August 28, 2009; In which I create Terrible Sequel Subtitles (Part 1)

So, I feel like making subtitles to sequels of movies that don't exist. So, here I go!

Mystery Men 2: Rise of the Spleen

No Country For Older Men

Memento 2: Lost in Disneyland

Galaxy Quest 2: Galaxy Questier

Jumanji 2, or Robin Williams Screams at CG Elephants for Ninety Minutes

Finding Nemo 2: Finding Dory

Flipper 2-na

Dawn of the Dead 2: Tea-time of the Dead

Equilibrium 2: More Crazy Gun-Fu Action

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon 2, or Squating Llama, Concealed Orangutan

Van Helsing 2 (Actually, this should happen.)

That's all for now.

August 27, 2009; In which I talk about 3-D

It seems lately that there's a trend in movies where everything is moving to yet another "D." HD is passe now, it seems, and we're venturing into the brave new realm of 3-D! Amazing! The picture pops right off the screen! It's like the future!

Or... like 1995. Seriously. I haven't been around all that long, but I remember when a lot of the kids' movies were doing the whole "Now in 3-D!" thing. I remember walking into a theater and putting on the paper glasses with the red and blue celophane lenses and being amazed at how the things seemed to come right at me. It was simply astounding. Now, though, the trick seems a bit dry. Granted, I have not seen any of this new wave of 3-D movies, so I'm not sure if it's still as grainy and weirdly done as the old ones are. With the new digital projectors the picture is crisper, everything seems to look better than real life. But how good can it be?

Mmm...... I don't think I have much more to say about it. Maybe I'll have more of an opinion when I actually see what's going on with that. Yup.

August 25, 2009; In which it is my birthday

Twenty-one years ago today, I was born.

Twenty-one years ago today, I had no idea who I would be after twenty full years of life. I had no concept of life, or time, or goals, or friendship or family or love or even concepts themselves. I had my basic needs. I ate, I slept, I pooped, I smiled at the nice people who took care of me and I cried when they weren't doing it fast enough or in the exact right way that only a baby or someone with a wicked insight or instinct can understand.

When you think about it, all of us have infinite potential at the moment of our birth. Well, maybe not infinite. I don't think anyone is going to spring fully-grown from the womb then start break dancing and reciting the Magna Carta in Swahili, but short of intense improbabilities we aren't all that limited at the beginning. Look at any baby. It could be a president, an astronaut, an engineer, a rock star, a lion tamer, a burger flipper, a parent, a doctor, just about anything you can think of. From the first choice we make, though, we limit ourselves more and more to a specific path. Usually, by the time a child is in his early teens, his path has probably already been largely decided. The rest is just walking it. And yet, occasionally, despite every choice that limits us and focuses us and directs us into whatever endeavours we'll end up in for most of our lives, the rare choice can open more doors than it closes.

No, I don't have an example in mind. I'm just talking about possibility.

I guess I could go into worldlines and dimensional theories to further illustrate that point, but there's no need. What I'm really meaning to say is pretty simple. As I look back along the lines of the last twenty years, I find that, in general, I'm pretty happy with where I've ended up. I've made some bad choices in the past, but I'd bet you that there's no one in the world who can honestly say that they never made a bad choice. I live with almost no regrets, I'm doing something I love, and I've still got some good long years (hopefully) ahead of me. Life is good. Happy birthday to me.

August 23, 2009; In which I distract myself

I can't figure out what it is about today. Or, rather, there's so much contributing to today that I can't derive the main factors involved. Ingrid Michaelson is on my Pandora station singing about giving up, I'm looking at a dull grey sky that threatens to shower us yet again with cold drizzling rain, I'm unexpectedly out of work, I have about a dozens things that need to be done before tomorrow, my 20th birthday is in a couple days, and the work I put in yesterday had no discernable affect. So here I am, looking on bright sides and keeping my chin up. But my eyes are tired and my neck is cramping, so I'm moving on to the most reliable thing I've got: Escapism.

And yet I can't do it. So here's this emo blog post, whining about how I'm so boohoo right now and can't take my mind off of these temporary setbacks. But, in a way, I think I should be allowed a little time to dwell on things. I've always tried to be eternally optimistic, but I'm realising that I have little to no connection to my "negative" emotions. I don't get angry often, and when I do it's almost always vicariously through a character. I rarely allow myself to feel sad, so I end up in this weird funk of ennui for a day at a time instead of an hour or two of good, cathartic sadness. I carry a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders but I don't notice it until I get feeling like this, because that's when more tension is added.

I can't wait for classes to start.

August 22, 2009; In which I make wild assumptions for no real reason

I have always hated ants. I hate them so much, for a few reasons that make sense and one particular reason that is kind of insane but terrifies me. I will tell you now how I feel.

Reason one for why I hate ants: There are freakin' billions of them. Seriously. Under the ground, wherever you are, right now, there are thousands. That goes for basically everywhere you are at any given time. All they have to do is start eating through the foundations of our buildings and we are superbly doomed. So, basically, they have the strength in numbers.

Reason number two for my undying hatred: They're crafty. You never know where they'll be or what they'll do. Take that box of cereal out of your cupboard and BAM! There's like, twenty tiny ants right under it, trying to eat your Apple Jacks. Step outside and right there, right on your front porch or doorstep or sidewalk, BOOM! Gigantic killer ant. There are so many kinds, and they are EVERYWHERE. EVERYWHERE.

Reason three: Hive mind. That's just creepy. One mind for thousands and thousands of potentially individual bodies? What happens if you kill the queen? If you move her, the rest follow unless another queen takes over. Seriously. That's true. Kill it and the rest might frenzy, just go freakin' nuts and start eating people. Ants will eat your babies.

Reason four, and this one is the irrational one: Ants are the most likely successors after humans as the creatures that will rule this planet. Seriously, those little creeps are smarter than they let on. We need to kill them all. Now. Before they kill us.

This paranoid rant is brought to you by me. So, NYAH!

August 21, 2009; In which I make a triumphant return

I'm back at school and I have my computer working again. I have an audition tonight and I'm gaming with some of my best friends afterward, whenever that afterward may be. Life is good. But you didn't come to hear me talk about how awesome it is to be me. You came for quasi-insightful and seemingly intellectual posts about silly things, right? Well, let me hit you with this shot. Today's topic that I will quickly cover (I only have about forty-five minutes until I should be at the audition) is conception. No, no, not the act of creating a new bumpity life form in some lady's womb after a rambunctious night of get-thee-down-ing. I mean the conceptions that people have of themselves, of each other, and of life in general. And since this blog is usually a first-person experience, mostly my conceptions about myself, the people around me, and the world I live in.

Despite how I may seem at times, I can be a little insecure about my appearance. And I'm going to guess that, sometimes, just maybe, you can too. Guys! This is perfectly normal! We are people and we are used to seeing beautiful things and people lifted onto the pedastal of greatness for their sheer beauty alone! Look at the Grand Canyon, or a rainbow, or Megan Fox! The point I'm tryingto make is, while we can't all be Megan Fox, everybody has something going for them. Maybe you've got bad skin and a really awkward body type, but hey! You have great eyes and your smile is pretty nice! Or maybe you're a little heavier than you want to be, but DAMN do you have great hair! I bet there's something pretty awesome about everybody, and that's not just optimism! That's statistics and probability, baby. There are dozens of aspects of the human body and appearance that make up attractiveness. There's no way that none of yours are good! Example: I have bad skin (most of the time) and I'm bonier than a starving wildebeast, but I sometimes come across as charming and I have been told that I have a good smile. This makes me pretty okay with me!

Our conceptions of other people can be a little more complex. Sometimes your first impression about somebody can be totally awesome but they turn out to be a major jerk. Well, that could be due to a number of reasons. Maybe they know how to hide their flaws at first impressions, so they seem really cool. Or maybe you don't have enough life experience dealing with people like that so you couldn't see them for who they really were. Oh, yeah, and the opposite of what I said is also totally possible. See that big scary goth dude over in the corner of the library, reading Edgar Allen Poe and muttering what very well may be backwards Latin? Go talk to him. Guess what? He loves kittens almost as much as you do, and listens to your favorite band. You even have a similar taste in movies! He may seem scary and foreboding, but that's due to any number of factors that probably have no bearing on personal truth or reality!

Speaking of truth and reality, the theory has been put out there that nobody else is real except for me. I don't like that, for this one very specific reason: If you are all figments of my imagination, my life is not nearly cool enough! If my perception is all that makes up my reality, and I can think up things like Star Wars or The Matrix in movie form, or any work of creativity or fiction ever created, for that matter, why do I not have a jetpack, lightsaber, and magic powers? Why can't I dodge bullets, and then have numerous opportunities DAILY to show my awesome abilities? I am not a supoer hero, therefore you all must be real. If you weren't all bound to the same plane of reality I am, what would be stopping me? Probably my conception of what reality is and the deep-rooted psychological blocks that stop me from really being able to believe in magic and ghosts and zombies and super-sentient killer robots from the future. And, while all of those things would be awesome, they also kill stuff. And killing stuff isn't cool, unless you plan on eating it. But hey, zombies and robots! Don't take that to mean killing people is all right so long as you eat them! That's not cool, and then I'll have to whip out the EMP shotguns and laser chainsaws and have at yee.

What was I talking about?