Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Madonna's arms, wine, and the Blair Witch

I hate this time of year.  I hate that when I look up at my whiteboard calender all I see is a solid wall of academic bombardment before I reach the glorious 17th of February which, aside from being one of my best friends' birthdays (we're all turning 21 already - ahh!), marks the last day of class before my Reading Week.  I hate that I look a week later on my calender and see two sizable assignments due immediately after my week-long vacation, a week which, I'm sure, the ratio of staying in and doing homework and going out with friends and probably drinking is rather lopsided.  I hate February 29th because immediately following it on my calender is a drop-off of whiteness, meaning that so will begin March, and I hate March even more than I hate February and I shudder to imagine the business that will be my schedule of assignments for that month.  Despite my mounting stress - and I hate my mounting stress - I hate the fact that I have an abundance of free time; I used to like my sporadically spaced schedule but now I find myself wasting away doing nothing, pushing off the inevitable assignments in favour of staring at the same websites with their unchanging updates.  I hate, most of all, that despite all of my free time, I haven't written anything for my blog.

I find that my enthusiasm for writing comes and goes in waves as unpredictable as the quality of Lana Del Rey's live performances.  (put away your pitchforks, we all know I'm a huge fan and the joke is in good fun) That goes for things even beyond my blog: I'm sure I've used the image of the "writing itch" before, and if I haven't, then I just seem strange.  I obviously mean that at times when I wallow in my boredom I'm overcome with an urge to write something, but I think the perfectionist in me prevents me from writing on a whim without a concrete plan.  That's how I feel about my creative writing: I regretfully report that I haven't returned to that NaNoWriMo project I had spoken of, and I've made myself quite the paradox considering I don't like leaving things unfinished but I've fallen out of love with that plot and characters and I'm unable to have one side outweigh the other.  With that in mind I haven't brought myself to write something new - I'm planning it, though, but I don't know what it is, exactly - and aside from my lack of serious motivation I've tricked myself into thinking that I can't write something new with something old left hanging unfinished and then again I return to that infinite pendulum back and forth.  With respect to my blog I often don't write unless I'm struck by this divine idea and I find myself waiting around for that idea to strike me.  I guess that's my best excuse for not writing for so long - even when I'm not posting I constantly think about it because, really, blogger.com is unavoidable because it's one of the most visited sites on my browser in the address box - and I've become too fed up with not posting that I've let myself write one of those segmented incohesive posts about the random aspects of my life worth mentioning: this.

(It's Okay to Watch a Show Called) Cougar Town

(this title is in reference to the opening credits of Cougar Town where the writers mock the show's title) In my recent bout of boredom I decided one day to start watching the show Cougar Town, mostly because I grew tired of waiting for episodes of Six Feet Under - another show I've started and god is it bugging me that I started it and left it unfinished and started something else - to load.  Cougar Town is funny!  I would recommend it, but I would only recommend it if you've watched Parks & Recreation, and if you haven't, then please complete the first three seasons and catch up to the fourth of Parks & Recreation before you are permitted to begin Cougar Town.  Why?  Because Parks & Recreation is the funniest show on television, no questions, and while I enjoy Cougar Town a great deal I obviously know I'd rank it below Parks & Recreation.  I've grown weary of typing out Parks & Recreation.  Cougar Town has a selection of genuinely funny characters - I'm a big fan of Ellie, the self-proclaimed bitch, and Laurie, the stupid one - and I can say that I've laughed out loud a great deal while watching.  (not as much as I have with Parks & Recreation) Something central to Cougar Town is the fact that every episode the characters drink a great deal of wine, and in my prolonged exposure to the show - I've caught up, there's only two seasons - I've had this craving to drink red wine, a feat I accomplished a bit too well last Friday when I discovered that a full bottle of red wine gets me drunk off of my ass.  Watch Parks & Recreation Cougar Town!

Alcoholics Named

(this title is clever) As I mentioned, watching the full two seasons of Cougar Town has unlocked some need within me to drink red wine, but I'm by no means a wine connoisseur even though I proclaim myself to be one when I'm, well, drunk off of my ass on red wine.  (after all, I bought the bottle I had based on price entirely; who the hell knows if it was good wine?  That's a silly question, of course it wasn't good) On a grander scale, I quite enjoy drinking.  I even bought myself a fancy UofT beer glass which I have yet to christen with beer and have already tarnished with red wine.  I really don't have a point to this blurb aside from that bit about red wine; actually, that's not the entire truth, considering that for a while I've been thinking about devoting an entire post to alcohol, but in the end I'd end up looking like an alcoholic and I've already been told I am one by someone and that comment has ranked in probably the top two most awful things I've ever been told so I give a slight toast to that comment with every drink I take.  Meaning, then, to write this little pointless thing serves as a means to get the want to write about alcohol out of my system.  So boom.  Catharsis.

Crypt Woman

(this title is the pseudonym I use for Madonna) I'm not a Madonna fan at all.  You might assume I was given my love for Lady Gaga, but no: I'd say my sudden love for Gaga is somewhat out of character for me in the sense that no, I don't normally enjoy strange pop women - ie, Madonna.  Madonna actually scares me, slightly; she's like a skeletor thing, and looking directly at her arms is like looking into an eclipse for me - for the love of god, don't do it unless you want to be blind for the rest of your life.  (as an addendum, never get me started on the Madonna-Gaga argument that will unfortunately stick to Gaga's entire career: influence is different than plagiarism!  Stop me) And yet, considering I don't like Madonna, her damn new song has been stuck in my head since the moment it was released.  If you haven't heard it, it's called Give Me All Your Luvin', and she sang it at the Super Bowl - a halftime show which, and I will give her serious props, was very, very good.  It features unnecessary ten second rap verses from Nicki Minaj and M.I.A (both who were lip synching at halftime; shame, ladies, even LMFAO "sang" live) as well as the stupidest hook I have ever heard: L-U-V Madonna, Y-O-U you wanna!  I wanna what?  Never look at your arms again?  Anyways, the song is pure bubblegum, and goddamnit, I can't stop playing it.  Someone sign me up for Intervention.

Good nights no more

(this title is not clever) I recently watched The Blair Witch Project for the first time, and I don't know why.  Thinking about it gives me chills.  Judge me, but I will say that I'm afraid of the dark.  Big time.  Being in the dark seriously unsettles me, and since I'm a writer and have a vivid imagination, I fill every dark recess of my room as I try to fall asleep with the scariest images I can conjure up - it's usually the Exorcist girl and I just got chills all over my body again because I'm picturing her face and I know she's going to fill my nightmares tonight.  And so, the thing about The Blair Witch Project was that is shows absolutely nothing.  Instead, we have the doomed characters running around and screaming "what the fuck is that!?" at nothing, and we hear noises - made from nothing - coming from the dark.  Chills, again.  And so, given the mind's capacity for imagination, the movie disturbed me far more than I ever thought it would because it preys upon what could be.  The final shot of the one guy standing with his face to the wall in the basement - serious chills right now - is scorched into my mind, and every dark shadow in my room as I've attempted to fall asleep since just recalls that final image.  I will not fall asleep easily tonight.

Fingers crossed for that divine inspiration lightning strike - I'd hate to abandon my blog for that kind of time again!

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