too. For fifty bucks, I learned, you could "relate without getting close." For a hundred, a girl would lend you her Bartok records, have dinner, and then let you watch while she had an anxiety attack. For one-fifty, you could listen to FM radio with twins. For three bills, you got the works: A thin Jewish brunette would pretend to pick you up at the Museum of Modern Art, let you read her master's, get you involved in a screaming quarrel at Elaine's over Freud's conception of women, and then fake a suicide of your choosing - the perfect evening, for some guys. Nice racket. Great town, New York.

"Like what you see?" a voice said behind me. I turned and suddenly found myself standing face to face with the business end of a .38. I'm a guy with a strong stomach, but this time it did a back flip. It was Flossie, all right. The voice was the same, but Flossie was a man. His face was hidden by a mask.

"You'll never believe this," he said, "but I don't even have a college degree. I was thrown out for low grades."

"Is that why you wear that mask?"

"I devised a complicated scheme to take over The New York Review of Books, but it meant I had to pass for Lionel Trilling. I went to Mexico for an operation. There's a doctor in Juarez who gives people Trilling's features - for a price. Something went wrong. I came out looking like Auden, with Mary McCarthy's voice. That's when I started working the other side of the law."

"Quickly, before he could tighten his finger on the trigger, I went into action. Heaving forward, I snapped my elbow across his jaw and grabbed the gun as he fell back. He hit the ground like a ton of bricks. He was still whimpering when the police showed up.

"Nice work, Kaiser," Sergeant Holmes said. "When we're through with this guy, the F.B.I. wants to have a talk with him. A little matter involving some gamblers and an annotated copy of Dante's Inferno. Take him away, boys." Later that night, I looked up an old account of mine named Gloria. She was blond. She had graduated cum laude. The difference was she majored in physical education. It felt good.

callmewho @ 2007-03-16T19:37:00

2007-03-17T02:38:08Z

Ok, since I need an LJ to look at friends-only posts I will make this my new LJ.