Creativity is almost never as good executed as it is in your head, unformulated. Someone once told me, "I have this awesome idea for a story, but I don't want to tell anyone because i can't do it justice right now." I think that it probably has something to do with entropy.

I'm not very good at explaining things like this (I took Physics 10, aka "Physics for Poets"), but I'll try to give this some context. I apologize if I offend any Physics (PhySUCKS) fans out there. From what I understand, when you're doing something, and it takes energy to do it, entropy is the stuff that you can't use to do what you want to do. It's increasing inefficiency. According to the second law of thermodynamics, entropy is always increasing within an isolated system.

Well, I figure that an idea, that perfect idea, is in this little isolated system in your head. When you want to write, this idea has to get from your head to paper. Your vision has to go through a series of transformations before it can be realized, and everytime it undergoes a transformation, from this vision of perfect clarity to your outline to your dialogue, to agonizing over every word to get the tone *just* right, your idea gets a litle muddled. It gets a lttle chaotic. Suddenly everything isn't as crystal as you thought it was. When it's done, maybe you're a little let down that the execution of this awesome thing brewing in your head wasn't as you pictured it.

Often what I see in my head doesn't translate as well onto paper. Hell, this post looked a lot better in my head ( I was more coherent, and WAY more knowledgeable about physics), but that doesn't mean it's bad. It's just different. The work that you put out is imperfect. It's been affected by your experiences, your moods, the people you surround yourself with. It was influenced by the egg you had for breakfast and the bum you saw on the way to work. This thing, this physical manifestation of your thoughts may be flawed, but within its flaws is something beautiful.

So yeah, entropy rocks.

Oh, and the german word for poison is Gift. Effin' Germans, man.



I think giving up dance was one of the biggest regrets of my life.

I started dancing really late, age twelve or thirteen. Before, I was a proud tomboy, and shunned dance as a pansy sissy past time. I went to a middle school that had a huge emphasis on performance arts, but I requested a PE class instead of the Pre-IB Dance Class. Somehow, I got bullied into going to an audition by my one friend in seventh grade. Even back then, when I had this wannabe tough gal persona, dance was so easy to fall into.

I remember the first time I danced. It was an afro-haitian fertility dance, lots of body isolations and rhythmic stomping and feeling the percussion through to my bones. Man, it was an awesome feeling. It was like crack cocaine. I wanted more! Give me afro and Irish! Lyrical and tap! Modern and swing! I didn't touch ballet though, because ballet is intimidating. Ballet is all rules. Ballet is for girls who took classes from age three, not someone who got in so late that she lost all her flexibility (to this day, I can't do the splits). Ballet girls scared me.

They still scare me.

Yeah, I wish I stuck with dance. I wish my mom enrolled me in baby ballet, I wish I wasn't such a stubborn boy-girl. I wish I could see my old friend from seventh grade, and tell her thank you. Maybe I can go back in time and tell myself young self to stick with it, even if what's-her-face is sniggering at my arabesque. And then I'd go and kick what's-her-face in the fork. I wish, I wish, I wish.
Well, one of my wishes is coming true. BEST SHOW EVER COMING BACK ON FOX. Tune in!


Get your shit together, BROTHER!

There is a very real chance that I may not pass all my classes this quarter. This is bad, because that means I don't graduate and I bought a cap and gown and special grown up clothes (a hat that says "grown up") all for nothing.

Got a new phone! Yay! Same phone number! Double yay! Unexpected financial expenditures!?! Boo!

Getting life back on track feels subtley good.
I'm a big fan of that show on vh1, the one with Hulk Hogan and his family. He's so cool! Really strong, but mellow and an all around good guy. He reminds me of really strong, mellow good guy Mr. Knudsen, my old biology teacher. I don't really think of him as The Hulk anymore; in my head, I call him my friend Terry. Today, Terry realizes that he's too old for wrestling and that selling energy drinks may be a more lucrative creative outlet. Good for you Terry, good for you.


Making things work.

I have an addiction to trashy blogs. Seriously trashy. I love celebritiy gossip blogs and fashion blogs and he-said-she-said blogs. I often waste hours reading these things instead of updating my own. Here are some of my favorites:
Go Fug Yourself
Hollywood Tuna
Highly addictive!
I've been trying to figure out what makes these completey different blogs so entertaining, so that I can apply them to my blog. Here are some things I've noted:
-Pictures. I need more pictures. Preferably of skinny blonde girls and things/people I can make fun of.
-Links. I need to link more often to dumb news stories, gay people blogs (for some reason gay people have the BEST blogs. I LOVE reading them), and funny pictures. I should be as link friendly as Fark.
-Disdain. I need to be really mean. But funny "Oh my god you're wearing last week's Fendi and it's not even cute young Fendi it's old used to like Chanel but can't afford it now Fendi." Right now my funny is at a "Your mom" level. Must up the catty in my funny.
My phone died. Like, literally. I was crossing the street and the phone fell out of my pocket. Before I had a chance to run back and get it, a car hit it and smashed it to pieces. Then a truck came by and smashed the pieces into tear sized shreds. Once again, I will be very difficult to contact until I get this resolved.
My Thursday exame is not actually a Thursday exam; apparently it's a Tuesday exam. In other words, shit is hitting the fan RIGHT NOW.


Catching up.

I am the most awkward phone person in the world. I hate hate HATE talking on the phone. I'm just no good at it. The awkward pauses, the telephone hum in the background, the "ums" and "ahs" as you try to think of something, something, ANYTHING to say is worst than a visit to the dentist.

So it's a very special person who can keep me on the phone for thirty minutes at a time and leave me thinking, "Thank goodness they called."


Religious stakes.

"I call your Virgin-Mary-burned-into-a-slice-of-toast and raise you a koranic-verse-embedded-in-tuna-scales."

As a passively amused (and Buddhist) observer, I often have many questions for my God-loving friends. Why do they love him so much? How does He improve their day-to-day lives? And why does he keep leaving signs of himself all over the place? Is he trying to teach his flock about everyday miracles, or is he just a lazy deity who won't pick up after himself and thus leaves vaguely religious residue all over the place? Maybe he's too lazy to do real miracles, like making the earth stand still. I can't blame the guy. After millennia in the same profession, he's bound to want to slack off a bit. I think maybe I'm thinking about this too much like a Buddhist.

...God needs a vacation.

New things I have learned.

-Adam Baldwin of Firefly fame? NOT a Baldwin brother, despite the name.

-Trying something new means risking falling flat on your face.

-Loss of visual acuity may be due to diabetes. Get checked NOW, especially if it runs in your family.

-Baby rabbits are called kits. Bunny is just a cutesy nickname for rabbit.

-Bravery is putting your feet back in the water, especially if you know there are alligators waiting, they've already got one of your toes, and you're scared as a Mcdonald's hamburger on 29 cent Wednesdays (does anyone else remember that promotion?).

-I am not brave. Not yet.


Newsie Shoesies.

What is wrong with these shoes? I mean, sure, they're a little dirty, a bit scruffy, they may have seen better days. But serviceable, right? That's what I thought. These are my favorite shoes in the whole world. I wear them almost every day to almost every occasion.

I guess that may have led to their faster-than-regular wear and tear. I mean, sure I wear them to class, to work, to clubs, in the rain, on the beach, while fighting crime, etc. They're easy to slip on and off, they're comfy, and they're so cute! But come on, does it really explain this?


I'm so sad. I have to find a new favorite pair of shoes now.



I recently got myself one of those wheeled carts. You know, those carts that blue-haired women fill with leafy greens and daisies at the Sunday Farmer's Market. Those big black carts with cushioned handles and a wide turn radius. I'm going to trick mine out with spikes and a troll doll.

I got a new back pack too, also wheeled. It's gray and orange. I'm trying to find a picture of it, but it seems to be a discontinued color. This makes my bag twice as cool. I now understand why some pianists prefer classic ivory keys and why my dad finds turtle meat so delicious.

I need to find a third wheeled item, so that my wheeling trifecta is complete.... Chess would look awesome in one of these: