Reflections on an Undergraduate Education

Well, with the (very last minute) submission of my final undergraduate paper, I am now finished with my Bachelor of Science degree in Media Communications, with a minor in History.

Scratch that. I'll only get a minor if I managed to get a decent grade in my History class. I thought I was smart until I took that class. Way to ruin a girl's self esteem, douche.

But, I'm still the same person. I still love jeggings, and Snuggies, and Harry Potter. Just because I'm slightly more educated than the average 13-year-old doesn't mean that I'm better than them. I still wholeheartedly appreciate High School Musical, HogwartsLive, and Miley Cyrus smoking out of a bong.

What have I learned?

- I learned that going to college doesn't necessarily mean you will be surrounded by smart people.
- I learned that college admissions programs don't exactly tell you the whole truth.
- I learned that engineering is way too boring for me.
- I learned that I love writing stuff that I think is funny, but no one else does.
- I learned that I am way lazier than I ever thought I was.
- I learned that I am the very worst kind of procrastinator.
- I learned that I should have appreciated high school and its positive effects on my metabolism.
- I learned that I will never buy a PC as long as I live, unless Mac somehow becomes shit.
- I learned that you can meet amazing people that counteract the douchebags.
- I learned that I have amazing bullshitting capabilities.

Most importantly, I learned how to make this.

I'm currently at my graduation party, which consists of me, my sister, and her friend drinking, smoking hookah, watching Elf, and being online.

Snow.

We have received some snow here in the D. And honestly . . . it's not that much. We've had much worse. So why is everyone and their mother (and grandmother, and aunt, and second cousin) complaining?

Driving in it is not fun. I know this; however, being a born-and-bred Metro Detroiter, I'm fairly used to it. If you live here, you learned to drive in the snow . . . at least I hope you did. The traffic would beg to differ, people still going 80 in 696 when it's slick with ice, passing me because I'm going 55 in the right lane. That's cool, you can do that. But if you spin out and I crash into you, I WILL CUT YOU.

I am one of those rare people that likes snow. I don't mind shoveling (as long as it's not over 8-10 inches), I like sledding, skiing, snowball fights, etc. I also love cute winter clothing like coats, scarves, hats, and so on. Sweaters? Count me in, because they minimize cleavage. Boots? I like it when my feet are toasty warm.

I like living in a climate where we get four seasons. I LOVE summer, don't get me wrong, but things like Christmas don't seem like Christmas without snow. I would much rather have the weather be cold and snowy than cold, dull, and gray.

Remember how pissed Kevin McAllister was in Home Alone 2 when his family wanted to go to Florida for Christmas? I COMPLETELY identify with that. If you don't like snow, MOVE.

Thus ends this lackluster blog post. I know I've been slacking lately, but I'm busy. So just nut up and deal with it.

Procrastinitis

A sad affliction, and yet, I revel in it.

I got my acceptance e-mail from U of Birmingham in the U.K. for their History, Film and Television MA (yes, we now live in a world where the "large envelope" has been replaced with a "looks-like-spam-I-almost-missed-it" email). This is, of course, fantastic news, but there's still so much to consider. I've yet to complete my applications to Northwestern and Central Michigan, and, if all goes according to plan and I get accepted, the whole decision is basically going to come down to money. The good old weak-ass American dollar -- which, in my bank account, almost all of it is loan money which needs to be paid back. A sad state of affairs, in which important decisions possibly determining the course of my life must come down to how much debt I'm willing to rack up.

Alas, I digress.

The topic of this post is procrastination. It is true that I have no less than 5 major tasks to complete before the end of my last semester of my undergraduate degree. A group project (crafting a wiki) for Social Media, a presentation/7-10 pg research paper for the same class. A daunting 10-pg paper for my history class, which I'm sure will be atrocious since I have no idea what to write about (that, and the fact that my teacher fails any paper he can cut down by 1/3 or more.) My short film which is serving as my senior project. And a final group project for my Broadcast Studio class. Oh, and final exams.

And what am I doing?

Blogging. Reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Watching TV. Trolling Twitter. Sleeping.

This happens every single semester. It has never failed. I have reached the point in the semester when the quality of work no longer matters to me, it's the mere fact of getting it done that motivates me. I start out as a quasi-perfectionist, and my work slowly decreases in quality until the end of November, where I figuratively "throw in the towel" much too early.

I rarely complain about the time frames for assignments, because I know that my time management skills are horrific. With the exception of the history paper, none of my assignments are particularly difficult or unreasonable. I just hit this wall where productivity dips into the negative values. Even my usually rampant creative juices just evaporate.

If only there were some magic pill I could take that would suddenly burn the desire to succeed into my soul.

I know I am not alone, and that gives me hope. Hope that this disease will someday be eradicated, that we may live in a perfect world where all students get their work done in plenty of time, have no fun, and don't like to party and rot their brains with television.

If only.

My Girl Is Here!

Katherine is here with me.

Life is good.

Forget school, I'm hangin' with my effing best friend.

YEAH THAT MEANS YOU HISTORY OF EUROPE TO 1500.

A Heartfelt Apology

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must humbly beg for forgiveness. Even the best of the best make mistakes, since we are all human (regardless of whether we are wizards or Muggles.) And I realized today that I was horribly, horribly wrong, and so I must apologize to the masses.

I would like to extend a sincere and heartfelt apology to any girl I have ever made fun of for wearing jeggings.

Let me explain. Jeggings are leggings that look like jeans. I used to make fun of girls that wore them because they are tacky, overpriced tights that let junk hang out that no one wants to see. I have never been able to bring myself to wear leggings as pants, even going so far as to wear shorts over leggings (a.k.a. my “stupid Sunday outfit”). LEGGINGS DO NOT EQUAL PANTS.

However, I have been forced to reevaluate my stance. The other day at Target, I stopped for a quick look around for a shirt for the upcoming meet and greet with Starkid Productions. Finding nothing, I was on my way out of the store when I saw a rack of jeans. “$15.99 each!”

That’s a FANTASTIC price for jeans. So, on my way to the register, I grabbed two pairs, thinking that if they didn’t fit I’d just take them back.

Imagine my surprise when, this morning as I was pulling on a pair, I realized they don’t have zippers. And they are surprisingly stretchy. And though they feel and look like jeans, they are lighter than air.

I glanced at the tag, and my stomach dropped.

JEGGINGS.

How could I be so naïve? So impulsive? I wanted to sink into a ball and cry. I did just that. And you know what I felt?

Nothing.

No button digging into my stomach. No restrictions of movement. No, I felt like I wasn’t wearing pants. Because I wasn’t. I was wearing jeggings.

And then I knew there was no going back.

So, all you proud jeggings wearers, I applaud you. As long as you keep your junk tucked in, go on wearing them, because wearing leg coverings that look like pants but feel like air should be a basic human right.

The Sleeved Blanket

I am a proud member of the Snuggie Cult. I am not ashamed to admit that I love wrapping myself up in my fleece leopard-print sleeved blanket and having the free use of my arms to change the TV station, play on the computer, or eat massive amounts of Better Made Barbecue chips.

I don't understand why people are so against these wonderful warm envelopes of love. One of the major arguments is that "it's just like a backwards robe!" Excuse you, but my robe does not cover my entire body and tuck around every inch of me, concealing me in a warm pocket of comfort. My robe is shorter than my body so my feet stick out and this hinders the mobility that the Snuggie provides.



It is also particularly excellent for smoking hookah, something I realize that not everyone condones. However, it is quite nice, in the winter, to sit in my bedroom with the window open and Katie next to me, in her zebra-print Snuggie, ably passing the hose to and fro without fear of clumsily knocking over the apparatus and burning a hole in my crappy brown carpet. Out of respect for my home, I employ the Snuggie to keep my window open and dissipate the smoke -- my house does not smell like "The Dope Den", which is what my mother calls my bedroom (there is no marijuana involved, only tobacco, Mother Dearest just thinks she's being clever.)

And the commercials. THE COMMERCIALS! Pure marketing genius.



Seriously, GOD BLESS SNUGGIE SEASON. I'm so glad you're back.

What Do Wizard Teenagers Do?

Awhile ago, my soul mate Katie and I had a long, drawn out, (beer-induced) discussion about what the students at Hogwarts do in their spare time. This is, of course, when they are not working diligently on their wizard homework or playing Quidditch or boning in the Restricted Sex-ion. What do they do to relax? How do they get crazy? You can't tell me that sneaking out after curfew to go sit and watch Hagrid hatch dragons is the riskiest thing they do. We decided that these activities probably differ from house to house, so here is a detailed analysis of our discussion conclusions.

1) GRYFFINDOR

Intoxicant of choice: Beer and/or Jaeger bombs

Activities: swordfights with Godric Gryffindor sword replicas, Gryffindor Beer Drinking Olympics, the Harry Potter drinking game (anytime his name is mentioned you do a Jaeger bomb)

Why: Gryffindors are brave and courageous, and liquid courage only intensifies these traits. Gryffindors would be the ones to try to Bungee jump with Extendable Ears, use centaurs as mechanical bulls, and graffiti the castle with things like BALLS DEEP in ink that won't erase. They would play parkour on the moving staircases and let all the house-elves out to run races through the corridors, all while taking bets on who will pass out in the Great Hall and get peed on by Mrs. Norris. They would also be the ones to upload all the incriminating photos to Facebook because THEY DO WHAT THEY WANT and Dumbledore was a Gryffindor so that absolves them of all fault.


2) HUFFLEPUFF

Intoxicant of choice: Marijuana

Activities: getting the munchies and raiding the kitchens, since their common room is right near it. Spacing out and staring at the fire looking for famous faces to materialize. Listening to Celestina Warbeck on the wizard wireless.

Why: If it weren't for Cedric Diggory, we would say the Hufflepuffs are saints who do nothing but sit around and knit and smile at each other. But Diggs and his crew had to be badass in some way, so we figured they would go with weed to mellow out and forget all the happy Hufflepuffiness that surrounds them on a daily basis and makes them hate life.


3) RAVENCLAW

Intoxicant of choice: Wine and/or Adderall

Activities: sitting in big chairs with glasses of port having fake intellectual conversations (i.e. "Why does wine give you such a bad hangover?"), playing trivia-based drinking games, staying up all night doing homework, having boisterous debates such as "Grindelwald vs. Voldemort: Who Was More Clever?" which devolve into fistfights

Why: Everyone knows Ravenclaws are ridiculously smart, clever, witty, intelligent people. So naturally, wine is the drink of choice. But they are still teenagers, so they binge drink with it. Their drinking games have to be high-brow, so they base them on logic. The debates get pretty intense, which is why they have learned to be excellent boxers. And when exams approach, everyone at Hogwarts knows to get in good with the prefects of Ravenclaw, who control the castle's stock of behavioral meds. How else would an entire house have a reputation of being insanely intelligent? They study all day and party all night!


4) SLYTHERIN

Intoxicant of choice: Expensive vodka and/or cocaine

Activities: Pin the Dark Mark on the Mudblood, Voldemortic rituals, drawing penises on people who pass out, Take A Shot For Every Death Eater Relative You Can Prove (family trees/heraldic evidence required), Slytherin Fight Club

Why: Slytherin parties are the wizard equivalent of high-brow Manhattan raves. Techno blaring, a VIP lounge, cocaine gift bags. They can afford it because they are wizarding royalty. There's a dress code and house-elves bring you Grey Goose cocktails in Swarovski crystal glasses. When everyone gets really shitty, the Slytherin FIght Club emerges, where people bet on how much pure blood will be spilled on the dungeon floor.



Also, this actually happens, since once upon a time I was a wizard teenager, so this is a first-hand account.

In Memoriam

Today, Hollywood lost a legend. Tom Bosley, a childhood hero of mine, passed away today at the ripe old age of 83.

To me, the name "Tom Bosley" will always mean two things: Mr. Cunningham and David the Gnome. I know that I have posted numerous things about David the Gnome, but I don't think anyone understands what a fantastic show that is. Damnit, I want to ride a fox named (not Taylor) Swift around the forest and preach about being kind to our earth. But alas, I am not a forest gnome voiced by Tom Bosley and I do not have my life narrated by Christopher Plummer.

Enjoy, friends. Rest in peace, Mr. Bosley, you are missed.

Abomination Island

All of us, at one point or another, have thought, "If I could send that person away to live on a desert island in the middle of the ocean with absolutely no chance of being rescued, I WOULD DO IT." That island, though you may not know it, is called Abomination Island.

I am generally an angry person, in the superficial sense (not the "I'm-going-to-build-a-pipe-bomb-and-blow-up-a-Wal-Mart-while-wearing-a-trenchcoat" kind of angry, just the "I-can't-stand-how-stupid-people-are" kind of angry). So for this reason, my Abomination Island is not only overpopulated, but a sort of cycle. Some people are permanent residents, others have a rent-to-own contract that could be broken with proper redemption.

So without further ado, here are my Top 5 Permanent Residents of Abomination Island.

(**disclaimer: I'm leaving off obvious permanent residents like Hitler, Stalin, Jack the Ripper, Paris Hilton, etc.)

5) Kwame Kilpatrick/everyone who re-elected him

The city of Detroit is composed of a bunch of stupidheads. I can forgive electing a young, charismatic mayor the first time around. During his first term as mayor, there were rumors of wild parties at the Manoogian Mansion, a stripper (Tamara Greene) who had attended the party was murdered, Kwame fired the police chief who was supposed to investigate alleged party at the mansion, a Lieutenant sued the city and Kwame because he was transferred out of his homicide unit after he began investigating the Tamara Greene case, and on top of all of that, during his re-election campaign, the Free Press reported that Kwame had spent $210,000 of the city's money on travel, food, and entertainment. All of this in a city with the worst public schools in the nation and a big ol' barrel of POOR.
You know what? Aww, they made a mistake. They thought Kwame would bring a sense of hope and optimism to the crumbling city. When he failed to, you know, make any progress aside from renovating Downtown, one would think that the city voters would say "PEACE OUT YO" and oust him, electing Bono or Angelina Jolie.

Uh, who do you think won the 2005 election?

Long story short, he had a sext-messaging scandal, made lots of shady deals, stole money, basically sat around being super corrupt and only after he was thrown in prison did the people of Detroit actually see that they elected a fucking CRIMINAL.

4) Steven Seagal
This guy gives me the creeps. First of all, he just looks like a psycho who drives around a white van and kidnaps women like that freak from Silence of the Lambs.

Leather jacket, anyone?

But I'm (reasonably) sure he's not a woman-skinner, so we'll just ignore that and focus on the thing he is known for. Acting.

If you can call it acting. Every single movie is THE SAME. Just like Tom Cruise can only play different variations of Tom Cruise, Steven Seagal can only play Steven Seagal. His IMDB Biography makes me want to eat a pickled egg and throw it up all over my new moccasins.

"Steven Seagal is a striking and somewhat boyishly handsome looking (often with ponytail) and usually impeccably dressed action star who burst onto the martial arts film scene in 1988 in the fast-paced Warner Bros. film Above the Law (1988)."

SIIIIICK. Also, shall we play the "Steven Seagal movie title game"? All you do is put "Steven Seagal is" before the titles of his movies. Here goes:

Steven Seagal is . . . ABOVE THE LAW.

Steven Seagal is . . . HARD TO KILL.

Steven Seagal is . . . MARKED FOR DEATH.

Steven Seagal is . . . OUT FOR JUSTICE.

Steven Seagal is . . . UNDER SIEGE.

Steven Seagal is . . . ON DEADLY GROUND.

(He went through a period of enlightenment where someone decided to get a little more creative, but then he went back to -- )

Steven Seagal is . . . HALF PAST DEAD.

Steven Seagal is . . . OUT FOR A KILL.

Steven Seagal is . . . OUT OF REACH.

Steven Seagal is . . . PISTOL WHIPPED.

Steven Seagal is . . . DRIVEN TO KILL.

Steven Seagal is . . . A DANGEROUS MAN.

Steven Seagal is . . . BORN TO RAISE HELL.

I will be eternally ashamed that he hails from Lansing, MI. More reason to hate Lansing.

3) Simon Cowell

One reason and one reason only: he always has hard nipples. GUYS NEED TO WEAR UNDERSHIRTS.


2) Heidi Montag-Pratt

I would highlight Spencer as well, but I look like a giant man-hater right now, so I will limit it to his beastly Barbie wife. I think that in order to get the full effect of Her Hideousness, we will post some Heidi quotes, or, as I like to call them, stupid.


On Children:"I want, like, four. Maybe I'll adopt 10. I want to have my own orphanage like Mother Teresa."

On starting rumors about Lauren Conrad:"God knows the truth in all of this, and at the end of the day, that is the only thing that matters. Jesus was persecuted, and I'm going to get persecuted, ya know?"

On religion:"I have been the most religious person since I was 2 years old. I always felt this crazy connection to God."

On long shots:"I plan to win an Oscar. I’m very ambitious."

On her boob job:"I think I was just thrilled. I think honestly, it was like Extreme Makeover."

SERIOUSLY, I THOUGHT THERE WERE CRITERIA YOU HAD TO MEET IN ORDER TO BE FAMOUS. Like, having talent. Or being good-looking. Or murdering someone famous.

1) Kanye West

ANYONE who has the balls to deem THEMSELVES "the voice of a generation" is permanently #1 on my Abomination Island. His music is okay. I would not say he's a genius. He would, though. And what he did to Taylor Swift at the VMAs?

"Yo Taylor, I'm really happy for you, and ima let you finish, but Beyonce had one of the best videos of ALL TIME!! Of ALL TIME!"

EWWWWWWW!

Admittedly, I am not the biggest Swift fan, since I feel like most of her music is her whining about how the guys she likes doesn't like her, and since she's not a cheerleader and wears T shirts and sneakers they should like her more because she "gets them", but HOLY RUDENESS. I do know all the words to "Golddigger" because of Glee, but I turn off the radio when he comes on. And my co-workers thought it was hilarious to put a picture of him up in my cube with sticky notes all over it saying JANELLE LOVES KANYE. That's how intense my hatred of him is.

KANYE, I AM THE VOICE OF THIS GENERATION, AND WE HATE YOU.

My Graduate School Application Essay

Hi important people at college,

Basically, I am a badass. And this means one thing: you should let me into your school to study whatever the hell I want.

Elementary School

I was SUPER COOL in elementary school. I was so smart that I got 100% on every spelling test in five years, except for the one time I misspelled an extra credit word. Incidentally, the word was "Bellview", the name of my school, which I passed on a sign every day for six years. I was popular by association, since I was kind of a bitch, but my best friend was the most popular and well-liked girl in school. I went through a phase where I wouldn't wear jeans, and then there was the infamous Lee Pipes stage.

Middle School

Not so much bad-assery here. Skinny, awkward, unibrow-toting freakishly smart girl. The popular girls with really shitty houses but really awesome clothes used me for my homework skills, and they basically stomped all over me and my innocent generosity. My favorite story: at my 13th birthday party, I walked outside and one of these trolls was making out with my "boyfriend". I dominated them in rec-league fastpitch softball, though, since they all smoked cigarettes. For all the extremely crappy experiences there, though, I was the ultimate winner, as we shall see when I get to high school.

High School

I waxed the unibrow, hit the books, joined the band and rocked the varsity softball team. Vice President of the National Honor Society? check. Captain of varsity softball? huzzah. Marching band section leader of the alto saxophones? Fo sho. Oh, and did I mention I was on Homecoming Court and graduated #1 in my class with a 4.22 grade point? Suck it, middle school bitches, you're all mothers now, and I'm partying. Well, I guess you are still partying, but I'm not responsible for another human life, and therefore my partying is socially acceptable.

College

I didn't quite own college as much as I owned high school. I did get a full scholarship, though, which was the bomb. I was an engineering major for awhile before I said, "boooor-ing", and switched to majoring in TV, which is infinitely more fun, and also probably the easiest major at my school. I joined a sorority where I do a ton of community service and philanthropy work, became an RA, got a job on campus, studied abroad in England, traveled Europe, and had the time of my life, all while complaining when I really had nothing to complain about.

Also, my family is awesome. I have fantastic friends. I love pretending to be bitter and cynical, because it's a better outlet for humor. I like to write, and make funny movies, and be on the internet.

So, graduate school admissions people, pick me. Choose me. Love me. If you give me the chance, I can rule the school and possibly the world. I just need a Pinky to my Brain, so do you think you could start taking applications for my assistant? Thanks so much.

Good night, and good luck.

MUCH LOVEZ <3>

Janelle

Love Letter to Youtube

Dear YouTube,

I know I haven't been the best at proclaiming my feelings for you. I think that you are one relationship I take for granted on a daily basis. You are the one friend that is always there for me wherever I am. At my beck and call.

If I'm feeling lonely, I can watch Kittens Inspired by Kittens and feel better. I don't have to wait for you to respond to my call, text, email or Facebook post. Now that I'm a big kid and have internet on my phone, I can literally go to you whenever I want.

If I'm feeling nerdy, I can watch Leeroy Jenkins and feel like my life isn't as dorky as theirs. I can laugh at how mad they all get when Leeroy just goes charging unto the breach, stoned and brave, and giggle when they say "Leeroy, you are just stupid as hell."

If I'm feeling silly, I can watch the Total Eclipse of the Heart Literal Video and laugh till I cry. I actually have laughed that hard at this video, especially when I'm watching it with other people. It's gotten to the point where when this song comes on my iPod, I sing these lyrics instead of the real ones.

If I'm feeling nostalgic, I can watch Dramatic Reading of a Breakup Letter and think about the seventy thousand times we watched that at Harlaxton. It was quoted on a daily basis, a fact we exploited because we had a friend named Chris. In the same vein, if I ever feel like I want to relive some entertaining yet unsettling moments, I just watch the Ripple Effect, Ripple Nation or Ripple Nation UK.

If I'm feeling bored, I can watch any random old TV show via your services. David the Gnome! The Littl' Bits! Are You Afraid of the Dark! You have allowed me to re-explore my childhood in ways I'd never thought possible. For that, I am eternally grateful.

If I'm feeling energetic, I can watch Dancing at the Movies and dance in my chair. "Footloose" is one of those songs that I can't resist dancing to whenever I hear it. I think that if someone started playing it while I was asleep, I would unconsciously start snapping or tapping my foot.

So thank you, YouTube. I love the shit out of you. I apologize for all the wonderful videos I failed to mention here, but know that I couldn't possibly link to all the beautiful amazingness that you can provide.

All my love,

Janelle

If I Were Queen

Everyone who knows me knows this: I’m strangely fascinated by royalty. Not really the modern sense, like QE2 and Prince William and all that hullabaloo. No, I’m talking the stone castle, towers and turrets, chowing down on turkey legs royalty. I mean I don’t want to give up modern hygiene (OBVIOUSLY, I would have a nervous breakdown within days) but I would like to live in a castle with modern amenities and still wear the long awesome dresses and have ladies-in-waiting. Oh, by the way, I would be a queen.

My queendom would be badass.

Constitution of My Queendom

First order: The royal dress would consist of Snuggies. Everyone would be required to wear Snuggies in order to more effectively drink beer and smoke hookah while keeping warm and cozy in my drafty stone castle.

Second order: Everyone would be required to watch and love Gilmore Girls, The Office, How I Met Your Mother and, of course, Glee.

Third order: My only required royal duty would be to be on Jeopardy! every night. Even if I lose, I’ll still get to dazzle my queendom with my wits.

Fourth order: Katie Hanevold would run my torture chamber and administer punishments. This could consist of anything from having to listen to the “Small World” song on repeat for 24 hours straight, to having to eat Harlaxton Sunday brunch for every meal for a month straight, to having to learn all the High School Musical dances and perform a show for me.

Fifth order: Everyone in my queendom would be required to watch “The Story of the Weeping Camel” with me, Joel Fralick Jr., Mary Evelyn Hardesty, and Drew Elliot once a week.

Sixth order: We would have a yearly remembrance service for the Princes in the Tower. And all hookahs must be named after a former royal, extra points if they were either martyred or decrepit.

Seventh order: I am to be known as Elizabeth 3.0, but you could call me Good Queen Bess or something. Janelle is not a very royal-sounding name, Elizabeth is my confirmation name and it calls to mind an era of royal dominance and good plays, and the 3.0 signifies how progressive I am at integrating the royals into modern society, even though I’ll still live in a stone castle and wear long dresses.

Eighth order: After I die, a new queen would not be necessary since my specter will govern in my place. I plan on haunting people.

Ninth order: I can marry/divorce/execute anyone I want. I don’t want any of the trouble that plagued Henry VIII, so we’ll just put that out there right now.

Tenth order: All children must be named after literary figures, television/movie characters, or historical badasses. Dibs on Boudica.

Eleventh order: All children’s middle names must be Katie LeMire. Example of an appropriate child’s name in my kingdom: Laura Ingalls Wilder Katie LeMire [insert last name].

Twelfth order: Facebook creeping is completely acceptable and, in fact, encouraged. Classes will be offered, taught by Anne Joy and myself, with a special section on library database creeping taught by Kelsey Carlstedt.

Amendments

1) Royal Titles and Styles

Her Royal Usefulness, Absolutely Fantastic Epitome of Divine Beauty, Supreme Dictator of the Land . . . Janelle Marie Elizabeth 3.0 O'Hara.

Lord Kitten . . . Aaron Stoll

Minstrel WeeWee . . . Joel Fralick Jr.

Her Quirkiness, The Quintessence of a Quirky Queendom . . . Mary Evelyn Hardesty

This may or may not be amended at will by me, Janelle Marie Elizabeth 3.0 O’Hara.

One year ago

It's hard to believe that one year ago today (roughly, technically it would have been the 28th I think? but whatever) I was on a plane jumping over the pond to begin my study abroad journey at Harlaxton. In honor of this nostalgic date, I am going to share some of my favorite small, day-to-day anecdotes that may or may not have been mentioned on this blog in the past.

- Between lecture and seminar, Kelsey and I used to race back to the Carriage House to get the good showers and were usually successful. Dwill would come to my room to finish (re: begin) our seminar handout and I would answer the door in my towel/cover up thing, still basically dripping wet. The look on his face was priceless. "Uhh, is this a bad time?" "No no, come in! Umm, I finished the research, we just have to type it up . . . " we would have a 5 minute conversation and he would blush the entire time.

- If you ever had a pizza stolen out of the fridge at Harlaxton, it was probably me. I was always with someone else, but I don't think many people stole pizza besides me and my co-conspirators. I figured a year later is a fair enough amount of time in which people won't be too upset. Colin Todd, thanks for many a late-night meal.

- The last two weeks of Harlaxton were magical, staying in Grantham, staying out till the wee hours at Gravity, Vibe, and Barcode, and then watching The Chronicles of Narnia in the Pearson Room the next morning hungover as all hell.

- I always felt like a badass taking Refectory cups full of coffee with me to my couch outside the library. Small things. I have one at home with me now too.

- Leaving our bedroom door unlocked at all times was usually not rewarded with good luck. Kelley barging in yelling at us to go to brunch, Mary pounding on the door for me to let her in even though it was open, Andrea stumbling in wanting to talk about the Industrial Revolution, Chris coming in wanting me to say "goddamn" for him because he is a good Catholic. I loved every second of it, though.

- "Exploring" with Mary and J.R. on one of our last nights there. We ALMOST were able to go into the Refectory after hours and explore the rooms above, because we found that the door was UNLOCKED. But Zyggy was at the desk, so we were going to go back later when whoever was at the desk had left for a moment. Alas, that never happened. However, we did slide around the Long Gallery in socks, pretended to give BS lectures, found Dr. Phil's shoes outside of his room, and got locked in the Conservatory. Yes, we were locked in. We found out the hard way that after a certain hour, your fob let you out, but not in. It was pouring down rain and we were terrified that we were going to set off the alarm and force the entire school to evacuate. After about 15 minutes of sheer panic, we finally just pushed open a door and, thankfully, no alarm sounded. All that remained was to trek back to Carriage House through the construction site (read: mud) without an umbrella (which J.R. hurled into a wall and broke in a fit of rage outside the Music Room).

- I could NOT understand the concept of Harlaxton Clue. I hated that each faculty member only knew one fact. But I loved how we had so many things planned out -- magic tricks, dances, songs, jokes, we were prepared. We still lost, but only because we guessed wrong. There's no way anyone could have actually figured it out. I firmly believe that.

- Mary and I "studying" for BS tests. We would make up songs pertaining to historical dates and facts, then promptly forget them. We would read our handouts out loud to each other, and then it would end with us in bed yelling, "f*** this, I don't even care, I will never learn this and fail and be kicked out of England and end up destitute on the streets!" and then I still would get an A.

- Sitting on the steps of the Cedar Staircase, inquiring as to how British strippers get paid. "You don't have single bills, so you can't exactly stuff pound coins down a G-string . . . " It was discovered that 5 pound notes are the starting denomination. A lucrative career.

- Watching "Bagpuss" and "Noggin the Nog" with Anne, Mary, J.R., Sara, and Drew, and being immensely creeped out, especially by Nogbad the Bad, because of Anne's eerily accurate voice.

- H.Snow on the bus to our Stratford field trip: "Kyle Dyke . . . I mean Dick . . . sorry about that."

Anne: "Which one is better?"

- Getting a pizza cab back to the Manor. This is a common trick among Harlaxton students. You walk drunkenly to the pizza place, order a pizza to be delivered to the Manor, then go with them in their car when they deliver it. They only charge about 1 pound or so.

- Waner and I stumbling into reception and checking his mailbox, only to find his corrected term paper draft, "A Shadowy Glimpse at the Life of Owen Glendower." On the front cover was written : "Rather odd title."

I do not need to tell you how hard we laughed. We ended up sitting on the floor underneath the mailboxes and almost crying.

- Whenever I wore the purple tights, my night was magical.

- One night, I was talking to Heather in the Schroeder Lounge after she got back from wine and steak night at the Greg. I suddenly remembered that I had a piece of pizza in my pocket and pulled it out. She thought that was one of the funniest and weirdest things ever.

- Speaking of which, the Schroeder Lounge couches are probably the only ones in the entire place that aren't contaminated with bodily fluids. Think about it.

- One of the strangest things that happened to me there was late one night when I was walking back from the Manor after working on a paper, Bob the Swan walked next to me the entire way home. My escort, if you will. Such a gallant gentleman.

- Aaron to Anne: "We're going to make out right now. It's okay. We're just going to make out."

- Sliding down the banister of the Cedar Staircase was fun but extremely challenging, at least if you're me. My stubby legs could not manage to reach the ground once I hit bottom, and extracting myself from the cedar was difficult. We have it on video.

- Trying to explore another night, J.R. pushed open a random door in the faculty corridor and there were people in it. I'm pretty sure I yelled, and then we took off running as fast as we could down the hallway. I'm not graceful when I run so I'm sure I sounded like a train.

- Ed Packard told me that my swearing habit was "filthy".

- Bujak looked at my study guide for my history class and said "Well, this is a bitch."

- The first time J.R. and I discovered the "Story of the Weeping Camel" and asked DG about it was a moment equal parts reality, drama, and magic.

- I had to hold a cheesecake in front my chest to prevent a certain creep from staring at my bosoms the entire Valedictory dinner.

- Someone asked me, "So who is going to be the Valedictorian?" and I patiently explained that there probably wouldn't be one, since if 20 people got all A's there would be 20 Valedictorians, and that probably wasn't the point of the Valedictory dinner.

- I got very excited when the winner of the essay competition wrote an essay on Emmeline Pankhurst because I thought it was Anne, but then a boiling pit of lava rage emerged in my stomach when it wasn't her. My essay was bitchin' and should have won, but I'm not bitter at all.

- I love that the first time I met Ben, he proposed to me.

- I loved planning mine and J.R.'s "marriage of convenience" life together. We would be swingers who had a bedroom in which we could cuddle and watch Bagpuss and then separate bedrooms for our escapades, all with the comforts of joint checking and life insurance benefits. And matching bathrobes.

The Precocious Writings of a Young Janelle

Recently I cleaned and purged my entire bedroom and discovered that my mother had hoarded all of my old school work on the very top shelf of my closet. (Being 5'2" and not particularly motivated, I had never really had any desire to look at what was up there. BIG MISTAKE.)

After being covered in dust and broken dreams, I set to going through all of it and figuring out what I should save and what I should throw away. Best decision I ever made.

The following are excerpts from various journals, books (I was a self-publishing magnate, complete with illustrations and staples as book bindings) and hand-drawn cards dating from 1991-1993, roughly from pre-school to first grade.

THESE ARE ALL REAL WORDS WRITTEN BY ME.

Undated, estimated kindergarten, book

The Book About My Life

pg. 1: My life is terrible I hate my life

pg. 2: don't you hate when people throw stuff at you

pg. 3: and my little brother always rips the pages out of my books

pg. 4: and my mom always blames stuff on me!

pg. 5: and I hate when my dad had surjary

pg. 6: so that's the story. and don't forget I hate my life!!!

[*Editor's note: I don't have a brother. I tend to make shit up. You'll see.]

------

first grade journal. non-bold are comments from teacher.

Ia

I Like School.

What do you like about school, Janelle?

I Like Resase

What I lik Best About Resase is! I like To Play With Nadia.

That's great! What did you do this weekend?

I Went To My Cottage.

Oh wow! Where is your cottage? What did you do there?

My Cottage is in Edinvill. it is on a Lake So I Went Swimigg. My Cottage has 12 BedRooms.

[*Editor's note: this is true.]

Wow!! What do you do there?

I Ride Some Horses at My Cottage. Ther Names are: Trixy & IsaBell.

[*Editor's note: this is not true.]

Do Trixy and Isabell belong to you or do you just get to ride them when you visit? Who takes care of them?

I Just Ride Them When I Visit. The Ourwer takes Care of Them.

My Sister Nicole, always agervaits me.

How old is Nicole? What does she do to aggravate you?

Nicole is 4 yeares old. She Sings In Bed.

What are you going to do about this problem? How can you solve it?

I Could move her in to the Guesete Room.

[*Editor's note: we do not have a guest room, nor have we EVER shared a bedroom. Just making more shit up.]

That's a great idea! How would your mom react to this?

She Would'dind Mind.

Maybe you should discuss this with your mother, Janelle. Maybe she will move Nicole into the guest room and you can have a room of your own!

I Hope so.

Nadia And I Are going to a Bronie Soc-Hop.

What is a Sock Hop, Janelle?

[*Editor's note: Teacher had written "Cock Hop" and cleverly changed the C to an S. Not joking.]

It is for Our Bronie Troop. it is a place Where you dance in your hollowen costume.

When I go trick-or-treating, I am going to say something else. Smell my Feet.

Wouldn't you be surprised if people smelled your feet?

Almoste evryone Smelld my Feet. it was cool.

Really? I'm shocked! How did your feet smell?

They smelld like Flowers.

My favorit kind of rock is from Lake Saperer. My Granpa went ther to go fishing I have a rock colekchin of them I likke them and I realy realy like them, alot.

What is your favorite kind of rock in your collection?

My favorit rock is a realy prity one. it is a wite one. It is a sparcily one.

Nicole gets undressed and starts to resul with my dad.

[*Editor's note: WHAT THE FUCK? My mom and I died laughing at this one. We have come to the conclusion that this was during Nikki's "naked phase" where she had an issue with clothing. Remember, she was 4. And my dad never really "resuled" with us, it was more like Nikki would want to play and climb all over him and hit and punch him and he would toss her away. So our conclusion is that Nikki did not get undressed to "resul" with him, she was already running around in her underwear and happened to start bothering my dad. I wonder why he wasn't investigated by Child Protective Services.]

Why does she get undressed to wrestle?

Because it is easyr to resul.

Doesn't she get cold?

No she gets hot. My parints are home from Las Veges. They brout us a minni-mouse T-shirt, rocks from the Hoover Dam, Planet HollyWood T-shirts and Big cups. My mom and dad drank out of those cups. my dad held his pee for an hour. After the show, my dad said "meet you at the bath room." When they got home I was sleeping on the floor.

[*Editor's note: The picture I drew is of me sleeping on the floor and, since my favorite TV show was "Cops", on the television I drew a picture of a cop shooting someone dead. I really don't know why my family wasn't reported.]

You must be glad your parents are home and everything is back to normal!

Yes I am glad but I forgot my list at my Aunt's house.

Do you really need your list?

[*Editor's note: the "list" I drew reads: "eat brekfist, get dreesed, brush teeth, go to school"]

I went to Power-Ragers live. We got cotten candy. Lord Zed was a big baloon at the end of the show it poped! Lord Zed turned Eiesha and Adem in to birds. They were recuede! The Power-Ragers names are Tommy, Rockey, Eiesha, Billy, Kimberly and Adem.

My uncle Ed died. He died of a hart atak. He said never to die on a weekend. He died on a Friday!

[*Editor's note: This is true. He ALWAYS said "never die on a weekend" because it messes up everyone's weekend with a funeral. I can't BELIEVE I wrote that in my journal.]

I erned 24 bages in my brownie troop. That is 1 more bage than Nadia. I think Kelly has 24, too, but I'm not sure.

[*Editor's note: Kudos to myself for learning at age 6 how to write a proper sentence!! And having one more badge than Nadia!]

What did you earn your badges for?

Oh, ther are lots of resons. Nature, Music, Shadows, Soc-Hop, Camp, and lots, lots more. I have lots of badges.

Neat! What did you do at camp?

We saw a hair ball.

What is a hair ball?

It is something that an animal throws up after it has eatin a smaller animal with hair like mice. A Naturlist shows the hair ball to us at the Nature Center. The bones of a mouse were in it.

[*Editor's note: I drew a horse throwing up.]

--------

another self-published book, kindergarten

Pomes

dedication page:

For Nadia G. Ouellette

&

Stephanie L. Demsich

---

The Fish Bowl

---

these are my fishes names: roly, poly, pell, mell, tumble, bumble.

[*Editor's note: those words are from the classic children's book "The Poky Little Puppy".]

three Arms

---

I have tree arms.

My friend has four arms we both live on Farms.

school

---

After school we

Played in a pool.

Now thats

cool.

My Log

---

my Log is shaped

like a dog. It is

a Hog.

[*Editor's note: this may or may not have been about my poop.]

The Free-sample Man

---

The Free sample

man loves samples

And he loves them

galore. So throw your

samples on the floor.

[*Editor's note: Plagiarized, probably from Shel Silverstein. Like I knew what the word "galore" meant.]

---------------------

another self-published book, pre-school, age 3. Probably my first novel.

The Big Hill

by Janelle

---

There wasan OLD MAN and. an OLD woman

---

WHO LIVED ona hill itis HARD to goup

---

it is EASYTO go down theend

------------------

self-published book, first grade

My SISTER!

by Janelle

My sister punches me when I laghf at her.

---

In Bed, she kickes the covers of me.

---

Yesterday, It was a family meber's birthday. It was my cosin's wife's birthday. She Imbareiissed me by pushing me into The Table.

---

On Cristmas, she was bad.

[*Editor's note: this drawing shows two stockings hanging on the fireplace that we don't have. Mine is stuffed with presents. Nikki's has coal. I wrote "Nicole" on the stocking and boxed the letters "C-O-L-E". You can tell we had a great relationship.]

------------------------------

If that isn't reason enough to understand why I am the way I am today, well, you are not smart.

Evansville, Hardesty Hill and Harlaxton Romance

Hello loyal or not-so-loyal-but-very-bored readers, and welcome back to another episode of The Dullest Show on Earth. I got a lot of hate mail about my last entry, especially about Jane Eyre and LOTR, so I guess I have a few (read: 5) readers. I guess people aren't as fiercely loyal to Walden or poetry.

Last Wednesday I decided that I was in dire need of a holiday. (Vacation, for those of you that don't know the British term. I like to use it so I feel better about myself while screaming Lindsey Buckingham's "Holiday Road" in the car). So I packed up Agent Michael Scarn: Threat Level Midnight and took off down to the popular resort town of Evansville, Indiana.


Not sure how I survived that drive. Oh wait, yes I do. gLee songs, Lady Gaga and Queen.

I arrived at the aptly named Fiasco and was promptly bombarded by J.R., Andy, and Chelsey. And a new friend, J.R.'s roommate Taylor. That night was a beautiful blur. I was the winner, staying up the latest out of all of them even after waking up at 7, working til 2 and driving 8 hours. That's just how baller I am. I slept in Ben Deutsch's bed (he wasn't there) and woke up to Courtney and J.R. running in at 11ish. We talked about stupid people at Harlaxton, Courtney left to go to work, and J.R. and I had "pillow talk" for about an hour. Then we fell asleep again. Until 3pm. Yep.

We woke up, got Andy, and went to dinner. While in the car I detailed my amazing flash of inspiration about writing a song about Harlaxton to the tune of "Bad Romance". They loved the idea, so when we got back, while the dishwasher was flooding and JR and I were trying to figure out how to unclog the sink, Andy learned the chords to "Bad Romance" and we made up lyrics. The result will be added when I get to a personal computer.

This was the night that J.R. and I stayed up very late, ingested copious amounts of alcohol, and convinced ourselves that we were the best people in the whole world and EVERYONE should want to be best friends with us. We also watched 5 episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and called Heather in England -- AND SHE ANSWERED.

The next day was yet another rough morning. J.R. got up at 9 to talk to his landlord about the flooding kitchen and nasty sinks, then went back to bed. I got up at 2, showered, went back to bed, woke up at 4, went and got J.R. and we realized that freaking Mary was going to be there in about 3 hours and we had shit to do. We got up and went to the mall, bought J.R.'s boytoy his birthday present, and I got a REPTAR FLASHDRIVE.

Let that sink in.

When Mary came it was pure bliss. I think I shed a tear. We immediately went to Los Bravos with Drew and Blair, and I did not throw up this time, so it was successful. And absolutely delicious. Then, after a few stops, we headed back to the Fiasco.

Of course we watched a bunch of YouTube videos because that is one of my favorite pasttimes. One in particular is so incredibly amazing . . .






I definitely cried while watching this, and now sing these lyrics instead of the real ones.

The night ended with Apples to Apples and Cramer being hilarious as usual. Suffice it to say it involved Taco Bell and a permanent marker.

The next morning, Mary and I were off to Hardesty Hill in Kentucky-- but not before we went to Drew's family reunion and ate barbecue. Barbecue what, you ask? Just barbecue. Yeah, I don't get it either. But it was delicious. And funny.

Mary and I departed for Hardesty Hill where we spent a delightful evening with Pam, watching Gilmore Girls, having Chris lay all over us on the couch and burp after every episode to remain manly, and randomly bursting into verses of either "Harlaxton Romance" or "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

And then the big kahuna. Kentucky Brunch. Delicious. All kinds of sausage, eggs, potatoes, fruit, biscuits, gravy, HEAVEN. I had to leave right after that, which was sad, but I had so much fun it was worth it.

On the drive home I guzzled three huge Diet Cokes and a large double-caff coffee so . . . I was wired.

Books I'm Supposed to Love (But Actually Hate)

I’m a firm believer that every person should at least TRY to read some classic literature. You don’t have to be successful, but in this case, it’s the effort that counts.
That being said, just because you should read it doesn’t mean you should like it.

Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

I know that as a human being with a vagina, I’m supposed to fall madly in love with Rochester and see myself reflected in the strong and moral Jane. This is so far from the truth that I might as well be stoned to death. Jane is ANNOYING. She is literally so good she is boring. The whole time, I wanted her to do something even remotely bad. Steal a candlestick! Kiss a boy! Go to the bathroom and don’t wash your hands! Replace “my goodness!” with “dag nabit!” or, my personal favorite swear, “Bob Saget".

Rochester is a WHINER. Ohmygod, just divorce your crazy wife and ship her off to an asylum. Problem solved. But then he wouldn’t have a mysterious secret to brood over and he couldn’t give Jane that smoldering stare that gets her bloomers and corsets and chemise in a twist.
I know that there are Jane/Rochester shippers out there that will probably want to stab my eyes out, boil them in a soup and slurp it up while sitting in a drafty ancient abbey on the windy moors, but seriously – if Jane has a fault, I need someone to point it out to me. Her character development went like this:

Strong ---- > Stronger ---- > Strongest
Sad ---- > Happy
Unfortunate ---- > Fortunate

Rochester, he had so many faults I couldn’t see what was good about him. He kept his crazy wife locked in the attic. He wanted to keep Jane as his mistress. He was grouchy. At the end, he was hardly redeemed – the only reason anything worked out is because his wife was burned to death. Jane was like, “Yay, now the crazy bitch is out of the way and we can live in morally superior bliss, with my blind one-handed pissy hubby by my side for all eternity.”

Now we all know why Charlotte Bronte hated Jane Austen – Northanger Abbey pokes fun at this melodramatic smorgasbord of depressing, boring people staring into each others’ eyes and hating life.

At least Emma and Knightley were funny, even if they didn’t actually do anything besides talk.

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien

Disclaimer: I’ve never actually read the books, besides the first half of The Hobbit. My disdain for the series is based almost solely on the fact that I have seen all three movies and have yet to make it through one without falling asleep or ending up on Facebook.

Being a fanatic maniac about Harry Potter and the Chronicles of Narnia, everyone just assumes that I want to sleep with Aragorn and have Hobbit feet. Not so. I have absolutely no clue what happened in the movies. I only retained enough to recognize when someone makes a reference to a Ring or the Fires of Mordor or Elvish. The movies—all three of them—were agonizing. Now, there will be people who say, “The book is so much better than the movie!”; however, I feel like a movie should make you want to read the books (such as, for instance, with Harry Potter – I never read the books until I saw the first movie in theaters because I thought it looked mildly interesting. Look at me now.)

Tolkien’s own friends probably thought the book was insufferable. I mean, the fact that I can’t even remember the basic plot line to ANY of the movies, which as a rule should be simpler than the plot line of the corresponding book, says something to me. And that something is, “Stick to witches and wizards and magical feasts, goblins and ghosts and magical beasts” (A Very Potter Musical, 2009, University of Michigan Theater Department.)

To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Two words: What. Happened?

Single biggest waste of two weeks in my literature class. I read 2/3 of it before saying, “F*ck it, even if I read it, I will have no clue what’s going on, so SparkNotes it is.” Even SparkNotes seemed to just make stuff up. Apparently it was a major advancement in the modernist, stream-of-consciousness, absolutely retarded writing movement. But I pulled a large chunk of my hair out while reading it so I file this one under the heading of “Failure”. I guess I'm supposed to love her because of her progressive views on feminism and the way she spoke out about the repression of women. First and foremost, I'm not really a feminist in the bra-burning man-hating sense, and the vast majority of those people bother me because they just perpetuate the stereotype that women are over-emotional and unstable. But I digress. Woolf could have found more entertaining ways to provide social commentary. Possible Virginia Woolf novel titles: "Mrs. Dalloway, Warrior Queen." "To the Slaughterhouse." "A Room of One's Own Shared With a Hot Prince I Beat into Submission."
THAT'S FEMINISM.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

First, I have to say this: I admire Mary Shelley for her inventiveness, twisted mind, and pwning her husband’s sissy poetry. This does not change the fact that Frankenstein took me six months to read, and it is roughly 1/3 the size of the average Harry Potter book. The long, drawn out, dry paragraphs of unnecessary descriptions almost caused me to raise the white flag and pick up a Nicholas Sparks book (I KNOW!!!). The story is great, and Shelley makes interesting commentary about playing God, which is especially relevant nowadays with all the crazy DNA replication shit that scientists are doing.

I think that what made me dislike it is the style. The letter-writing from a narrator twice removed from the story made it slow and cumbersome. I guess it was pretty inventive, but for me that falls flat. I’ll try to read it again, because I feel like you have to like one of the Shelleys in order to be considered an educated human being (right?) and no matter what, it’s better than listening to her effeminate husband whine about all the f*cking drama in his life and write love poems to other women. “Free love” my ass.

Walden by Henry David Thoreau

*snooze* *snooze* *snooze* What’s that? I was reading a book? I thought books were supposed to be entertaining, like staring at a brick wall. Or watching my great-grandma eat pudding. Or watching ants swarm over a Dorito on the sidewalk. All three of those things are more pleasant than reading Walden. Once again, I understand its literary significance. But I don’t understand why anyone would want to read a book about someone living in the woods. If you’re that transcendental, you should be living in the woods alone, not reading about someone living in the woods alone. Go farm your own food, forget to shave anything for a few years, and meditate naked in a field to be one with nature. I’ll sit on my couch watching reruns of Little House on the Prairie with my electricity-chilled pint of ice cream, thank you very much. Naked and smooth-shaven.

I manfully made it through that whole book, but don’t ask me to tell you what it’s about. Or what happened. Or what Thoreau found to smoke in those woods.

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

This is another book I need to "disclaim". I actually like it, because it's dark, the characters are well-written and interesting, and the whole plot line is very multifaceted and engaging. HOWEVER, I DO NOT THINK IT IS ROMANTIC. I think Heathcliff and Catherine are disgusting, and I would never ever sit there and sigh over how their love is so tragic and doomed and OHMYGOD THE WIND ON THE MOORS blah blah blah.

No. They are terrible people (which make great characters). I can't stand the fangirls who hold the love between Heathcliff and Catherine up to the same standard as Darcy and Elizabeth, Odysseus and Penelope, or even freaking Han Solo and Princess Leia. I guess they deserve each other, but I wouldn't call obsessive, murderous lust the same has everlasting love. As individuals, I find them much more entertaining (and therefore, to me, likable) because they are so complex (unlike boring Jane Eyre and brooding Rochester -- take some tips from sis, Charlotte!). And their relationship is fascinating and compelling. But PLEASE don't place it on the same level as people who actually loved each other. It's just mean.


Any Poetry except “Howl”

For me, poetry is a snoozefest, much like Walden and Frankenstein and To the Lighthouse. I appreciate a good metaphor as well as the next person, but I also like a story. I don't really want to read about you looking at a bowl of Cheerios and using it to represent the way you are scarred for life because you lost your cat in a house fire 20 years ago. ESPECIALLY Romantic poetry. I'd rather look at a tree than read 100 lines of words I need a dictionary for explaining how the tree looks or how the tree should make you feel.

Of course, this means I love the shit out of Allen Ginsberg. To this day he remains the only poet I have ever read, besides Shel Silverstein, that made me laugh and feel weird and think about things without having to dig far into my psyche and exhaust my already weak mental capacity. Then again, I'm just a general admirer of The Beatniks, because they were so self-indulgent and reckless and did whatever the hell they wanted to.

Can you see why my twisted mind prefers Ginsberg:

. . . who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares,
alcohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind;

over Coleridge:

As
some vast Tropic tree, itself a wood,
That crests its Head with
clouds, beneath the flood
Feeds its deep roots, and with the
bulging flank
Of its wide base controls the fronting bank,
(By the slant current's pressure scoop'd away
The fronting bank
becomes a foam-piled bay)

Poetry lovers, feel free to hate on me. You won't change my mind,
but you're welcome to try.

What movie am I watching?

This should be easy.

- A chastity belt! That's really going to chafe my willy!

- Hey, Blinkin!

- Did you just say Abe Lincoln?

- Hey Abbot!

- I HATE THAT GUY.

- A toll is a toll, and a roll is a roll. And if we don't get no tolls, then we don't get no rolls.

- King illegal forest to pig wild kill in it a is!

- Let's get out of this ladies' clothing and get into our tights.

- I must warn you. It could only be a kiss. For I am a virgin and could never... go all the way. Unless I were married. Or if a man pledged his endless love to me. Or if I knew that he desperately cared for me. Or if he were really cute!

- Don Giovanni, if I may say so, your lizard look limp.

- Well when you get to be my age . . .

- Time out! Sorry bad guys, but I am running out of air. Gotta get pumped.

- King? King? And which King might that be? King Richard? King Louis? King Kong? Larry King?

- Oh, if 'twere you, 'twould be... twerrific!

- From this day forth, all the toilets in the kingdom shall be known as... johns!

- Pissed off? If I was that close to a horse's wiener I'd be worrying about being pissed on!

- No, we're straight. Just . . . Merry.

- This means you've always been my one true love because it's just the right size!

- It's not the size that counts! It's how you use it!

- This old man is Locksley.

- Are you sure? He looks like Mark Twain.

- Wasn't your... didn't your mole used to be on the other side?

- I have a MOLE?

- D-E-D. Dead.

- You are very brave for not a homeboy.