Now that I've got your attention, I must say that I cannot wait for this film to come out. Unfortunately, some boob - I blame not me - misinformed me on the release date, which is actually next summer. Mustard! I was so excited to see it this July that I went ahead and cleared out the whole month to see the film all 31 days. At least that's how many days some other boob told me are in the month of July. For now, however, I'll content myself with the new Harry Poophead movie, where acting knows no bounds and characters abound knowing no acting.

"Do yoooou plaaay -" *head bursts in fiery explosion*

"I knew I was an unwanted baby when I saw that my bath toys were a toaster and a radio."

-Joan Rivers

Words of wisdom, Joan.

Where In The World Is Death?

I wonder how long it took this little nerd to make. In any case, he's pretty awesome.



Watching Bang-Yao Liu's neat little composition of a trillion wasted post-it notes, I realized how little I know about the Japanese culture and also how bad I am at distinguishing them from the Chinese. I then found out why I know so little when I came across this disturbing photograph. I'm assuming these things were created when Jack Nicholson mated with a pterodactyl in that dream I had last week. I haven't slept a wink since.

Looks like I'm doing another load of laundry tonight.

Now what these hovering horrors really are are supernatural beings which serve as personifications of death in the Japanese culture. Well, mainly in manga and anime, that is. These death gods often surface in modern works of Japanese fiction and are the equivalent of our Grim Reaper. I'm not sure which is worse - some guy wearing a hood and brandishing a scythe while on foot or some joker freak that would have no problem outrunning you and stabbing you with his terrifyingly pointy elf boots. Either way, it looks like another sleepless night.

'Til death do me in or I find Him first, don't go toward that light!

Odd-topsies

I'm sure most people would like to choose what music they could listen to before dying. If I were to go back in time and visit my nerdy little high school self, I'm sure I'd suggest something like Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. Since then, my preferences have changed - everything from the dulcet repetitive tones of Phillip Glass to the smooth acoustic sound of the new Beastie Boys soundtrack and even to favorites like Return to Oz, by Scissor Sisters and Nowhere With You, by Joel Plaskett. (Still tear up to that one.) In a way, it's like choosing the song to which you'd like to summarize your whole life - one tough decision.

However, perhaps there's another way to solve this dilemma - let the music choose you. While I still can hardly believe there is such a profession, music thanatology offers musicians to use their talents essentially lulling the dying in their final moments. Using mainly a harp and lending their own voices to soothe patients and their families, music thanatologists do not respond to personal last requests, but perform according to the stasis of the patient. Breathing, restlessness, discomfort and relaxed are all somehow worked into the music by a professional musician, an angel of music, if you will.

If you were to ask me if I'd like one of these music thanatologists to be in the room, plucking on their little fairy harp in accordance with my haggard breathing and assured panicked state of being before being thrust into the unknown, well...I'm sure you can guess what my response would be.

...Get the f*** out of my room

This got me thinking - what do morticians listen to while they're prepping, dissecting and stitching bodies down in the cold recesses of the morgue? And if you think that seg was bad, check out this slightly disturbing but fascinating video on How Autopsies Work from HowStuffWorks.com. Even this woman can make the most fun out of an irksome profession with her Dollar Store ladle. (The video is near the bottom of the page.)

As I usually do when delving into such topics, I couldn't stop hitting the "Next" button as I Google searched "Autopsy photos," despite the fact that I was becoming more and more nauseated with each click. At the same time, a fire truck blared past my window, sending my mind into all kinds of bad thoughts, mostly concerning the safety of my boyfriend. I leave off now, considering this unsettling thought: Was it bad that I breathed a sigh of relief when he called me and, while knowing he was safe and alive, someone else's life was most likely in peril? For once, though distantly, I can now relate to some of the issues in Pushing Daisies...which everyone should watch. Until then, don't go toward the light!

Mustard!

Damn the times! Though I only managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed at two this afternoon, I did hit the pavement for a good hour and got some fresh air while I was at it. Being that my contract lasts until August anyhow, I'm making the best I can staying here in State College for the summer. I can see, however, that I'm not the only one getting down about the fact. It's a nice place to live - even the drunk pretty frat boys are bearable and sometimes add a nice flair to this pristine college town - but it's also fairly isolated and suffocating. So, while I praise it for it's natural beauty and debauched glory, I'm ready to get out. Weis is...well, my entry from yesterday covers that pretty well. On top of that, my projects are at a standstill. Two days remain for my bottle cutter set and Allah help me if sellers e***p or u***t get their hands on it. It also looks as if though I may have to get my own hands dirty again: my Basil wilted in the overpowering sun today. While there's still a chance it might pull through, I have ready a list of names of people to blame for this setback. I'll add as I see fit throughout the course of the day:

Heater, and by proxy, the rest of Canada
Colleen Masula
Toby Keith
Tom Hanks
Ben Stiller
The Pillsbury Doughboy (Giggling like he knows something. Stupid fatty.)
RuPaul
The North Koreans
Everyone from Texas
Joe Biden's advisor
That lady with the food stamps giving me a hard time at Weis yesterday
Josh Brown (For not having tea with me or teaching me how to knit)
Verizon
Lady Gaga
Orson Welles

You may be confused about the last one. Then again, you could just be stupid. Tonight: Looking for a place to live and perfecting my resume to send to every employer on the Eastern coast. Well, let's just go with everywhere and anyone who will accept me at this point.

For now, check out this video of Beirut and their song, Nantes. Thanks, Heather! I miss the crap out of you! (I actually recommend the other video on YouTube if you'd like to see the band - they play on trash cans, so it's worth the loss of sound quality.)

Final Answer

I finally caved and rented Slumdog Millionaire. I wasn't captured at first by the film, but toward the end it got very interesting. Needless to say, I had my Japanese fan near by for the eye squirts - need to get that checked out. (I have no Japanese fan.) What made the film even better was the fun number they all danced to at the end. Without a fantastic soundtrack, a lot of movies probably wouldn't even make it to the box office. Other films that I thought to have fantastic music scores were the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy and, more recently, the new Star Trek movie. I got shivers when the Enterprise first appeared, just as I did when Jamal and Latika found each other and danced to some funky beats near the end of Slumdog. Oh, whoops: spoiler alert. Too late?

Sweet India, where's my fan!?

While I haven't been in a movie mood lately, this was definitely worth the absurd late fees that will inevitably wreak havoc on my bank account over the next few days. Want a brief plot of the movie? Look it up on imdb, fatty - I've got better things to do.

One of those better things to do is making sure no one outdoes me on my latest eBay bid. No, I'm not talking about the 1934 silver 2 Reichsmark that I successfully bid for some time ago. (Can you believe they open cases on eBay if you refuse to pay for over a month? I don't, which is why I'm refusing to answer their phone calls.) A few days ago, my friend suggested an interesting idea for a project to work on in the meantime. The meantime meaning, of course, when I'm not trying to figure out the difference between the absurd amounts of types of green peppers and trying - very unsuccessfully - to explain to the woman using food stamps why she can't use them for two bags of potato chips, chocolate truffles and a trough of candy bars. Yeah, I said it. A trough. Like a desk of Cheez-Its.

It'll only be a matter of days now until I receive my Glass Bottle Cutter kit in pristine condition and I begin my project of turning State College's drinking problem into...well, a bigger problem. I mean, I'm essentially creating more glasses to drink from. While I'm saving the world one frosted Rolling Rock at a time (That's right, I'm frosting the glasses, too. I'm classy. I am a lady.), I'll be sprinkling fresh, home-grown Basil and Rosemary onto my imaginary steaks and chopping up succulent green peppers to compliment the meal. Now let's see how many more days I need to wait for these suckers to grow...68 more days!? What the steakums is this about!? You know what? Canada's going to have to take the heat for this one - things have been going all so smoothly that it just seems logical that Heather and her nation of syrup-guzzling draft-dodgers are behind this.

Now usually when I say I'm going to do something, I do it. Sure, I may have never actually "made" the Norwegian Glogg, or never really wrote that blog on the culture of Turkey, or even technically didn't catch those fish and instead paid another camper for my Fishing Boy Scout merit badge - but this time, it's serious. Soon, I'll be receiving that delightful kit in the mail and going to work. Look at out, drunken frat boys. Sunday morning, you look outside and see a creepy kid digging through your trash, don't worry - I'll let you finish that small amount of backwash and what appears to beer at the bottom of your Brewskies.

This is the guy who peed in your beer last night

Speaking of drunken idiots, I wasn't surprised, as I perused articles in the New York Times, to see that Kim-Ding-Dong Il has vowed to continue nuclear weapons production, despite the oh-so-threatening sanctions of the United Nations. I'd like to take the person who suggested that nuclear warfare is obsolete and strap them to a bomb heading toward Kimmy's house. In the article, it reads as follows:

North Korea has grown increasingly isolated as it has pressed forward with a nuclear program that many analysts say they now believe is aimed at producing an independent nuclear deterrent rather than being used as a bargaining chip with the West for much needed aid.
The long-range missile test in April was part of what many analysts call an effort to produce a delivery system capable of reaching the United States. There have been signs in recent weeks that the North may be preparing for yet another missile test.

Just small people playing with lives and fucking with resources that could be used for so much better. It makes me think of the time I was jogging down toward the World War II memorial field not too long ago. In passing, I saw several children climbing and playing atop an old tank that had once been a killing machine overseas. The image - the juxtaposition of death and new life and also of terrible symbolism and young innocence - disturbed me up until this day. Now, I think differently. In fact, the first thing that popped in my head when I thought of what the nuclear bombs could be used for aside from killing, I imagined giant warheads being used as playground sets at an elementary school. Wish I had a picture for that one. Oh wait, I do.

Of course, we'd first have to dismantle the weapons...or do we?

I See You Shiver With...

I was shocked to find out yesterday that my friend, who is a few years younger than I, is getting married. The idea of getting hitched so young, however, wasn't the thing that took me aback the most. Though I won't use names, I'm sure my comment won't be taken lightly by the individual, but I'd like to speak my mind. (Besides, who reads this crap anyhow?)

Not long ago, I had a conversation with Scott about individuals who ignore their sexuality struggles and enter a heterosexual marriage to appear "normal" for the rest of society, whether it be friends, family or the public in general. What was troubling about my conversation with my soon-to-be-wed friend was that he initially acknowledged that the marriage was a "convenient" arrangement. When I realized - after breaking down some barriers and eliciting a more accurate, true-to-feelings response - that the poor guy really seemed bitter (on top of being nervous, of course) and even demonstrated (I won't say how) that he wasn't exactly ready for a commitment, let alone a heterosexual one.

This isn't the first time I've seen or heard of this happening. It has also become a sore spot for me when it comes up in conversation. While the gay community protests and waits for their rights to marriage, the heterosexual crowd seems as if though they're simply throwing their rights away. It infuriates me to no end to see these couples wasting these opportunities (with some being an exception, of course) while those who truly do want to be with the one they love are denied all because society can't accept the form of love between same gender couples.

Unfortunately, for all my rantings, I have little, if not less, room to discuss the subject. I haven't been protesting or waiting anticipatedly (I'm still convinced this is a word, or should be) for gay marriage ban lifts. I haven't done my part, and therefore I haven't fought for my right either. I can only hope, however, that this blog entry - though it does little justice to the issue - is a start to a more activist stance on gay issues. Who knows who I'll be marrying some years from now, a man, a woman, my imaginary pet ring-tailed lemur, Dusty -- but it doesn't matter. I support love in all forms and will continue to do so no matter what my sexual preference in the future.*

*I'm going to go ahead and say that incest is pushing it and bestiality...well, that's just wrong.

However, there was a break in the clouds today when my friend let me on to an excellent idea for summer projects. (No promises on getting everything done on my growing list...I say to myself.) If there's a place for drinking until you're puking on your heels every night of the week, it's gotta be State College. And where there's booze, there's plenty of bottles. The Green Glass Company has some innovative ideas for these discarded and unseemly treasures. With an inexpensive glass bottle cutting kit, beer bottles, wine bottles - bottles of all kinds - can be transformed into a decorative glass set for the table. Just watch those jagged pieces around the rim. No, in all seriousness, that can be solved, too. It's all here on instructables. (Damn them and their clever name.) It's a sweet site, check it out!

I realize at this point that I have a plethora of new things from the same source, but they're too good to not mention. For the past twenty-four hours, I've been on a Mother Mother kick, repeatedly playing my favorite songs of theirs: Wrecking Ball, Hayloft and Oh My Heart. It seems there's a discrepancy on the last one and since I like the video, voilà:



There's no discrepancy on this story from the Huffington Post - those screwy Smirnoff-lovers are at it again. This time, the Russians are placing cardboard cutouts of Brad Pitt in heavy traffic areas in hopes that it will attract and slow down drivers as they pass by what can only be a highly unusual sight to them.

Looks like you're out of a job, fatty.

Fill Up Your Pockets, Fill Up Your Nerves

Talking to an old spark today (I'll never use that term again, promise), I got/stole some good ideas for projects this summer. More so, it coincides nicely with material I've been reading about - of course - death! Woot!

In old Slavic folklore, it was believed that Death, a figure which is popularly seen as a skeleton with a scythe in Western culture, came in the form of a woman dressed in all white, an everlasting green sprout in the palm of her hand. If one were to touch the sprout, according to legend, they would fall into an eternal deep sleep.

Although the symbolism of the everlasting sprout is fairly obvious, the significance of it, combined with my friend's musings on things-to-do-when-you're-bored-out-of-your-skull-and-nearly-applying-for-Teach-For-America, got me to thinking. One of the only ways to defeat or avoid death - aside from a nice, lengthy visit to Luz - is to create new life. As I love growing plants and using them in a practical way, whether for ingredients from my Basil or Rosemary plants or simply for breathing, I decided to take it a step further: Jam-making!

As it's already well into June, I'm pressed for time for berry-picking. On top of racing against the ripening clock, blueberries are pretty hard to come by in Western, Pennsylvania. So, perhaps it's time for a road trip over toward Lancaster and New Jersey for some moonlight misappropriation. Strawberries, however, won't be a problem. Normally, the season for strawberries lasts into September, so I've got some time. What to do with this jam, however, is still undetermined.

From the same source of my new inspiration to concoct sugary treats, it's been reported that birth control is allegedly fucking with our love lives. Taking the pill or stopping use can purportedly reverse the compatibility in genes between men and women, thus increasing the likelihood for accepted excuses for cheating. Read about women gone wild here!

While Jesus Saves, I Spend

As I began my new job at Weis today, I had plenty of time to think as I uselessly stood and "observed" the large, jovial cashier ring up all kinds of cookies, cases of soda and family-sized potato chip bags for wrinkly customers who could barely fit past the conveyor belt. At one point, I excused myself and walked - deliberately slow - to the back to get a drink of water. Passing the bread section, I nearly broke down in tears. I don't know why - maybe because my boyfriend left, albeit for a week and a half (separation anxiety) - but working my first day at a grocery store proved to be more humiliating than any other job I've had. Perhaps, too, my melancholy nature can be attributed to the large gap I've been sensing in my life lately. Tack on the little nuances of the day and it all adds up. You know you're in trouble when you've decided it would be a good time to join the Peace Corps, let alone that you've checked "No Preference" for preferred location.

Not long ago, I had an insightful conversation with a friend on life and death. If you've seen my earlier entries, you'll know I'm terrified of death. I don't say anything, but even when the subject arises in humorous situations - including the wonderful show, Pushing Up Daisies - my mind wanders and I begin thinking about what death means to me. To get to the point quickly, my friend, a staunch atheist with an optimistic outlook, said there is really only one way to live on after we die: through the memory of others. It sounds a little corny, but it is better than you're-only-maggot-food-and-that's-that explanation.

So, as I inhaled the luxurious scent of whole wheat, Italian and potato breads, I began to think: If I died tomorrow (Mr. Bourdain's ice cream truck example, let's say), what imprint would I leave and how long would it take for me to disappear? I'd like to believe there is a God - or something, an afterlife, paradise, reincarnation, what have you - but logic tells me, as it does my friend, that it just ain't so. Sure, on my death bed, I'll be praying like a fiend, hoping that the doctors suddenly find a cure for death and accidentally inject me with said remedy.

I have to take a break here - I've gotten worked up and I'm getting that familiar tightening of the throat and hot facial flushes. It's not menopause, as one elderly customer graciously shared with me today. As I usually do, I stole this from a friend and just had to share it. Here's what Bonnie Tyler was really trying to say:



From the same source, I was made aware today of a deadly shooting at the Holocaust Museum. Apparently, an 88-year-old white supremacist fired upon a guard, killing him, and injuring others. By the way, the picture on the article's site is heart-breaking. Read about out-of-control elderly people here.

Believing it to better to stay inside rather than getting run over by a racing zimmer on the sidewalks of downtown State College, I settled in to watch the third night of the Colbert Show in Baghdad, Iraq. Though he's been playing it pretty soft - schmoozing with the Iraqi president and taking a few mild jabs at former psychopath, Saddam Hussein - my man Stephen hit on a pretty tender subject in one of my favorite segments, Formidable Opponent. Lately, the issue of Don't Ask, Don't Tell has been pushed to the side not only in mainstream media, but even other outlets publishing LGBT news. 365Gay.com recently featured a blog article addressing the growing issue of deaf ears to allowing gays to serve openly in the military. Here's Michael Duffy's article on marching against the military ban. Let's get our translators back and focus on more important things.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Formidable Opponent - Don't Ask, Don't Tell
http://www.colbertnation.com/
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Stephen Colbert in Iraq

As always, Rachel Maddow got a hold of the issue and held an interview with a recently-outed Arabic linguist fired from the military under Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Here's Dan Choi and quirky TV host Rachel Maddow:

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Now there's a good spokesman for gay rights! Anyhow, where was I? Right, death. Far from wanting to sound "whiney" or emo (I ain't no fake cutter), I'm simply in limbo at the moment and I think I have been for quite some time - I've just covered it up with mindless activity along the way. I know that I'm young, that I have time to decide what I want out of life, but I want my epiphany now. Tiny cracks with tinier cracks in between, though. Anyhow, I'm sure of what I want now, and that's sleep.

Until next time, kiddos, and remember: Death's a reapin'!