Don't get too excited. Weak week.

Oh, hey everyone. Or no one. Seeing as this blog has become a bit of a wasteland for the last several (twenty-eight) days. But anyway. News.

Hyperbole and a Half is the best blog I have ever read. It's one of the reasons that I haven't been blogging. I am...ashamed. Almost. As a result, I will be periodically adding images to my posts. Because I recently discovered how much I love doodling.

(Side note: If you haven't read Hyperbole and a Half...please do. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/)

Random fact. I can almost always tell if I have a fever because:
a) I'll be running a temperature.
b) I'll get chills.
c) when I close my eyes, I see arcade games.

Seriously. I blink and catch a glimpse of Pac-Man. I try to fall asleep at night and find myself watching a game of Whack-a-Mole. I'll tell ya, though, Pinball Wizard is the WORST. Those bells and flipper things make a ton of noise.

(Side note: Yes. I'm crazy.)

Well, this post has been lingering in my “incomplete posts” folder for about a week and a half, so I’m going to wrap this up right about…now. Kinda weak, but…oh, well.

Here’s some love from a State fan:

The bird knows what’s up.

82567819: What numbers can't tell you.

Latest obsessions: dearblankpleaseblank.com and potentially collecting every published edition of The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. If you want to sell me a copy...too bad. This blog is still anonymous. Ish. But anyway. Today's post will be punctuated with DearBlankPleaseBlank entries. And punctuation. Jefferson's pants, I need more sleep. Or something.

Here's something you all should know about me: I'm a Post-it note person. Yeah...one of those people. If I have to remember something, I don't do the sensible thing and set up a reminder timer on my iTouch or computer. Nay, I waste half a neon green tree by plastering neon green sticky notes on every noticeable surface in the vicinity.

"Dear Scissors,

I feel your pain... No one wants to run with me either.

Sincerely, Sarah Palin."

Also, when I have to remember something, I don't do the sensible thing and jot down something coherent. No, of course not. I write something obscure like "swap 'em out" or "RAWR. Do it."

Which brings me to my current predicament.

I glanced at the strand of sticky notes on my bedpost so as to remember what I wanted to blog about...and one of them says "SILLY BAND SYMBOLISM." Do you know how many directions I could take that?!? We'll never know what my intentions were behind that reminder. And, frankly, I'm stressin'. So I'll just let you ponder that one.

"Dear iPad,

You're such a poser.

Sincerely, Etch-a-Sketch."

Next Post-it: Daylight saving --> time is a creation of man.

That one has been up on the reminder wall since November 7th...which was daylight saving, for those of you who were born yesterday.

Does that whole concept freak anyone else out? I mean...we, as mere humans, change time. Doesn't that make the whole concept of time kind of irrelevant? The time is just a number that a bunch of people have in common...because I guess looking at a watch is easier that gauging the position of the sun in the sky, or counting the number of clouds north of the maple grove. (What?)

"Dear Justin Bieber,

Don't worry, we'll be real boys some day...

Sincerely, Pinocchio."

But, essentially...time is meaningless. I added a whole hour to my life last week! Granted, I'll lose it in the Spring, but for now...we're all a whole hour younger. That's an extra hour to breathe--and all because good old Ben Franklin said, "Early to bed, and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." (Side note: good thing I'm not a man, because there's no way I'll be in bed early for the remainder of my natural life.)

"Dear Professor on Gilligans Island,

You can make a radio out of coconuts, but you can't fix a hole in a boat?

Sincerely, Skeptical."

I'm not sure if this is something interesting to think about, something irrelevant, something redundant, or just something that doesn't matter to anyone. Isn't it good to question the system sometimes, though? I think so. Not that my thoughts really matter. I just happen to be the one sharing at the moment.

And with that...and this...

"Dear Edward,
This is why you were in Hufflepuff.
Sincerely,
The Sorting Hat."

...I bid you adieu. The Deathly Hallows await me. Whatever that means.

Defining profanity.

Oh, hey, almost didn't recognize you...seeing as it's been a whopping...21 days since my last post! Since then, I have adopted a hippo, filmed a parody for every episode of "Friends," and drafted the next great American novel. (Yes, despite America's numerous failures, quality literature production is not necessarily one of them. And yes, that statement does make me sound like a pretentious schnook. (And yes, "schnook" is in the dictionary.) (Double parentheses.))

So, everyone use your imagination for a moment...and pretend it's Halloween again. This was originally meant to be a Halloween post, but I don't exactly have endless free hours to blog/practice my extreme thumb- twiddling skills (for the INTENSELY BORED). Anyway, I really just have one idea to express about Halloween before we move on here...

Generally, Halloween is when people get dressed up in the costume of their true selves.

Granted, that's not always true. But...it makes sense, you know. I mean, think of all the girls who leap at the opportunity to dress scantily and "not be judged for it." Why doesn't anyone question the internal motivation behind that? I don't get it.

On a personal level, I was a mime. What does that say? Either that I'm so obnoxious that I don't need a voice to irritate people...or that I'm secretly a very introverted, internally expressive being. Hmm. I'm thinking/hoping it's neither of the two, actually.

The really obvious ones are the little kids dressed up as potential future careers. Like a doctor or a movie star or a cowboy.

The really obscure ones are the people who scoot around in a laundry basket full of balloons and call it a bubble bath. Unwrap that one, psychologists.

So yeah...if you want your Halloween costume unpacked, feel free to comment. I'd love to analyze your psychological state/self-esteem/general taste (or lack thereof) based on an anonymous statement. Or, you know, don't. I won't take it personally. Maybe.

Coming up next: defining profanity.

Although this is anonymous, many of you know me from "real life," (I have two fingers. I have four fingers. GrrRAHHHHHHH!) and you know that I'm a big fan of euphemisms. I won't list them all here because it could take days, and...I have plans. Besides, our next little tributary in my stream of consciousness leads not to what is said, but how and why.

I was recently challenged to explain the difference between profanity and a euphemism when the intent behind them is clearly the same. A huge part of language is the fact that we, as its users, give it meaning. In turn, language gives meaning to us and everything we do and say and feel. The only reason certain words are deemed profane is because we, as language creators and users, have come to associate those words with strong, generally negative feelings. So now I'm completely torn.

It's times like these that I turn to either of two books: the Bible or the Dictionary. In order to remain relatively ambiguous (and in order to make a more direct approach to this mess), I'll turn to the latter.

profane:
1: not concerned with religion or religious purposes : secular

2: not holy because unconsecrated, impure, or defiled : unsanctified

3a : serving to debase or defile what is holy : irreverent b : obscene, vulgar

4a : not being among the initiated b : not possessing esoteric or expert knowledge

So, in summary...true profanity is the uneducated misuse of a term that is used in order to desecrate something superior to the nature of the term itself. Or something like that.

Therefore, I will continue shouting "good gravy" and "heavens to Betsy" and "Jefferson's pants!" (I just made up that last one. I think I like it.) Because a) I'm not trying to defile anything, I just like how the words sound together and b) what could possibly be superior to Jefferson's pants?

Just some stuff to ponder. Or, you know...some stuff to forget. Either way, I'm glad we (indirectly) shared the last few moments.

Until the next!

Circumstantial Cannibalism.

Blogger is playing sick jokes on me. Apparently this is post 32, after all. But I see 30 on the side of the screen. Oh, well. As if it matters.

So apparently human flesh tastes like beef, but a little sweeter, and the texture is softer. Believe me, I wasn't curious...until I typed "what do people..." and the first search suggestion returned "what do people taste like?" I wanted to ask, "What do people want to read?" You know, so I would know what to write. But that cannibalism option came up and I wondered. Sweet beef just doesn't sound that appealing, though, so no worries. I have no wish to consume a fellow human being.

I feel like I've written about this before...didn't I tell you guys about the tofu alternative to cannibalism that I found online? I still don't know if that's a joke or not.

All right...you hungry? How about some food for thought?

I may have touched on this before, but hey...repetition is a literary device for a reason. Here we go.

In my opinion, one of the least understanding things a person can say is "I understand." Similarly, one of the most infuriating things a person can say is, "You have no idea." Both of these little expressions basically demonstrate a lack of respect for the joys, burdens, struggles, and experiences of others.

Well, not always. You probably know what I mean, though. There are times when it's nice to say you understand...and other times when there's no way you could possibly understand, and you're wasting everyone's time by pretending you do.

The point is...if someone truly understands the situation, the last thing he/she/it will do is say so.

Sugar Shower.

I do a lot of thinking in the shower. Which is pretty impressive, because I take really short/efficient showers. Generally speaking. Anyway, for some reason I was thinking about that song from Mary Poppins that says, "A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down." You know the one. Beautifully optimistic and what not. So, naturally, I tried to apply the lyrics to my own life--but I came upon a problem.

TOO
MUCH
SUGAR.

I know that must be kind of irritating for you guys--for me to say that I enjoy every aspect of life, but...seriously. I must be on some crazy life-sugar kick ALL THE TIME. Well...I guess I could probably put some select schoolwork/bad drivers/tetanus shots in the medicine cabinet. But still. I should probably work on diluting my sugar intake or something. (Except not.)

So, you know...application time. What's in your medicine cabinet? And, more importantly: how can you fill/overflow that spoon with sugar? Just something to consider.

Also...MAH SPOON IS TOO BIG.

(If you're lost, here's a road map: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WbcFrEp07Yc)

Like,
Me. Who else?

P.S. You all failed the Blogee Test. My last post was not number 30. I failed a test of another kind, though...by calling it post number 30 in the first place. So, you know. Let's all move on with life.

He who jokes confesses.

Post number thirty! We should all get donuts or something. In general, not necessarily as a group. Donuts are just a blessing that should never be overlooked. On the other hand, we should go to a Brazilian churrascaria and get corações de frango...because I feel like you'd need me to be there in order for you to eat chicken hearts. (It's not as barbaric as it sounds. They're delicious.)

Okay, public forum question: is it weird to say "bless you" when you're in a public restroom and you hear someone sneeze from the toilet? It's something I'm very conflicted about. On the one hand, you could bless him/her and make their day a little brighter...or you could bless him/her and totally weird the person out because no one should interact in the bathroom. It's a private sanctuary. Which is why I don't understand that feminine tendency to go to the bathroom in a pack. That makes me anxious, to be honest.

What else? Life is good, you guys. Don't even deny it. You get one shot, so make the most of it. Just throwing that out there, since I've been seeing a lot of collective negativity from people.

You don't choose what happens to you; you do, however, choose how you react.

Choose joy.

Craving the Uncharted.

Ladies and g-g-g-gentlemen, it is my humble pleasure (what?) to present to you...

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...the first post of October, 2010!

Yeah, I know. Wa waaaa. You were probably expecting something a little more exciting. Like a pet rock or two free tickets to watch grass grow. (There's a good date idea. I hope you're taking notes.) The reason I mention October, though, is because at the end of this month (the 25th, to be exact), Of All Things will be four months old. Four months is a third of a year...and thinking about it terms of a year, I'd say this blog sounds pretty ancient, eh?

Speaking of pet rocks, I would just like to say that my first pet rock (a very gray, very heavy frog) introduced me to my love and appreciation for nature. And puppeteers. Because it is not easy to convince yourself that a stone frog can jump and catch flies and stuff.

So I know it’s been forever and a half (twenty eight days) since Sara Bareilles released her new album, Kaleidoscope Heart, but…oh, man. She’s my favorite, in case you haven’t heard. Only second to marching band…but definitely higher up on the list than pulled pork. Do you know how much I love pulled pork? A lot. But I love my Sara more. She’s gonna sing at my wedding, I swear.

Anyway…do you ever have those moments when you’re walking somewhere with your headphones in and a song comes on that just screams, “WHEN YOU MAKE A MOVIE ABOUT YOUR LIFE THIS SONG WILL BE PLAYING WHILE THE OPENING CREDITS ROLL.” ? (I didn’t feel like punctuating that correctly. I feel like it would make that all caps statement less effective.) Well, I get that feeling every time “Uncharted” comes on from Kaleidoscope Heart. In fact, I purposefully make sure it will start when I’m in the middle of my bike ride to class, just because I feel like I could conquer the world when I hear that song. Maybe I will someday. (You should probably treat that as a warning. Stockpile some canned yams and non-Sara music in your basement, because a new world is coming. My world.)

Because I know you care: I pulled my first real all-nighter last night. A couple of friends and I were just chatting (in other words, having intense discussions about the meaning of life, faith, human consciousness, and perception) and we kind of just watched Sunday evolve into Monday. At 6 or 6:15 this morning we all kind of looked at each other and said some variation of “Breakfast, anyone?” What an odd morning. I still haven’t slept…but I feel fine. I should be a music major, just because I love music and don’t seem to require sleep in order to function.

Well…time for class. Hopefully my lack of sleep doesn’t cause me to lose it in the middle of discussion and start running circles around desks and hollering and drooling and stuff. Not that that kind of thing ever happens. I mean…really. Get real.

Sweet daydreams, blogees!