channonyarrow

Yesterday, my car briefly caught fire. After the fun was over (I am probably the only person who can call 911 to report anything else in a clear, concise tone of voice, and state the problem quickly, such as "There's a sheep on the road that's been hit by a car and is clearly dying," yet my call for my OWN emergency starts out with "I think my car's kind of, um, on fire. Maybe.") I was critiqued for not having requested the firetruck come ANYWAY because one of my friends, it turns out, thinks that firefighters are HAWT, which I'm down with, and that if they didn't have any actual work to do, they'd just tell us how HOT it was and spontaneously start stripping.

I'm down with that.

But I did not do so because by the time we got done with the eleventy-jillion pieces of information, such as an address, and the name of the complex, and WHERE THE FUCK WAS I STANDING and OMG WHERE IS THE PERSON WHO LIVES HERE WHO KNOWS THE ADDRESS, the fire was out. Go me and go my 1337 emergency-panic skills of going "Fuck!" and slamming the hood down on the burning engine compartment.

I did make sure to grab the most important things in the car in case it all went up, which menat that, um, I had my iPod and my movie tickets and I had to go back into the car to get my phone - which I wanted for calling 911.

So the moral of the story is clearly "Never go anywhere that you do not know the address of, in case you have to call 911 from your mobile phone."

Then I got drunk. Hey, I deserved it. But I will admit it was only a bottle of wine, over several hours, so being drunk off that is like having a sugar rush off the juice in a can of peaches.

Then I met my parents at 11:30 for a birthday dinner.

Bear in mind, this is 11:30 at night. When I have been drinking. After my car nearly burninated to toast. But my mother loves her birthday gift (a weekend workshop on glass blowing, in which she will blow glass) and no one suspected that I was not sober, so far as I know, so it all worked out.

And I did not feel that god shit in my skull this morning, and (even better!) the sentient fire that clearly was waiting to destroy my car did not do so overnight. So go me.

So I set out today to achieve punk in black and white. I learned, shortly after leaving the house, via self-observation, that I missed punk by a narrow margin and mainly achieved Nazi school girl.

The bad part is that I am supposed to go to my mother's house tonight to sew. Despite the fact that I really look more like I should have a whip in one hand and a strap-on on, with a swastika on an armband. I am considering whether I can go to the store and get a pair of tights that will solve this problem or if it's deeper than that. But I think that if I could replace one thing and not get the "You certainly look interesting today" from my mother, it would be the fishnets. Or I could replace the button down shirt with a tshirt and be all right, but the summer shirts are over and I really don't know if I want to go to Target and pay ten bucks for a shirt or Lane Bryant and pay twelve for tights.

Note to self: do not wear black fishnets to work again, particularly not with a white shirt and military jacket.

Maybe I'll just go to Broadway and recruit for my cause. Whatever it might be.

All that aside, though it's a large aside, all is well in the land. I really need to get on posting to whereanimalsgo, but I keep pausing to squee about my Halloween costume (yes, starting it now, have the pattern and all the bits to make the corset) and wipe Vaseline off my ear.

Why is it impossible to remove all of the Vaseline ever?

And the reason I am dressed as the black-and-white Nazi school girl and have Vaseline on my ear is because my hair is blue. I am quite pleased with the effect achieved by putting the dye on and then going to sleep.

It is possible that my ordinarily-sartorially-alert mother will not notice my Naziness because of my blueness. But I'm not counting on that.

*****

The song I bring today is unrelated to any of the proceeding.

Royal City: Bad Luck. One of my old journal titles used to come from this song - And you will never know / the places that I go to without you.

You know what I'd like? I'd really like to read a comparison between, say, Pink Floyd's The Wall and My Chemical Romance's The Black Parade. I'm really curious to know what music scholars think on the issue of the similarities. I mean - for those of you who listen to MCR, obviously - the entire supposition is that the storyline of TBP is someone dying of cancer. So why is Liza Minelli's role "Mama War"?

I really suck at that level of textual analysis when the text is music, which is why I'd like to see someone else think about it. But I figure that SOMEWHERE in there (or perhaps in the movie they're talking about doing) there's got to be a reference to the idea that the war caused the cancer or is the cancer or some damn thing. My analytical skills are not good with the necessary compression of ideas that are a song, though.

It is not related to Black Parade that I'm thinking about bleaching my hair white again. The black is growing out and lightening and sometime soon I've got to do something. I have a lot of freedom this year because of the fact that there won't be a family portrait in my future, and basically I'm torn between white and green for my hair. But mainly that goal is related to figuring out that I have a LOT more bleaching products than I thought I did.

Ah moving. It teaches you so much about the things you still have.

I will believe in organised religion the moment organised religion believes in me.

What is the point of Netspeak?

Part of me wants to say it is a perfectly valid form of expression, designed to take control of a medium that has been designed by anti-humanist corporations, and part of me wants to beat Netspeakers to death with a shillelagh.

There was a girl in my cabin in a camp I was at (yes, as a counselor, no they didn't turn out to be serial killers) who we had to keep an eye on to make sure that she didn't write her daily journal stuff in gang writing (this kid was 11). I can sort of see the point, a way of self-expression that's a pretty strong fuck-you to the dominant paradigm, but it just seems like so much bloody effort, that could be more practically used in writing well in standard English.

Or, as I like to say, to overthrow The Man, you have to be The Man first.

The first person (and the second, and the third, and etc) to comment on this in Netspeak will be harmed.