trebuchet

I just bought a dress at a thrift store called "Steppin' Out for Christ." Which is located in a shopping center near "Club Crunk ATL."

Going to pick up my car last week from a local full-service auto-washery, a young boy crossed my path on his bicycle, guiding his transportation with one hand, holding a glistening all-day sucker to his lips with the other. It was too small-town America to be true, like something out of the "Willoughby" Twilight Zone episode.

"When will it be ready?" I asked the fit young gentleman holding a water hose near my Pontiac. He mumbled incoherently and pointed to my passenger side door, from which a somewhat whithered 76-year-old black man emerged with a bottle of upholstery cleaner in his right hand and a cigar hanging out of his mouth.

Perhaps his cigar smoke smells of the finest Myrrh, and such is his secret to satisfactory car-purification.

Anyway, it made me laugh to myself. Nearby, people hung around in lawn chairs like it was the place to be. The town transvestite was there, in a black dress and lopsided black Sunday hat as usual. I don't know this person's name, but I see him every other time I come home. I just asked my mom what his name is. She doesn't know. She says she saw him in the store yesterday buying a 40, and that he's "creepy."

"His mother was sorry as gully-dirt. She's the one that used to call the Paradise Inn 'The Darapie Inn.' She couldn't say 'Paradise.""

What in the hell is gully dirt?

heretogo I said: Obviously, dirt from a gully.
heretogo I said: One of the lowest dirts in the archaic dirt-caste system.
heretogo I said: Nigh-untouchable.
meely wah kay: well, i guess you're right.
heretogo I said: In the coming dirt wars, there will be a genocide.
meely wah kay: i'll make an addendum

Well, okay, I've graduated and I'm here at home with my parents for what I guess is technically, my last summer vacation -- to last 24 days, including those that have passed since graduation, the one I'm using up now, and those to come in the days leading up to my internship. Which I guess isn't cool to directly reference on these personal sites, lest the worse of my habits reflect poorly on the publication that's chosen to have me fart around on their company stipend.

I don't think it'll be a real summer vacation unless I play some RPG start-to-finish in a week's time. Suggestions? Oh, and what cereal should I subsist off of? Who's the sassiest of today's television court judges? Maybe I'll just soak up every detail of the Phil Spector trial, including the accused's jolly pageboy "hair" and Dr. Teeth smile.

Done with school for a good long while.

1. Maybe I'll write more in this thing.
2. Let's hang out (I'll be out of here in a matter of days).

Everything I could have ever wanted from television, and more.

My MS Paint salute to a true hero of cinema:

Pictures from the trip at interocitor.blogspot.com

An American flag was displayed at the Trinity College gate yesterday in celebration of July 4th, while an apparent hotspot down the road gave out shots for a pound. Most every school here's currently hosting American students (UMass and Georgetown are at Trinity with us), so there's much expensively exchanged money to be made.

The areas nearby are so tourist packed that it is the blind leading the blind when it comes to needing help with directions. I've been asked twice if I live here and couldn't help either person. I realized immediately that carrying a newspaper probably did seem a bit local. Maybe that will be my defense against petty theft. Come not near me, mid-teen'd scamp! I'm not one of those Americans, with their "stuff!" I have only this newspaper, and the knowledge contained therein (ie, "Myspace = paeodophile candy store").

After about a week here, today is the first rain. Just the cliche I was hoping for, because IT HAS BEEN HOT. After arriving here by train Sunday afternoon, I then turned what should have been a 20 minute walk into an hour long, shoulder-cramping, throat-drying, confused suitcase-drag down the right streets but in the wrong direction. The location was beautiful but OH GOD PAIN, I CAN'T FEEL MY WRISTS ANYMORE. I CAN FEEL MY HANDS BUT I CANNOT FEEL MY WRISTS SO IT IS LIKE A STRANGE GHOSTSPACE BETWEEN SEPERATE AGONIZING PARTS.

At one point, from twenty feet away I could see a teenage couple all twisted around each other in the middle of the sidewalk and I KNEW they weren't going to move aside for me by the time I got there, even though the only space at all was about a foot between them and the wall. Sure enough, such was the case. Let me tell you, it is possible for people in relationships to despise couples.

At Trinity, I got my keys from the Porter and went up three floors next door. After opening my room's door, I experienced simultaneous JOY and a desire to weep upon the somewhat thin provided pillow. My room is nice and large, but I didn't get one of the huge rooms with old furniture. As a fellow student described, "You know like those ones in movies with like Brendan Frasier."

We then all met together an hour and a half later next to the Trinity library. It was a nice relief to have made it where I needed to be on time for the purpose of the trip. I finally got to mingle with those I knew, kind of knew and recognized, along with the other 90 percent that didn't fit into the previous three catagories.

We were fed various grilled foods, which we ate on the lawn. Two girls I knew had two bottles of wine and were throwing a cork around. Someone screamed for "Red Rover." Another, "Red Light Green Light." GEORGIA HAS ARRIVED. OH MY GAWD Y'ALL. REMEMBER RED ROVER? REMEMBER THAT TIME SHANDY HUBERT BROKE HER ARM AND IT LOOKED LIKE THIS?? HAHAHAHA? JUST LIKE THIS!! HAHAHA! IT TOOK HER 10 MINUTES TO PUT ON A JACKET. SERIOUSALY, Y'ALL.

Everyone wanted to crash almost immediately after dinner, so I went back to my room to force myself to sleep. At NINE O CLOCK. I didn't have a phone card or the password for the computers. And also a fun fact is that my room was as hot as a granny's attic. The only way I managed to sleep was by dunking my head in the sink first. Then I opened every window. A supposed recipe for a cold, according to every mom on the planet. But for me, it was worth sweet, sweet two and a half hours of sleep before drunken screaming outside woke me up.

More to come, I have a tutorial soon. At the school whose dining hall was used in Harry Potter omg!

This was written Saturday morning:

It's nearly 5:00 AM, and I'm incredibly restless. I started to fall asleep on the couch while Gaz and I were watching Slumber Party Massacre 3, but when he turned it off to go to bed himself I decided to come in and type out an entry first. That was around 2:00 AM, and here I remain. Apparently, the sun begins to rise at 3:30 here. Isn't helping.

Not that I'm complaining. I've got slightly different tasting 7-UP, a bag of chips that manages only to contain "potatoes, vegetable oil, salt" and lists nutritional facts about "PROTEIN CARBOHYDRATES of which SUGARS" and "FAT of which SATURATES."

Today, Gaz and I ventured to Blackpool, which Neil had previously mentioned as being unintentionally hilarious. Gaz too explained this element of it on the way. Basically a wonderfully tacky seaside tourist trap with several amusement parks, a wax museum, topless joints (advertising the ULTIMATE lap dance, which I figure must be like Ultimate Fighting... both of which include one's legs straddling another's) and places not meant to be risque but with unfortunate names like "Slots of fun."

A picture I took after hijacking a helicopter, or not

The first thing we did was walk down to the big amusement park that I don't even know the name of. I've never seen so many rides in such a small space of land. It was to the point where, when I was standing behind ticketing for one ride, I couldn't tell which of the multiple rollercoaster hills in my line of vision actually belonged to it.

In front of an Around the World in 80 Days tunnel of love type ride, there was a cartoony statue of a British explorer shaking hands joyfully with a welcoming, bone-shrouded African Native. He is like OH MAN I AM SO PUMPED ABOUT THIS HERE COLONIALISM. Oh how I longed for a camera.

We rode two rides, the best of which was an indoor rollercoaster/water ride deal called "Valhalla," which featured animatronic Vikings and soforth. You really don't even need the soforth, do you? For most of it, everything was pitch black. Sometimes, it was cold and othertimes, hot. I closed my eyes tight after going down a hill in the darkness, anticipating a splash of water. After getting soaked, I kept them shut tight for a few more seconds until I opened them and saw a giant arch of water over my head. That was fairly neat. The ride was unlike any other I'd been on for one simple fact: There was actual fire. Maybe some places in America have that, but whaddoIknow.

The next best thing I saw was an airbrushed Bruce Willis.

Gaz bought a raspberry Slush Puppy, which we shared as we sat on the beach. After that was done, we walked on the sand for a half hour or so. We determined a woman screamed at the water because it was polluted, and strained to decipher the unintelligible shrieks of a pair of blonde-haired toddlers. There were also puddles and large rocks, which we introduced to each other. Gaz wrote his name in the sand, while I drew a cactus yelling "JERK!"

On our way back to the car, we bought donuts and Gaz laughed at me as I looked the wrong ways for oncoming traffic.

After eating a nice dinner of ample meats at some place I've already forgotten the name of, we came home. Hung around on the internets and otherwise. Was introduced to comedian Bill Bailey. I could not stop laughing at his remark about the difficulty of selling doors door to door.

Wow, Gaz should be up in half an hour. I'm starting to get nervous about the actual school element of this trip (IE, the point).

Gaz is off cleaning the house before his parents return from vacation tomorrow. The first item on their list of chores is "Hoover up." There is a small yellow manual on the table over there called The Little Book of Complete Bollocks. LOL ENGLAND.

Last night, I witnessed this country's version of "Most Extreme Challenge," which just goes by the original name ("Takeshi's Castle"). The commentary is much less random and crude, and I now actually have some concept of how the game works. But the announcer doesn't say anything crass or otherwise when the players scream randomly before they tug-of-war with tractors or skate around in horse costumes. So that's pretty weak. I think it'd be best if directly translated.

British "American Gladiators" is about the same, from what I gathered. "Warrior" is such a gentle giant.



It took me almost 24 hours worth of transportation to get here. Here, have a chronological bulleted list!

* 3:00 PM - 5:30 PM: As they did not have it in them to take me all of the way to the Atlanta Airport, my parents instead accompanied me to the van station in Columbus. We pulled up as my ride left. I should have headed them off, I'm sure that wouldn't have been insane at all. Many hugs were exchanged and my parents stood outside the bus window and grinned at me like I was off to first grade but it's okay as they are awesome.
* 5:30 PM - 6:45 PM: The van ride to the airport turned out well, since the other passengers consisted of two 50-something year old women journalists, one of whom had just returned from Kuwait. They didn't know each other. What a fun coincidence. They were fun to talk with. Because I'm a moron, I didn't get either of their names. One asked for mine as I was exiting the van at the airport, so she could "look out for my bylines."
* 6:45 PM - 10:00 PM: Checked in, rode down to my gate and wandered from store to store while talking with Andy on the phone. Sat down and watched planes take off and land while the setting sun cast nice, long shadows in the terminal. Andy is basically the most fantastic guy around and I miss him even more than usual. The two of us had been at the airport just two days earlier for his own departure, during which we ate sandwiches and were sad.
* 10:00 PM - 7:00 AM (12:00 PM): Flight. Nine hours of flight, without sleep, without reading any of the three books I bought. With futile attempts to watch two atrocious movies (8 below and Failure to Launch). With putting on the radio briefly long enough to hear "Round Here" and half of a Fleetwood Mac song before saying "oh screw this." UNCOMFORTABLE. I opted for the pasta instead of the chicken, which tasted fine but twisted my innards into some kind of obscure knot I'd have needed an Eagle scout to untie. Breakfast was better, and did not include the Egg Brick that Andy'd told me about. When we finally made it over London-Gatwick we had to circle, I swear to God, about 20 times before landing. I enjoyed looking down at the fancy estates near Southhampton but KIND OF WANTED TO VOMIT. I just looked at the tiny airplane on the GPS screen going around and around and sighed every time it began another loop. The passenger next to me -- a 50-something year old man from Georgia -- did not speak to me until the last hour of the flight. Except for the car-thieving comment, which just seemed strange and must have come from a bad personal experience, he was very nice.
* 12:PM - 5:30 PM: After landing in London, it was necessary for me to take two trains across the country where Gaz would pick me up at the station in Manchester. Besides small moments of confusion about the way buildings were set up/how to use the payphone/general idiocy, everything went smoothly. Except for a brief conversation with someone at the information desk to confirm that my idea of the fastest way to Manchester was really the fastest way, I didn't have to ask any questions. First, I took a slowish train with many stops from Gatwick to Watford junction, where I got on the Virgin express train to Manchester. The scenery was lovely when I was able to keep my eyes open to view it. Lugging the 40 pound suitcase everywhere on no sleep and airplane pasta almost put me into a coma.
* 5:30 PM - 6:30ish PM?: Gaz picked me up at the station for the last leg of the trip, an hour or so long car ride (including the I-think-I'm-lost-time) from Manchester. As I've done 3 or so times since, I walked to the wrong side of the car. HURR DE DURR AMERICANS. "Even Erica got that right," Gaz told me.


And that was that. Difficult, but interesting. I'm glad to have come a bit early and done that all on my own the first day, rather than arriving with a group and then getting on a group bus and groupin it up in a groupshuttle to the grouphouse to group around. Not that I feel all superior to anyone that's going to do that, I just think this was better for me personally. Not that it was the CHALLENGE OF A LIFETIME. I'm just, at times, a very solitary person. And like having to go through the slight nervousness that comes with an unfamiliar situation without having someone to turn to and ask where do You think we should go? Plus, I like being able to determine when I need to be where, instead of having some groupkeeping group leader yelling crap and stressing me out.

Anyway.

Yeah!

Gaz welcomed me with pizza, beer, television and playstation. Four things making up the corners of what I like to call (since the beginning of this sentence) the Square of Hospitality. I can chart it out if you want. Besides the abovementioned shows, we also watched classic Batman. The best quote from the particular episode:

"I think the Joker is trying to confuse us with past tense, Robin."

And now: £££ £ £ £ £ £ £ ££ £££££££££££££££

bluekittybits: yahoo headline: Americans take to roads, skies for holiday
meely wah kay: HAHA
bluekittybits: as opposed to tunneling underground and teleporting, i guess

I miss Andy Penny. Somethin' serious.

Even if we can't seem to actually eat any of the produce we buy.

I just saw a gold cadillac with the word "C-MURDER" written on the side in gigantic letters pull out of the CVS/Winn-Dixie shopping center.

Ironic purchase of the year so far: The Baby Name Personality Survey by Bruce Lansky and Barry Sinrod (1990).

Price: $.75 at Goodwill.

From the back cover description: "What will people think of your baby's name when your baby's not a baby anymore? -- This is a new kind of baby name book. It provides exciting new information about what people think about names. It is based no the largest quantitative survey ever conducted on the subject of names. The Sinrod Marketing Group, a market research company, polled a sample of more than 75,000 parents to determine the most common images associated with 1,400 popular names. By providing new parents with survey-based information about the images and stereotypes that names convey, thsi book makes it easier and a lot more fun to pick your baby's name."

Some of the associates are celebrity-inspired and predictable ("Elvis is pictured as a handsome, generous southern rock star who sings the blues", "People describe Alvin as a cute, mischievous comic with a very squeaky voice") . Here are just a few other highlights:

"People say Hildegarde is a large, stocky German woman who may be an opera singer, gym teacher, matron, or witch."

"The name Lanny has two very different images: a jolly, overweight guy with a superficial style or an introverted, lightweight guy with a nerdy whine." (Lanny is my dad's name)

"Most people see Ace as a hotshit jock you find at the card table or on theplaying field. Some people also say Ace is stupid and kind of a jerk."

"Most people imagine Timothy as a cute little kid who is shy and sweet. Some are reminded of Timothy Leary -- intelligent, weird, and lost in a drug-induced haze."

"Henrietta is described as fat, fussy, old fashioned and downright horrible."

"Siegried is pictured as a wiry, old German composer, psychologist, or scientist who is intelligent, introverted, and eccentric. Siegfried is also imagined as a German Shepherd."

In general, the descriptions are pretty dull but there's an absurd gem here and there. Leave your name if you want, and if it's in there I'll tell you what it says.

IN THIS PICTURE THERE ARE A LITTLE OVER HALF A DOZEN MUSICIANS IN THIS PICTURE CAN U FIND THEM ALL IN THIS PICTURE?

A bad idea is the "limited edition" key lime pie Almond Joy bars. Key lime pies and Almond Joy bars are delicious as seperate entities, but when brought together in such a manner the tastes of each are only vaguely replicated. It is more like "This reminds me of the time I vomited onto the rug after eating an entire bag of Halloween candy." I consumed the gimmicky turdfood earlier this week when I was starving in the Student Learning Center and really wanted to make my 80 cents stretch. Then my stomach said NO, DO NOT TAKE A PRACTICAL APPROACH AND EXAMINE THE NUMBER OF OUNCES IN EACH OF THE OVERPRICED JUNK FOOD SELECTIONS FEATURED BEFORE YOU. INSTEAD PLEASE GIVE ME UNSATISFYING NOVELTY. REMEMBER HOW MUCH OF A FUCKING WINNER THE COFFEE FLAVORED KIT-KAT BAR WAS? JUST BALLS OUT GO FOR IT. HAVE SOME SACK

Fucking atrocious.

Candy seems to be trying too hard lately, but I'm a sucker for each variation. Except actual suckers, unless they come from a bank. And that candy is pretty much consistantly uninteresting. And slightly aged, which is probably the thing. You know, the nostalgia factor. "Aw hey, I bet this was taken from the exact same empty, dusty shoebox they kept suckers in twelve years ago when I'd accompany my grandma on her errands. If only I had a copy of that 8 track that came with her Buick, I'd maybe feel an instant of something much like untarnished child-like wonder."

Oh well.

I privatized my last journal, and created this one to start over. It's just something I do from time to time. Definitely didn't happen with this entry in mind -- this is just some crap I wrote as a spacefiller.

Why am I all of the sudden listening to a remix of Rob Zombie's "More Human than Human." I have no recollection of acquiring this piece.

1. i spent at least half an hour of my thanksgiving watching a miniature donkey chase around a miniature doberman. i think that's what people used to do before there was internet and the television.

2. i just, successfully (i think) made a mix that includes both slayer and neil young.