Musings from outside the circle
So I lied.
You might remember at the end of The Merits of Hell, where I typed those fateful capital letters. Okay, not fateful, but melodramatic. But, um, it didn’t last very long.
Well.
Now that I’ve admitted it, I guess it isn’t so bad. Just vaguely creepy and slightly disturbing. And weird. But not as much as before. You should have seen that diary entry…ahem. Never mind.
If I hear Duncan make a TV reference one more time, someone will die. Preferably the TV.
It’s not the TV that’s at fault, of course not. The TV can, in fact, be very useful (Hello, Yellow Submarine?). So really, it’s simply the TV shows that should die. After all, only TV shows could be so unrelentingly crappy. Oh, some are all right. I will willingly watch iCarly, House, and AFV. But that’s it.
Movies are a different matter. Most movies are meant to be enjoyable, whereas TV shows are designed simply to keep your 6-year-old occupied while you operate heavy machinery (etc.). Yet it blows my mind that any 6-year-old, especially mine, can possibly enjoy this crap. (Then again, Sarah Anne likes to watch Chowder, and she’s 12 or 13. One of those.)
And if it weren’t for the cable, I wouldn’t have to deal with my pet first-grader constantly saying things like “What if Chowder’s first name were Clam and his last name were Chowder?” and then giggling at me. Really, it’s so freaking stupid it makes my mind explode. (My…brain…hurts!)
The worst thing about this whole thing is that the most stupid of shows is so attention-grabbing. I have actually managed to get the Phineas & Ferb theme song stuck in my head. I mean, what the hell? I have about 193 Beatles songs stored in there and this infantile ditty blocks them all out?
And all of these shows are on cable. So next time you buy a weird shirt, don’t get one that says “Kill Your TV” (My mom has one of these). Get one that says “Kill Your Cable Box”.
This is probably going to be my only serious post for a long time, and I got special clearance for it, so pay attention please.
I have learned a lot during the past month and a half. Some of it I learned from others, some from myself. But now I’d like to say a few things that I learned, because I feel like it.
I learned that acknowledging that I look good in certain clothes does not make me a stereotype.
I learned that it is okay to be good at things.
I learned that your friends won’t kill you for messing up, and not just because they’d go to prison.
I learned that cats have very sharp claws.
I learned that it’s fun to look stupid in public…most of the time.
I learned that I don’t have to go out of my way to be different.
I learned that it’s okay to talk.
I learned that people listen.
I learned that no matter what happens, someone is there to help.
I learned that you only live once.
While I’m at it, I’d like to say the following:
I want to thank Peyton, who is one of the awesomest people ever to walk the earth, for being my friend.
I want to thank all of CAYA for being spontaneous, goofy and “hella sacred!”
I want to thank my mom for making me laugh and ruining my self-righteous anger speech.
I want to thank my cats for running into mirrors, sitting on printers, attacking feet, and generally brightening my day.
I want to thank all the people who are nice to me when I don’t deserve.
I want to thank Terry Pratchett for writing awesomous books, even though he won’t see this.
I want to thank my imaginary crew, and I don’t have to tell them why.
And above all, I want to thank everyone who bothers to read my ramblings. You make me feel all fuzzy.
Just to give you guys something to think about, I leave you with this poem.
No Fun
I was a socialite but it was no fun.
All of the people talking away,
No time for thought
No time for rest
Just time for parties and talking all day.
I was a recluse but it was no fun.
No one to tell the important things to,
No time for friends
No time for life
Just time for brooding and sleeping away.
I was normal but it was no fun.
Doing things just like everyone else,
No room for change
No room for strange
Just room for following every new trend.
I was an outcast but it was no fun.
Changing just for the sake of change,
No room for cool
No room for trends
Just room for oddness and dull to no end.
Then I was me and I liked it much better.
Surrounded by archetypes, I was unfettered
No time for molds
No room for cliques
Everything I want to be, no more and no less.
What do fish have to do with anything? I don’t know; I only know that they’ve shown up in most of my dreams about the Beatles. Except the ones with the spaceships and the intestines…but never mind. The point is, obviously the Beatles and fish have some kind of deep subconscious relationship.
Or maybe I’m just crazy.
The first dream, which I have never told the full details of, started with me swimming in this awesome lake. Then these people came out into the water holding what were probably blocks of wood covered in fish, and scraped the fish into the water. The fish then came to life. I continued swimming in this disturbing situation for a while, and don’t remember stopping.
Later, I was in some kind of mall with someone who was my dad and yet wasn’t, and–you guessed it–the Beatles! From Yellow Submarine, of course. And for some reason they were all really tall. Anyway, then there was the elevator bit. This was when, as far as I can remember, the Beatles were in an elevator, and Ringo came up with the idea of standing on top to get to the next floor sooner. He was the only one who did this. After the elevator stopped we had to go pull him out. The other Beatles came out of the elevator first, of course. And they were singing something.
The thing I can’t stand is that I CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT THEY WERE SINGING! Damn. And then I woke up with “Nowhere Man” stuck in my head, and no, that wasn’t it.
And so that I can shut up and talk about something else, enjoy this:
It’s the evil volcanic toilet! Dun-dun-dun.
(What, you thought that was going to be my only post today? Jeesh.)
I had an amazing dream once about hell/Hell. It was also very strange:
I was in high school (though it looked suspiciously like Lincoln). one of my friends was warned that she was going to be prematurely sent to Hell. She agreed, for some reason. When the day came, a big swirly portal opened at school and my friend got sucked in. I remember telling a teacher I was following her, getting permission (!), and jumping in just before the swirly portal closed.
Hell turned out to be an inn which was nicknamed “The Hell Hole”, as nobody knew what it was really called. It consisted of a kitchen/bar, several tables which folded into double beds, a staircase (forbidden), a door (also forbidden), and several large windows. Hell apears to have a landscape similar to Mars.
The odd thing was, we weren’t allowed to go outside. As my friend and I sprawled (I love that word) on our bed and stared out the window, I remember commenting “What the hell is out there, anyway?” I thought this was hilarious, but my friend called it a lame pun.
However, this is not the best part.
There is a teacher at my school who teaches Tolerance, but she must be the most INtolerant person I have ever met. She treats us like little kids, acting like she’s all nice and sweet and friendly and a bunch of other sickening crap like that. Then you complain about something or correct her or make the slightest mistake and BAM!–Detention! Her name is Ms. Suzuki.
In my dream, Ms. Suzuki was the owner of The Hell Hole.
This dream did not involve intestines (invisible or otherwise), but I’m mentioning them here for an excuse to use the tag again.
Also, with regards to the issues discussed in “You Better Not Laugh” (see post): I had thought I could just let this die down a bit. Then, of course, my mom had to go be an *** about it (Groupies…*shudders*), making jokes about what I would do if I could go back in time and meet the Beatles. Therefore I find it necessary to make this statement: I NO LONGER HAVE A CRUSH ON PAUL. (He’s still awesome, though.)
I can’t spell anymore.
Inopportune “U” Placers Anonymous (IUPA) Mindset Adjustment Guide:
Say loudly to self, “Vigor does not have a ‘u’ in it.” Repeat as necessary.
There is definitely something wrong with me now. I mean, really, when you start typing “vigour” in forum posts, then it’s all gone wrong. [banging head against wall] This is not Europe! Help!!!!!
I know, I know. Reading the title, you’re expecting a long, serious discussion. What’s wrong with you people? This is me we’re talking about. Which is why I present you with:
This particular cake goes hand-in-hand with an Algebra problem that I find funny. It was one of those ones where you have to figure out the ages of two people. This is what it said (I can’t remember the actual name):
“Sarah is 16 years older than her son.”
Um.
Are the Algebra people advocating teen pregnancy?
Everyone remembers my “Erratic Jacket Phenomenon” post, yes? (If not, go find it. It’s hilarious.) Well, may I introduce to you, the one, the only…
Erratic Jacket Study! [clapping]
Embellishments aside, I need to explain what I’ve done here, because it’s a little odd and unnecessary. I’ve actually counted every single time the aforementioned Erratic Jacket (which is awesome, by the way) changes colors, etc. So prepare to be amazed at the utter pointlessness of my undertaking!
Color Changes
Black: 23 times
Brown: 1 time
Purple: 29 times
Purple, obviously, is the dominant color.
Those Weird Changes in the Back of the Jacket
Split (or whatever it’s called): 11 times
Solid: 6 times
In Between: 1 time
I can’t say which is dominant here. My count is probably inaccurate because I totally forgot this part until halfway through the “Nowhere Man” bit. Sorry.
Number of Times Paul’s Collar Switched Between White & Orange After They Put The Uniforms On: 5 times
Here are some other things I wrote down, just because it was fun.
Total Lame Jokes: 68
And finally, here are some things Duncan and I said while we were watching Yellow Submarine. (Some are explained in parentheses.)
“He’s eating my pencil!” (Io likes to attack pencils, apparently. O-kay, moving on.)
“What the hell is he singing?”
“Real life?”
“This is why Ringo will never play the bagpipes.”
“Look, he squishes his nose.” (No clue.)
“Why is that horse’s head smoking?”
“I said–That’s a phone.” (Well, actually, I did say that. But I was going to say I said something else, except that Duncan thought a phone was a clock.)
“Hell is for love me?” (I misheard something Duncan said.)
“But ‘urgent’ starts with a ‘u’!” (Yes, it does. Not an “e”. A “u”.)
“Flying Ringos!” (End of “Only A Northern Song”.)
“George has a pointy head.” (It’s true.)
“Where did the flowers go?” (I mean, seriously. First they’re floating behind Paul. Then they vanish. What’s up with that?)
“Paul’s nose is funny-looking.” (It is! If you look at Paul’s nose in Yellow Submarine, it really is funny-looking! Nobody has a nose like that!)
For those of you who don’t understand the last one, look at this:
See? See?!
Now look at that and tell me Paul’s nose isn’t funny-looking.
And Peyton, I know you’re reading this. When is a good time for me to, uh, kidnap you and make you watch Yellow Submarine?
Yeah, this is kind of lame. See, for a good bit of last month, I had “The Fool On The Hill” stuck in my head. And this is because I had listened to it before, obviously, and suddenly thought, like this big revelation, “Hey, wait a sec! I’m the Fool on the Hill!” Of course I’m not really, but come on. It’s plausible. Either that or I’m becoming one of those people who reads too much into Beatles songs. Like those idiots that came up with the whole “Paul is dead” thing.
Also, pancakes are actually pretty good cold.
This is kinda unrelated, but a couple days ago I was walking home with Peyton & Co. (well, just Peyton and Ashley, but Peyton & Co. sounds better) and Peyton said something about how when she gets old, she’s going to have “brilliant” white hair. For some reason this use of the word brilliant made me laugh. I have no idea why. I sort of think it could possibly have something to do with this Beatles obsession thing, but that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.
By the way, look at some of the things I like: The Beatles. Monty Python. Terry Pratchett. The Rutles.
Do you see something wrong in the fact that at least half of my entertainment (etc.) comes from British guys?
I first heard Rubber Soul when I was about six. That album has always been one of my favorites, which I think has something to do with the sound of something, some element in there, but I don’t know what. However, for years after I first heard it, I would often wonder what the heck “The Word” was supposed to be about. This is because, well, I had no clue what the words really were.
You are all familiar with the actual lyrics, yes? Well, this is what I was hearing:
Save the world and you’ll be free
Save the world and be like me
Save the world and think it out
Have you heard the world is love?
It’s so fine
It’s sunshine
It’s the world love
I know what you’re all thinking: “What the hell?” And that’s what I was thinking, but keep in mind I was six. I assumed that “the world is love” must mean something important to be in a song. Here’s the sad part: I went around with this misconception for several years. Recently I got back into the Beatles; then, and only then, did I realize what the real words were.
Which makes “the world is love” even weirder, in my opinion.
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