Caoine

It's Like Slashdot, Only A Dumb Movie

Remember how thrilled I was by the promotions for the film Fear Dot Com? It looks like the author of an AP review on Wired shares my sentiments: "Despite the popularity of his website and the string of corpses he's left behind, Pratt has eluded police and the FBI for years. Mike figures the only way to find him is to log on, even though Terry warns him not to do it, and so begins the 48-hour countdown to death (which is never explained, but whatever). Then Terry points and clicks to try to save Mike, and guess what happens to her. Beautiful but boring, Terry contributes to the investigation with insights like, 'We'll know more when we get the body back to the morgue,' and 'Maybe this guy was trying to tell us something.'" I just feel sorry for the reviewer - at least I didn't have to actually watch it. I think my favorite tomatoblurb sums it up best: "Cinematic poo."

My Highlighter Is Pink

I can't remember ever looking forward to the start of an acdemic year as much as I have been this past week. I suppose it's because school starting is all tangled up in my mind with the beginning of fall, and we all know how I feel about fall. I noticed it was too dark to read in my apartment today only just after 7pm - the days have gotten so much shorter the past month or so. I saw marshmallow pumpkins at the store when I was out getting toilet paper, and it's cool enough to leave my air conditioner off and wear a hoodie outside. I couldn't be happier.

Classes start on Wednesday, which means I've got a big weekend ahead of me, trying to finish up some freelance work before I get buried in reading. There's other things I need to do too, for the same reason - the apartment needs cleaning, groceries need buying, laundry needs doing. I know from last term that with the slightly brutal commute I've got there's just no way any of it is going to get done during a regular week. I've slowly been adjusting my sleeping schedule, or at least trying to - if I wait until Wednesday morning to wake up at 6am for the first time in months, I know I won't be a happy camper. At the same time, when my alarm goes off at 7 or 8 and there's no reason I really have to be up, it seems awfully unfair to make myself get out of bed. But I'm trying.

Textbooks and notebooks are bought and wrestled home. This term's going to be brutal on my back, I can tell - these are by far the heaviest textbooks I've ever bought, and that's including Politics UK from last year. I could use some more pens, which means I have an excuse to wander around Staples for an hour or so on Monday or Tuesday. That's always been a favorite fall ritual - I remember going to CVS at the end of August and spending ages picking out new folders for my Trapper Keeper.

So, anyway. I'm not looking forward to the commute, and to lugging around the World's Heaviest Books, and to not having any free time at all - but I still can't wait till Wednesday.

It All Becomes Clear

Mary writes, regarding yellow cars: I know a man who is colorblind, and yellow is the only color he can distinguish as different when he looks at a lot full of cars.  Thus, his trucks, cars, and motorcycles are all the same taxi-shade of yellow. One less mystery in the universe, no?

That seems like a perfectly reasonable yellow car justification. I can only hope for the sake of taste and decency everywhere that all these butt-ugly cab-looking things I keep seeing have sensible, colorblind owners - particularly the Bug that likes to get parked in front of my driveway. I have yet to see an all-out yellow motorcycle, although there was that Vespa a couple weeks ago.

It's About That Time

Walking around campus with sth yesterday was an odd experience; despite the fact that I'm something like a junior, this is actually only my second fall semester. We passed my old dorm and saw some freshmen moving in, making me wonder if I looked that young my first year. I suppose I did. Spencer found the bookstore alarming, or at least the people in it - particularly the girl who suggested her roommates buy deodorant for her birthday. Luckily, we weren't there long. I managed to escape after possibly the smoothest textbook-buying experience yet - everything was in stock and actually where it was supposed to be. Amazing.

One Week

The upside to Burning Man: perhaps an affable Godzilla or mighty asteroid will take this opportunity to crash that glorified neohippy keg party and rid the world forever of the sort of people who actually go to Burning Man. I mean, while they're all conveniently in one place and everything.

Incidentally, I have nothing bad to say about sand. I took a walk this afternoon down to my very own Atlantic-adjoining heap of it and read for a while. I'm sure we haven't seen the last of the humidity and other summer-related horrors, but it's nice that we've had a taste of fall the past few days. I'm starting to see leaves in my driveway and I can wear long sleeved shirts, which leaves me as giddy as I was gloomy after the first few hot days in April. I'm off to buy textbooks tomorrow, which is another favorite fall ritual despite the less-than-thrilling part where I get to lug home C: How To Program and all its little brothers and sisters. Also: good lord, do I need new bookshelves.

<Emcee> EMMA HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE BURNING MAN
<Emcee> IT IS THE REJUVINATION OF THE PRIMAL SPIRIT OF MAN THAT WAS LOCKED AWAY DURING THE CREATION OF SOCIETY
<Emcee> $250 at the gate

Also To Chuckles

Just when I thought we wouldn't hear anything else from Dooce, she goes and elopes. Congrats to both and compliments on the wedding photos - they're outstanding. This one is probably my favorite. (Also, thanks to Supa for pointing out that Heather hasn't been entirely silent since Dooce.com was retired.)

The USPS Hates Me

Waiting outside with my coffee for the god damned mail this morning, I realized classes start in exactly one week. That's not exactly, you know, tomorrow but it's still coming up pretty quickly. Projects to finish up before I get bogged down, textbooks to buy, et cetera.

This week also marks exactly three years ago that I moved to New York. When I first hear "three years" it seems like it can't possibly have been that long - but it also seems like forever since I first moved into a dorm at NYU. I think I'd only been to the city two or three times before - my first week here, I was so confused by the subway maps that I walked everywhere instead. That first year seemed unbelievably long, but this past one has gone by faster than I would have thought possible.

Either way, the weather's all gorgeous and early fall and I think Spencer and I are going out to celebrate.

Five Things I Still Don't Get

1. People who voluntarily purchase and drive bright yellow cars that aren't taxis.

2. Putting salt on pizza. Garlic? Of course. Parmesan? Pile it on. But salt? What the hell is wrong with you? (Note that folding pizza is perfectly acceptable, regardless of what you freaks do outside of New York.)

3. That guy picking a fight with Joel over escalator etiquette. Stand on the right, you lazy fuckers.

4. Why it is I don't get carded buying beer, but I get carded buying games rated M. Do I just look like I really, really need a drink? More than I need to beat up hookers?

5. How I managed to go for so long without ordering stickers from Contagious Graphics. I'm going to have to chime in with my inter-net husband: they're so good, and so cheap.

It's Quite Sticky

Ahoy, people who chipped in when I bought my camera: I have not forgotten you! Drop me a line from the same email account you used with Paypal, and include a current mailing address. I have a little something just for you, sugar.

I Like Mr Whoopee

Fans of GTA3 and its ilk, particularly the upcoming Vice City, should check out kentpaul.com. There was also that Wired article about Rockstar Games a couple issues ago that I meant to mention at the time, but forgot about. There's this too, but it's not terribly interesting.