A Temporary Title

Two minutes well spent.

via We Heart It

Meme time!


STOLEN FROM mayaellewood and sjonsvenson
1. Ask me to take pictures of any aspect of my life you're curious about.
2. Leave your requests as comments to this entry.
3. Please look at the previous requests as to not do repeats.
4. I'll snap the pictures and post them.

So does anyone have any tips on how one would go about fixing a stuck lens on a friend's, um, shiny new for Christmas Nikon point-and-shoot? I would very much appreciate anything in the way of advice!

So Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay?

Not sure if I like him enough to, you know, see the movie but MY GOD the poster.

Based on an argument Sky and I are having:


Which is a better date movie?
a) Love Actually
b) Fight Club

Which is a gayer movie?
a) Brokeback Mountain
b) Fight Club

Which movie has more dogs?
a) Must Love Dogs
b) Fight Club

Which movie has less Brad Pitt?
a) Spy Kids 2
b) Fight Club

Which movie has more testosterone?
a) Reservoir Dogs
b) Fight Club


Vote away, dear sporadic readers.

(By the way, if your answers to all of the above were "b", then you win a pony.)

Thank you so much, David! You're the awesomest!

Okay, I went camping this week. I scaled mountains and cliffs and swam in icy-cold rivers and sat around campfires playing guitar. I will write more about the camping aspect when I get my pictures together, because I have stories to tell. However, at the moment I feel a more pressing urge to recount this year's International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

Out of the entire camp (70 or so people, not counting camp staff) I was one of two people who had heard of International Talk Like A Pirate Day. This lent itself to a small, perfect moment during breakfast.

I was not having a good morning. I had arrived at the mess hall too late and thus had to sit at a table with people whom I did not know and converse awkwardly with said people. Upon getting out of bed I greeted my cabin-mates with "Avast, ye scurvy bilgerats!", and with every person who gave me a strange look or said "Did you just say 'yarr'?" I slowly realized that my schoolmates are terribly unenlightened. As I stood in line for breakfast, the drama teacher drifted past, quietly singing "We massacre Indians and kill little boys..."

In retrospect, it wasn't that funny. Still, it made me happy. The hike that day KILLED ME. DEAD. So dead, in fact, that I used proper English for the rest of the day. Ah, well.

Here's a bit of history from the dorm in which I now live.

I got back from Comic-Con a few hours ago. I'm composing a report; I was actually planning to blog but the hotel we were staying at did not have any Internet access whatsoever and the novelty of wardriving was wearing off for Dad and Kai. Anyway, I'm exhausted and I need to sleep. Here's Joss Whedon.

Wardriving around San Diego Old Town. I am INTOXICATED WITH THE GLORY and surrounded by a rosy glow. I love life.

Okay, this post was supposed to be finished yesterday but I was up until the wee hours of the morning dyeing my hair. There's my excuse. Here's my post.

( In which I go to Disneyland with the McClouds, the Jacobs-Hinrichers and their exchange students, the Jonokuchis, Crystal, and Matt. )

( In which Sky and I dive teethfirst into the weird world of vegan cooking )

[Writing this on the new MacBook, which is almost blindingly shiny and pretty.]

So, we went to Disneyland on Monday. On Sunday we drove out to Anaheim and went to the Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum, which was dark, crowded, and loud. (The earthquake simulator was cool, though!) Then we went back to the hotel, argued about which movie to watch, and decided to read Coraline instead.

On Monday we got up bright and early to go to Disneyland, where we met relatives who were visiting from Hawaii for a soccer tournament. The new submarine ride was opening, but this momentous event didn't seem to have any particular effect on the volume of the crowds there, except for the huge number of people who were standing in front of a rock in Tomorrowland on which a bunch of very official-looking news cameras were set up. I found out that only Splash Mountain does single-rider passes, which made me rather sad as I love single-rider passes. Nevertheless, I ended up spending an hour and a half in the Splash Mountain line with five eight-year-olds who ceaselessly demanded to know the exact number of bumps and drops in each ride, only to end up thoroughly soaked and very, very cold. Oh, and I also discovered the wonder of a Space Mountain Fastpass. Yay for Space Mountain Fastpasses.

I fell asleep on the way home and dreamt of singing snakes and slightly menacing ostriches*. Dad was listening to a Bob Dylan tape and I must have rearranged the lyrics in my sleep because I woke up wondering why he had stopped singing about seatbelts. Disney withdrawal tends to be extremely unsettling.


*they might have been ducks, but either way, oh god I may never ride Splash Mountain again

Hastily taken so as to not raise the suspicions of others at the toy store, though the fact that I was giggling incessantly probably didn't help.

Thacher: rejected. (I have a feeling that it was the crappy essays. Also, the admissions officer seemed iffy during the interview when I mentioned that I skipped seventh grade.)


Cate: accepted. (YAY!)


Whew. At least I don't have to choose.

Hey, I'm [EDIT 3-13-07: a 12-year-old with a fast clock] now!