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it is definitely time for a new post because much, i guess, has happened to me since the last time i was all smitten with theologically moniker'd guys. my newest interest is one Jean-Pierre Léaud...almost exclusively as a young kid.
this also sparked my intrigue with french again, but i forgotten so much vocabulary and verb forms (alas, this rings true for the japanese that i had once mastered)--curses. I anticipate going to europe for studies next year although i am torn between Italy and England. How i wish i could go to both! I want to go to both...gah--it's impossible because of if you go to one you miss the orientation and classes to prepare for the other.
Aside from the necessary decision making to be done there i totally know where I'm going to have winter/spring break (pending where i fuckin choose to go) in europe--Paris!! France!! I'mma train over there and walk around and order me some crêpes (maintenant je voudrais manger les nouriturres françaises. j'ai faim un peu..) AHHHH!! FRENCH STUUUUFF!
I saw Daniel twice and--i didn't say anyfuckingthing. I wouldn't feel so horrid if i'd only seen him once, the primary unexpected time..but the second time clearly needed a wave or "hi" or some inquiry about his foot/statement about missing male genitalia talk last thursday rather than some shitty shy-like smile.
Other news...i was secluded in a grotesquely small editing room with andy and then jerry, but eventually back to andy. also a good time for me to be more inquisitive.
Fucking shit.I'm sick of it. And chock full of contempt.
Also stoic-like, maybes.
Pre-grindhouse times there were arthouses. And these arthouses showed boss foreign films that we seldom care about nowadays. Death was often featured playing chess and if he won he took your ungrateful soul with him. Fellini is awesome. Giulietta Masina is an adorably-tangible-Italian-Audrey Hepburn-ish woman. Really, now.
Enough about film related pastimes—here is the most intriguing occurrence of the March 11, 2008: So tonite I was going to see The Wombats (and some other bands I didn’t know about) and I was able to spot but I realized that my originally well thought out scheme wouldn’t work and, indeed, access was denied. Next time I’mma go to MacArthur Park, fools. Anywhat—I roam around, contemplating if I should hang out in the 7-Eleven across the street. After a long while (ie: getting lost a bit on the strange streets) I began my wait kinda behind the damn place and someone walks by me. I don't really care who it is, thinking it was these two people who I had seen momentarily at the crosswalk. It was this guy wearing a black jacket with some sorta plaid shirt deal, black pants, and red shoes, i guess, sporting some wild hair that was slightly reminiscent of an afro. HOLD UP.
What does Matt Murphy look like? Let's refresh our memories, kiddies:
OK. At first I was all thinking, "NO FUCKING WAY" then i slowly thought, "well, maybe." I couldn't clearly see his face even though he looked back at me a few times(once as he initially walked by me and again as he was farther off--possibly because i tried to discreetly follow him for a bit to see if it was really him...i shoulda fuckin' waved, man) because it was dark and he turned to glance at me real quick. I was astonished. I waited a bit more...wishing he'd come back so i could make sure that was him. Lo and Behold!! He returned!! But I didn't see his damn face again...i really thought about yelling something so he'd turn around (maybe, like, "Hey" or "Excuse me" or just "Hello" like one lady said to me as she walked by). I would've known fo sho...i'm pretty fucking sure it was Murph, though. Not damn sure, but pretty sure. And that's more than good enough for me.
I can't believe I missed possible live versions of "lost in the post", "party in the forest" (ohhh, i'm fuckin' pissed..if they played this...uurgh!!), "backfire at the disco", "kill the director", "patricia the stripper", "metro song", "moving to new york" (i hope to accomplish that one fine day), "school uniforms" and the etc. of goodness--shiiiiittt...i can't believe it. Damn 88.
I admit it. Guys with biblical names, at times plain, attract me. All the damn Andrews, Davids, and Daniels recently..uuggghhhnn.
Admitting blogging fatigue is a rarity, but it’s quite true. There hasn’t been any great stuff that calls/screams/moans out to be recorded on the interweb (not including humorous phrases like “oh look at that triangle—what a slut!!”). Few things are occurring, however, and maybe a worthy topic once weekly/biweekly. Here has to be one of those things.
Camera practice in the rape alley was fun as was the crotch grabbing and exclamations of cuteness. Sexual assertiveness apparent throughout the rest of the day this occurred. Also, for some illogical reason, explaining how robots emerge from eggs instead of little baby birds induces laugher on the masses.
According to word on da street, kids, all the girlies are into coiffing their pubies into major shapes—stars, hearts, lighting bolts—or going all the way and flaunting a “bald” kitty. They throw in some rhinestones for good measure, too.
