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prototype_abbeyancyF7
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Name: janice
Interests: Books and knowledge. HAH! I want a hippopotamus for Christmas (I don't think Santa Claus will mind, do you?).
Expertise: I'm an expert tease. I've built up a great resistance to caffeine and sugar.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
2/26/2006
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| Sisters with webcams!
Janice!: my roommate just walked in saying "i left my knife in her room, but i don't want to go back."
notJanice!: O_________O
Janice!: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA you were right.
Janice!: casey is an axe murderer!
Janice!: :D
Janice!: DID YOU SEE THAT?
notJanice!: no
notJanice!: lag
notJanice!: D:
Janice!: OKAY LOOK NOW.
Janice!: I LICKED YOU.
notJanice!: ...
Sexual harassment!
Now that I've renewed my dork standing, a moment of
HUBRIS:
To be a bikist in
a storm is to be grateful for wellies, raincoats, and fenders.
I am
almost invincible.
Maybe I should wear a helmet.
- and a bit of bikist whingin':
- Cruisers with the obnoxiously wide handlebars parked in tight racks so that it's nigh-impossible to manoeuvre your bike into the next space because their handlebars keep getting stuck in your basket. Stupid poser bints, I hope you blow the back tire tires while you're pedalling .001 mph in your impractically tight jeans and nasty non-waterproofed Uggs.
(Nice segue!)
- Slow riders in the centre of the street. They're reasonably tolerable if they follow the law and bike in the implicit slow lane, but less so if they're taking up both lanes and slowing traffic for a hundred yards. Worse? - if they're weaving so it's actually dangerous for you to try to pass them on the left, as per the law. Freshman, get in the slow lane. Only freshmen weave, and it's freshmen like you who give the class the bad reputation. Wankheaded, inconsiderate prats. Your charva-weak leg muscles and stunning shortcoming of spatial skills shouldn't be the reason I need to risk smashing head-on into a bus. I hope your seat gets stolen and you get a ten-minute painful pedal downtown to purchase a replacement.
- Similarly, texters. Texters encompass the entire slow-rider spectrum, from the weaving to the multiple-lane lard-spreading, and they do it all while numbsuckingly oblivious to the surroundings. At least decent people pull over to the side of the road to answer their desperately necessary messages. Naffing cackhands, I hope you drop your mobile and it gets ridden over.
- People who don't signal left turns at 9:00, 10:00, 12:00, and 2:00. These are rush hours, when twenty million people are transiting in and out of class and there are pedestrians and bikes and cars and buses everywhere. No, you don't look dumb throwing your arm out. If you're a halfway decent cyclist, you can manage that without careening helplessly into oncoming traffic. At least check over your shoulder for people behind. Would you do anything less in a motorised vehicle?
My first bike accident: Second week of classes, 9:00 calculus. 8:56, I'm pedalling down Hutchison, which is one of the five wide, car-accessible roads on campus. Bloke slightly to the right in front of me tries to make a left without signalling; his back tire catches on my front, and both our bikes fall.
- This one's slightly less hissy because I know I've been guilty of it before.
Pedestrians. If there's a bikist coming at you when you're crossing the street, don't freeze in place (an action reserved for smackable woodland animals and cars). I don't know how stopping relates to "fight or flight" - maybe "fight," but you are not going to win against the mechanical machine of aluminium and steel. Please, stay in flight. It's very likely that the bikist, being endowed with a brain, has adjusted to this shocking new development and is planning his/her trajectory around you based on the assumption that you are still in motion.
This sin is minutely more forgiveable if the guilty pedestrian is one well-fit lad. (yay)
Ooh, biology midterm in sub-twelve hours?
(Meh. Promise to Jarita for keeping. Must not depend on prior AP experience. :\ )
Cursory cute Davis grad TA. Buy one, get lab glasses free?:
Perhaps a relief that I think I'm mostly weaned of Kent/Koji.
Perhaps a relief that Google will receive significantly fewer suspicious queries now.
(And dang what a high school, to have four drum majors.)
He's still an epitome of male physical excellence for me because - hell, if DCI had given out a "BEST BODY" award, he would have won. Repeatedly. Several times in the same night.
...still PG-13, right?
random fact of the day
The average length of the presidential middle name is seven letters.
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| 1: The room at Vdara comes out of an IKEA catalouge, all dark wood and glass and reflective surfaces. The lighting fixtures are terribly modern and none alike. But I'm not an interior decorator, I just need bath soap. The bottle labelled "body cleanser" is also labelled "energising stimulant." It can't be what I think it is, can it? The second ingredient on the back, after water, is witch hazel. Oh, I know that. It leaves a tingly feeling - .....I see. On the back, also, reads "For adult use only." SHEESH. VEGAS.
2: LUNCH was some nice Italian place with unnaturally white tablecloths and a WAITER THAT LOOKS LIKE KOJI MORI but much taller ( ) and with a thinner face. Like, if Keanu Reeves and Koji Mori had a kid. The Genetic Replica was duly dispatched (to her great vexation) for taking (reluctant) stalker photos, but I think Sir Lookalike started fermenting suspicions of his own? Anyways, my table's waiter and Sir Lookalike got caught up in a minor pileup, so dude was stopped right in front of my table and he turned his head and smiled at me. MAN. Admittedly, that may have been because I was grinning at him like a bloody maniac the whole lunch hour, so he felt compelled to appease this crazy girl somewhat. No, didn't work. I maintained my composure for the whole of two seconds before collapsing in a fit of giggles. CRAZY GIRL.
"Mum. Muuuuuum. I really liked that place where we had lunch. If I skip breakfast tomorrow, can we go there again?"
I had a hardcore salad, though. It was two cabbage halves with Gorgonzola dressing, (other cheese), tomato, and bacon, served with a knife for cutting the cabbage with. The bacon made the salad hardcore. Also had a hardcore dinner yesterday! It was wrapped with bacon and stuffed with cheese, and there were dates involved, but there was BACON and I saw that it was good.
/ abuse of "hardcore"
3: Jersey Boys. Not as rockin' as Spring Awakening, but still rockin'.
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| I can't say that I "hate" instant gratification with low commitment, because I still demand it occasionally. But I take mine in moderation, in sharp contrast to Twitumblr. I only take umbrage against the overrepresented minority, of course -- spammers on my dashboard who couldn't be bothered to condense their posts into a single digest (even one dropped daily would unclog the pipes). That's right, little sister, I'm talking to you (though she doesn't read Xanga).
But it only seems I take no pains to seek mediums that irritate me to no end. Tumblr, after all, was designed with the potential for the most gratuitous spamwhoring since Twitter, and in more mediums than 140 characters or less (videos and audios and pictures, oh my!); and now, you're rewarded for it (sodding "Tumblarity")!
At least Xanga is solid. Its attempts at gimmicky replication and expansion are slotted under new names, like "Datingish" and "Lovelyish" and "Momaroo," which gain sentience and become independent kingdoms. Fine. There's no FormSpringing about or addition of dodgy third-party code that will either install a comment box or drop your firewalls.
"Foul!" John Maloney cries, "Careless coding isn't exclusive to Tumblr!": Yes, it's something that happens also on Xanga (though on a smaller scale, relative to the rest of the Xangean conglomeration); yes, I display unfounded paranoia. But why not the paranoia?, with the sudden increase in frequency of sites like "Press Button or Dog Dies," which spams Facebook links, and groups like "FIRST 2 MILLION GET [reasonably mundane compensation]," which ...honest to goodness, you just gave your address to a form not displaying a Terms of Use and you ran a random piece of Javascript. (Marketers and spammers!: people are suckers for free stuff. But you already knew that.)
Speaking of. I wish I were html-literate. Then I could be brilliant like my dad, but no I get to settle for being plain ol' literate and fiddling with my Tumblr code while balancing For Dummies in the other hand.
Back to the rail against Twitumblry: I never picked this bone with Twitter because I never employed its faculty as a social networking device. I added random Twits I liked, and Twits (mostly viral ones looking to up their recipricatory "Followers" count) added me. Thankfully, Twitter quickly burned through its "cool" peak, save for the high-profile and the low-IQ.
That's not happening with Tumblr. My bad that I kept it personal, that I added legitimate IRL friends instead of exclusively following interesting Tumblrfolk (zing?). Now, I hesitate to swell the ranks of my subscriptions, since there are 2-3 people whose posts constitute 80% of my Dashboard updates and I know that any meaningful contributions that new subscriptions could make would be lost in the drivel.
Dang, that was harsh. I too much enjoy ragging on Tumblr for fulfilling its purpose as an extension of Twitter. From 140 characters a cut blown to both ends: the Stratospheric Spam-a-lot and the Aspiring Artistic. It's okay. Should my weak constitution ever cave, I'll start tending it like a cactus.
After the Tumblr rant,
An overdue response to something from Char's Tumblr.
Char is, incidentally, one of the various Xanga-posters who updates frequently but thoughtfully. *polite, appreciative applause*
Let me amend that. Every frequent poster I'm subscribed to (except Cakalusa, that viral Xanga-itch) makes thoughtful posts. It's this strange Xanga anti-spamming compulsion that is the reason I stay.
Cut the strings, this joint's getting maudlin.
A Tumblr-Inspired Return on University Dining:
"I hate how every single on-campus food place at UCI is CLOSED by 9PM. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?! We are growing college students. We get hungry at 12AM."
I'm obligated to gloat! Davis dining commons run "Late Night" post-dinner until midnight, and they serve the best fresh-baked university-cafeteria cookies you will ever have (albeit the very small sampling). Up to a dozen people have been observed milling about, waiting for the next batch to pop outl. There's also a sandwich bar (with avacado paste!) where people make the sandwiches for you, in the ultimate delicious display of efficiency/anti-self-sufficiency.
Happier news! I'm exploiting the last week of winter hols by delving into the crux of my nerdom. Oh, DeForest Kelley. Oh, Mr. Spock. Tell me that statistic again. You only have one-hundred seventy hours left to live? Well, that's o-kay, because Captain Kirk, in his infinite klutziness and mind-boggling charisma, will save the day. Again.
I'm kind of surprised that no one's yet made a nerd-targeted risque production of William SHAFTner, the Dilithium-Powered Love Machine, whose Sexerprise boldly explores strange new worlds and goes where no man has gone before.
Captain Kirk, please put down the penis rock.
...no, I don't care if you found it hanging from the ceiling. No natural stalacite grows like that.
It's Mother Nature, not Frat-Boy-Armed-with-Sharpies Nature.
(I can cite the episode that screenshot's from.)
Happy Boxing Day, and bon anniversaire, Mum.
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| Yeah, screw the thoughtful, lengthy Davis-centric post I've been considering for the last week.
THIS IS EITHER THE CRUELLEST JOKE EVER OR THE BEST GODDAMN PRESENT I HAVE GOTTEN THIS YEAR.
(Sorry, everybody else with lovely, thoughtful presents.)
Postmarked North Metro, GA. Rest of the card cropped out because it's a mite cheesy.
OKAY I BELIEVE IN HOLIDAY MIRACLES NOW.
I AM IN VAPOURS SO HARD I MAY GIVE MYSELF A HEART ATTACK AND IT WILL BE TOTALLY WORTH IT.
...
Genetic Replica has tired of my helium-happy screaming.
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
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| First dream in about a month that I can remember - and even then, only a very short part of it, since I willingly forgot everything else in favour of holding on to this one minute of dreamtime.
At First Avenue, but it's undergone some modifications. I'm facing the back, standing halfway up some construction that's either a set of very tall stairs or a set of very tall bleachers (inclined to believe the former). SUDDENLY. A vision in black streaks by downwards, past me, and I spin around and OH MY GOD IT'S KOJI MORI looking svelte and sexy in his black conductor's uniform - minus pith helmet, though, because he's descending the stairs in a weird, acrobatic fashion, replete with flips and tumbles.
He stops (like a gymnast) a few steps from the bottom, and I see that Phantom Regiment's gathered there on the asphalt courts at the foot of the stairs. I dash to the closest guy with a backpack and make a strongly-worded request to have a sheet of paper and borrow a pen ("Or a pencil! Anything! ....no, I don't care about the colour!").Then I run down to where Mr Mori's watching the corp warm up and thrust the pen and paper at him and ask: "Can I please have your autograph?"
HE SIGNS IT.
And adds a little heart at the end, and hands the lined paper back to me and I bloody swoon. Regiment plays the opening bars of "Red Violin," and the segment ends.
1: Think that's my subconscious's way of saying "PLEASE STOP HAVING VAPOURS ALL OVER KOJI MORI WE'RE SICK OF IT TOO."
2: Just remembered to check fall quarter grades. :\ Not disappointing, but not satisfying, either. I'm having trouble separating grades from what I want to learn. In high school, I never learned how to calculate a weighted GPA because it never seemed relevant to me. If a university wanted me, and I truly wanted it, then couldn't it look past the merits of a number taken to three decimal points? If I was in love with a place, I (maybe) would have written the sort of epic essay that I'd look back on later and say: "Wow. Can't believe I could write like that." [AHOY ANGST AHEAD] But then I was barred from applying to anywhere I really wanted to go (Reed? Whitman? Hey, the parents think that you're "hippie schools" and provide an inferior experience to the UC system), and I ended up writing only three essays (one wasn't even an essay, just a Xanga post edited to fit word-count requirements) to middlingly lukewarm schools.
.....that was a heck of a tangent. [/angst]
Guess that most of the disappointment comes from the conviction that I could have done better (since you never bothered to make a habit of studying for finals in the last four years) and I didn't realise that + and - mattered so much to a GPA and I wish I hadn't taken those two pass/no pass seminars that'll likely be counted as Cs (didn't even like the people in the seminars, gah) and I must have performed pretty badly on the (curved) calc final to drop my A to that.
Not surprising.
That's probably it. I'm not devastated by grades any more because I've failed to make them a priority because I'm still Pollyanna enough to think that people will take merit over numbers and that's not a realistic belief at all. I'm not surprised when I perform mediocre instead of brilliantly. Maybe some stupid part keeps hoping that I have "potential," but Lee says "potential only means that it's still missing" and me waiting for the brilliance to come instead of actively seeking it out is not much a sustainable, effective modus.
Oh, sorry. I thought the whinging angst ended earlier. Sodding teenage histrionics.
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