This was a bit I wrote about V-Day.

[a link to My Mistress’ Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun]

Here’s a poem you can share with your significant others to pretend that you are as cultured or learned as I am. Enjoy your abstracted celebration of gods unknown serving as a facade for oppurtunistic capitalism to engender into the population of our brave new world the expectation of commidifying human interaction.

That said, I don’t ironically hate V-Day. V-Day is like V-J Day except without the undertones of victory through atomic warfare, and also not in any other way. I hate V-Day ironically because other people like V-Day ironically, and I’m like a reactionary contrarian force that responds by automatically hating everything like a pedantic angry Christopher Hitchens wind-up doll.

That’s so many levels of irony and so meta that I’m too cool to continue writing. Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. AF OUT!

Advertisements

the hammer falls, the die is cast, etc

Well, I was (duly) rejected from USC, which makes sense because even before the interview, from just being subjected to that area, I’d decided I didn’t want to go. So, naturally, during the interview, I didn’t think too hard about my responses. I remember the guy asked me why I wanted to go into the field.

I replied, “uh… it’s a flexible job”.

He replied, “Anything else?”

I finalize with, “I should certainly hope so.”

To which he gives a small scoff-laugh hybrid under his breath. I mean, this was among the worst interviews I’ve had, and even when I’m not really prepared I should still give better responses than this. Why didn’t I? Because I had gotten 3 hours of sleep the night before and 5 hours the night before that. I was pretty fucked up by that point and I was only really awake from the adrenaline of being in foreign surroundings. (And also knowing that I’d be stranded when the interview was over from lacking transportation back to my lodgings).

Anyway, I really didn’t want to go to USC, so I’m okay with being rejected. It wasn’t right for me and I wasn’t right for it.

DGAFING

DGAF is an acronym meaning, “don’t give a fuck”.

That’s how I feel about this one project I have for this class. It’s pretty much the only graded thing for the class, and I’m with a group where the other members don’t care, except for one person, and she cares a buttload because she’s trying to impress the professor. And she wants us to do this big thing that we factually don’t know how to do. So it’s a little painful because I do kinda care, but the way she’s dictating our project is kinda crappy.

So these kinds of groups suck. I’m also in other groups for other classes, and those mostly go well.

[edit 3 May 2011: this actually turned out surprisingly well and I highly admire said person.]

The horror (?) that keeps you up at night

I remember when I was a high school senior. I’d gotten my acceptance to college, and I’d planned to live with one of my friends. It was a few weeks before graduation, but for some reason it really hit me one night as I lied in bed that I was going to live on my own. No parents, a completely new apartment, being able to do whatever I want, and most importantly, being able to hang out at “home”. I was so excited and anxious that it took me hours to fall asleep.

Now I kind of have the same thing. I’m graduating at the end of May, and we’re moving out. I’m off to somewhere completely different, with new people and unknown challenges. But it’s the moving out part and packing all of your possessions that somehow really gets me.