Sunday, January 16, 2005
My dad tells me to lie to cops.
"If a cop asks you whether or not the address on your license is accurate, why the hell are you going to say yes? Oh please officer, slap me with a fine because I'm so fucking honest."
Ok, so my dad would never say the f-word, or the h-word, but it would be damned cool if he did. Or would it? Is it ok for your parents to be just as profane as you are? In anycase, just another useful nugget of advice from the padre, to be added to advice about death, taxes, and how to take out a mortgage. Because I'll definately be dealing with the latter anytime soon.
It's gotten to the point where I am looking at every single apartment ad that I see, in the vain attempt that I will find one that says, "Hey? Broke and looking for independence? We'll give you this 500 sq. foot walk up built in the forties (read: slick-ass hardwood, brick, and old metal radiator = dreamy) for free! But only because we know how desperate you are. Perhaps we'll charge you fiddy dollars rent, just to be a little more selective. Did we mention that you have a window that opens up to a fire-escape, and that school is a healthy twenty minute walk away?" But alas, it is not to be. I will squander my youth living in this house (don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that it's still a sweet deal to live rent free) with rules, regulations, stupid aunts, cold basements and ...god I'm such a whiner. Meanwhile, I still industriously look at these little pieces of paper on cork-boards that flutter profusely and hopefully about. I am sort of formulating a small plan in the back of my mind on this note though, that would be one step in the right direction: Spaz is coming up from Calgary to take her next semester at the U, because she can't hack it being so "far" away from home- in whichcase, she will need a place to stay, and I will be due for some freedom (I am almost 22 already- in a cloistered state). So, I may propose a plan to my parents that they pay my half of rent so I can shack up with Spaz. And Spaz's parents will be happy, because I'm "quiet", "responsible", and "a good academic influence" and as for Spaz, I love the kid to death, she's like a little sister to me, and after Godzilla, even Spaz and all her notoriety (temper, discombobulation) will be a fucking godsend. We'll see how that goes. I realize that it's also stupid to look a gifthorse in the mouth though, with all this said- because essentially, I've made it through three years debt-free because of living in this pad, and it is extremely comfortable, and free, and free, and free... But when do I stop "building character" by dealing with Godzilla, and start being comfortable with the notion of returning to that place where my bed happens to be after school? When do I get a home?
I was going to stick some "lost puppy" analogy in there, but instead remembered the rhinestone freak from "Suicide Club" who liked to stomp on them. Plus, it would have added to the pathetic, and that's the last thing I need to do right now. Fenton went and rented some movies for us to watch at Bento's house tonight (well, yesterday night, I suppose), and that movie and "Run Lola Run" was what he turned up with.
"Suicide Club" was a "social commentary on the disempassioned youth of Japan" and really, I thought it was really good, but drawing the meaning of the whole thing was rather difficult because either meaningful clips were extraordinarily vague, or lacking semblance with other parts of the movie. Existential....of course it was existential. Whether you are connected to yourself, and all that jazz. Because intrinsically, I suppose it could be easier to connect to others then yourself, because your essence is spread to others via their senses. Whereas, you.... I have it in my head how you would ensure you were connected to yourself, but it's difficult to put into words. But, back to this film. The cinematography was really good, and creepily done. Like "Lost in Translation" it put a new and more in-depth look into Japanese society, rather then the stereotypes that we've come to know. And the whole concept of the movie is of course quite applicable (if not moreso, in retrospect) to North American youth also. What struck me, was that (I didn't get whether the movie was trying to portray this...pardonez moi if I gaff here) the outcome of all these kids in particular committing suicide is because they had nothing to take seriously. Or, that somehow life had become trivialized, or that final line had been crossed as far as desensitized youth. Disempassioned. Right. Duh. Anyways, long boring picking-over aside, it really was a pretty decent movie. Now, if only I had friends who didn't laugh uproariously when swaths of schoolgirls get plowed to mush by trains. All of our sentences are going to end with, "so I think I'm going to kill myself now" for weeks. Maybe in another life, I will strive to be some clean-cut Christian girl who hangs out with frat boys. In the spirit of misunderstanding Quantum Mechanics though, I probably am a clean-cut Christian girl in another universe, right now.
I found a hand-written advertisement on the bus the other day for "What the Bleep?" and had to laugh out loud. The website was listed on it, after all the neatly penned rave reviews (clearly this person wants the world to see this movie...) as well as the cult of Ramtha site. Nice.
"Run Lola Run", was....full of running of course. I'd seen the movie before, but hadn't liked it the first time, and somehow liked it this time. The thing about that movie is it takes some patience to watch, and sometimes I don't have that. But I enjoyed it much more this time. I certainly noticed a lot more then I did last time. No comment.
In parting news... On the bus tonight I saw some police doing their duty, breaking up a fight with some punks that I usually see hanging out on 97th street, who had started up something with a homeless dude. But the thing was, all I saw was this seething mass of brawling shadows. Those cops sure can fight. One man down. Going with my Jesus-Christ Superstar complex that all my friends seem to think I have, I'm glad I didn't walk to the library stop to be warm instead of standing in the stop by the Bank of Montreal. I might have had to open a can of whoop-ass = Dangerous.
¶ 2:35 AM
Ok, so my dad would never say the f-word, or the h-word, but it would be damned cool if he did. Or would it? Is it ok for your parents to be just as profane as you are? In anycase, just another useful nugget of advice from the padre, to be added to advice about death, taxes, and how to take out a mortgage. Because I'll definately be dealing with the latter anytime soon.
It's gotten to the point where I am looking at every single apartment ad that I see, in the vain attempt that I will find one that says, "Hey? Broke and looking for independence? We'll give you this 500 sq. foot walk up built in the forties (read: slick-ass hardwood, brick, and old metal radiator = dreamy) for free! But only because we know how desperate you are. Perhaps we'll charge you fiddy dollars rent, just to be a little more selective. Did we mention that you have a window that opens up to a fire-escape, and that school is a healthy twenty minute walk away?" But alas, it is not to be. I will squander my youth living in this house (don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that it's still a sweet deal to live rent free) with rules, regulations, stupid aunts, cold basements and ...god I'm such a whiner. Meanwhile, I still industriously look at these little pieces of paper on cork-boards that flutter profusely and hopefully about. I am sort of formulating a small plan in the back of my mind on this note though, that would be one step in the right direction: Spaz is coming up from Calgary to take her next semester at the U, because she can't hack it being so "far" away from home- in whichcase, she will need a place to stay, and I will be due for some freedom (I am almost 22 already- in a cloistered state). So, I may propose a plan to my parents that they pay my half of rent so I can shack up with Spaz. And Spaz's parents will be happy, because I'm "quiet", "responsible", and "a good academic influence" and as for Spaz, I love the kid to death, she's like a little sister to me, and after Godzilla, even Spaz and all her notoriety (temper, discombobulation) will be a fucking godsend. We'll see how that goes. I realize that it's also stupid to look a gifthorse in the mouth though, with all this said- because essentially, I've made it through three years debt-free because of living in this pad, and it is extremely comfortable, and free, and free, and free... But when do I stop "building character" by dealing with Godzilla, and start being comfortable with the notion of returning to that place where my bed happens to be after school? When do I get a home?
I was going to stick some "lost puppy" analogy in there, but instead remembered the rhinestone freak from "Suicide Club" who liked to stomp on them. Plus, it would have added to the pathetic, and that's the last thing I need to do right now. Fenton went and rented some movies for us to watch at Bento's house tonight (well, yesterday night, I suppose), and that movie and "Run Lola Run" was what he turned up with.
"Suicide Club" was a "social commentary on the disempassioned youth of Japan" and really, I thought it was really good, but drawing the meaning of the whole thing was rather difficult because either meaningful clips were extraordinarily vague, or lacking semblance with other parts of the movie. Existential....of course it was existential. Whether you are connected to yourself, and all that jazz. Because intrinsically, I suppose it could be easier to connect to others then yourself, because your essence is spread to others via their senses. Whereas, you.... I have it in my head how you would ensure you were connected to yourself, but it's difficult to put into words. But, back to this film. The cinematography was really good, and creepily done. Like "Lost in Translation" it put a new and more in-depth look into Japanese society, rather then the stereotypes that we've come to know. And the whole concept of the movie is of course quite applicable (if not moreso, in retrospect) to North American youth also. What struck me, was that (I didn't get whether the movie was trying to portray this...pardonez moi if I gaff here) the outcome of all these kids in particular committing suicide is because they had nothing to take seriously. Or, that somehow life had become trivialized, or that final line had been crossed as far as desensitized youth. Disempassioned. Right. Duh. Anyways, long boring picking-over aside, it really was a pretty decent movie. Now, if only I had friends who didn't laugh uproariously when swaths of schoolgirls get plowed to mush by trains. All of our sentences are going to end with, "so I think I'm going to kill myself now" for weeks. Maybe in another life, I will strive to be some clean-cut Christian girl who hangs out with frat boys. In the spirit of misunderstanding Quantum Mechanics though, I probably am a clean-cut Christian girl in another universe, right now.
I found a hand-written advertisement on the bus the other day for "What the Bleep?" and had to laugh out loud. The website was listed on it, after all the neatly penned rave reviews (clearly this person wants the world to see this movie...) as well as the cult of Ramtha site. Nice.
"Run Lola Run", was....full of running of course. I'd seen the movie before, but hadn't liked it the first time, and somehow liked it this time. The thing about that movie is it takes some patience to watch, and sometimes I don't have that. But I enjoyed it much more this time. I certainly noticed a lot more then I did last time. No comment.
In parting news... On the bus tonight I saw some police doing their duty, breaking up a fight with some punks that I usually see hanging out on 97th street, who had started up something with a homeless dude. But the thing was, all I saw was this seething mass of brawling shadows. Those cops sure can fight. One man down. Going with my Jesus-Christ Superstar complex that all my friends seem to think I have, I'm glad I didn't walk to the library stop to be warm instead of standing in the stop by the Bank of Montreal. I might have had to open a can of whoop-ass = Dangerous.
¶ 2:35 AM
