du'Loque

Buh-Bye

2008-07-02T13:30:00.002-04:00

-jdl

Awesome Thing With Images and Words

2008-07-01T23:09:00.004-04:00

As well all know, there are some things that are indisputably awesome. Natalie Portman, for instance, and free samples of ice cream. Well, I have a new entry for the List Of Things That Are Indisputably Awesome, and it is a comic book.

Wait, no, to call it a comic book would be to sully its awesome pages. No, this is an epic about a band lead by a secret agent that accidentally goes to do battle on an alien planet, and did we mention that Vikings suck and Sensitive Guys always win?

Look, I hate internet humor as much as the next hipster. Super-Cheese-Monkey-Ninjas (!!!) don't do it for me. There is, however, nothing to hate about this:

Did I mention that's free and online? Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 have been proven to fill your daily requirements of Vitamin A-- for awesome.

unbearably yours,
jdl

P.S. Oh, and Joss Whedon wrote it, if you're into that kinda thing.

P.P.S. On a far more serious note, the art's gorgeous, which means you get eye candy with your chuckles. Check it out now!

1-800-SUICIDE

2008-06-29T00:45:00.004-04:00

If it wasn't for these people, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing these words to you. And Alice wouldn't have such a devoted stalker. So click play and think about maybe helping out, because the world needs more blogger-stalkers. (Blalkers? Stoggers?)

-jdl

I Don't Look Like Jude Law

2008-06-21T19:06:00.004-04:00

Damn. I guess I don't have a chance with Alice then, huh?

I swear this isn't becoming an art blog. Look, I'll use a big word!*

loquaciously yours,
jdl

* albeit inaccurately.

I Ate Paint

2008-06-20T01:54:00.007-04:00

Which answers every question you ever would have asked, ever. So click through for the pretty zoom-ins!

-jdl

Everything Is Better In China

2008-06-19T17:02:00.002-04:00

What does America have? The Rocky Mountains, in case you forgot that mountains were rocky.

What does China have? Dragon-Tiger Mountain.

What does America have? Wesley Theology Seminary, named after Wesley Snipes, where United Methodists study to become even more united and methodical.

What does China have? White Cloud Monastery, where monks and nuns of the Total Perfection religion study to become even more totally perfect.

What does America have? The Declaration of Independence, which is alright, I guess, racism aside.

What does China have? The Mandate of Heaven, although I admit Bush has been stepping up and claiming this one too.

Listen, America, all I'm saying is that our names just lack that extra sparkle, that certain something. No wonder China's economy is growing so rapidly, they've probably named it "Great Blooming Lotus" or something.

nominally yours,
jdl

You Can't Spell Duhkah: or, The Most Unironic Post I'll Ever Write

2008-06-17T23:29:00.005-04:00

...Thereupon, with the perfectly pure heavenly eye, [the Buddha] looked upon the entire world, which appeared to him as though reflected in a spotless mirror...

Why a spotless mirror? What does this mean?

I raised my hand, having no idea what I was going to say. "Maybe," I began, "I don't know, but there's two different theories I can think of here. Maybe it has something to do with that Buddhist ideal of, you know, first seeing yourself as if in a perfect mirror, then there's no mirror at all. Like, trying to realize there's no self."

I still had no idea what I was talking about; however, it began to come together.

"Or maybe it's all about dependent arising-- like, how everything arises because of other things. Like Indra's jeweled net. Because this world is an illusion, the Buddha, in the sense, was seeing himself reflected in/as it. I mean, it couldn't have existed without him and vice versa.

"I think, on page 103, he talks about how everything, all phenomenon, arises from the mind. So the mirror shows the world because he, and all the illusions attached that idea of his 'Self,' reflected the outside material world."

My favorite classmate ever (FCE) raised her hand and asked, "If it's all illusion, then why would he base a religion off it? I mean, if that suffering isn't real..."

I replied: "But just because it's an illusion, it doesn't make all that suffering any less real for any of us still living in the illusion. Suffering itself, like, comes from illusions of attachment and stuff, right?"

Later, talking about the Noble Eightfold Path...

FCE shook her head and asked, "So if you do these, right speech and right action and right concentration, that's the path to no-Self? But then if there's no self, who's talking and meditating?"

I interrupted the professor and leaned forward. "Well, I mean, if you're not a believer you're not a believer, but the whole point is that there is no self. All those actions just come from your consciousness, which is just a collection of memories and experience and stuff, there's no Self behind it all. It's like what Narasena says on page, uh, page 111, the chariot is just a convenient name for the wheels and the platform and such."

FCE frowned. "But that action has to be done by someone. There has to be something behind it, it doesn't just come from nowhere."

"The action doesn't come from nowhere, it comes from all your experiences and memories and, uh, senses which are just reflections of everybody elses. Behind that, there's nothing there. I mean, I'm arguing for something I don't entirely believe, but that's one of the core tenets of Buddhism, this illusion of the Self." I paused to share the world's cutest smile with FCE. "I guess if you don't believe you don't believe, though," I added, laughing with her.

=============

I love that class, it's so intellectually challenging: How does one expand outwards to Brahman and inwards toward Brahman at the same time. Can a Jain really expect to never kill a living being? Why don't they just commit suicide right off the bat? Why would Sikhs become so militaristic, in contradiction to the original peaceful, non-sectarian message of Nanak? How can the Dao transcend the sacred wu and still remain sacred in the profane outer-world? Or is the Yin and the Yang also sacred? What is the sacred and the profane? What's so special about the age of 30? (The founders of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Jainism, Buddhism, Sikhism, and devotional Hinduism were all about that age when they achieved their heirophany.)

=============

Experimenting in collage, mixed media, and etc. I really like the individual elements (yes, those are my attempts at note-taking, click to laugh at the larger version) but together it seems too busy. I'll go back and edit it later, I suppose.

uninterestingly yours,
jdl

The Second Coming

2008-06-17T00:37:00.004-04:00

Whenever TV shows show some frustrated artist taking to her canvas with a wild, cathartic flailing of paint tubes, know this: said scene is a complete and utter lie. Paint is expensive my friends, and no self-respecting artist takes to a canvas with, god-forbid, unmixed paint.

That aside, The Middleman does everything a superhero show shouldn't, and succeeds brilliantly at it. Absurd plots, deadpan acting, and refreshingly cute leads-- I'm not sure who came up with this potent mix, but if ABC cancels this show, I will burn that motherfucking studio to the ground.

ever understated,
jdl

Go Outside.

2008-06-04T15:17:00.004-04:00

Of Groceries and Butterflies (my last post for a while)

2008-06-02T21:56:00.008-04:00

Yes, with a somewhat decent site design and a terrible headache, I've decided to put this blog in semi-retirement. Expect me back in a month or so, or never, or a week if I'm feeling especially clever. I haven't, however, decided to end my blogging with anything else but a very typical post. So enjoy the lists...

All of Oui

"All of Me," by Frank Sinatra
"Anarchy in the U.K.," by the Sex Pistols
"Another Girl," by Sleeping in the Aviary
"AsK DNA," by Raju Ramayya
"Backdrifts," by Radiohead
"Bandits," by Buck 65
"Barracuda," by Miho Hattori
"Battle Without Honor or Humaity," by Tomoyasu Hotei
"Be Free," by Do As Infinity
"The Becoming," by Little Brother
"Ben Oui!" by MC Solaar

Anzya's Best

Things That Made Me Happy

Later.

yours,
jdl

P.S. Alice and the Wholly Unique Experience will get their endings, I promise.

Artificial Tension

2008-06-02T15:06:00.005-04:00

My house hates the cable company, and the cable company seems to dislike my house with equal fervor. Meanwhile, internet withdrawal has begun to set in, and the symptoms are disturbing. Men with shattered minds roam the living room, and women huddle in corners, mumbling about books constructed solely from faces. Email has become a vague memory, and Google an ancient myth.

I am living in the stone age, people.

Well, anyways, I have to go get ready for my painting class. We're working with our first nude model today, and I'm told she bears a strikingly resemblance to Scarlett Johansson.

temporally yours,
jdl

P.S. Oh, right-- I redesigned the site (again), so any feedback would be appreciated. I'll probably be tweaking things all day, so wonky lines/text/pictures are just works in progress.

Duly Noted

2008-05-30T20:18:00.003-04:00

In the cement sidewalk outside my house...

-jdl

LOST Season Finale (spoilers... kinda)

2008-05-29T23:13:00.005-04:00

Huh, the editing seems off, but man, there's enough action to keep me entertained. Sucks that the freighter's going to blow, but I just can't figure out the logistics of OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK WHOOP ASS NO BEN LINUS DON'T DIE HAHA LOCKE IS A CRAZY MESSIAH JIIIIIINN YAY PENELOPE AND DESMOND JACK IS ANNOYING BEN ISN'T DEAD OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK?

Discuss.

-jdl

P.S. Juliet...

An Antique Land

2008-05-28T22:38:00.005-04:00

Two kids on the shuttle today, chatting in Spanish:

Kid 1: "Hey, look. Look at him." [points at me]

Kid 2: "What?" [giggles, the cheeky bastard]

Kid 1: "His nose is huge! It's probably longer than his dick!"

Me, in Spanish: "Okay, seriously, could you wait until I get off the bus?"

[Pause]

Kid 1: "No."

==========

The Killer's voice is very hard to get a hold of... and it becomes a lot harder when I have to switch back and forth between Alice and The Killer. So anyways, The Killer's busy murdering a girl and washing out bloodstains; Alice, meanwhile, is enjoying the public transportation system.

11 o’clock

Cockney accents fill the back of the bus and spill into front, but Alice doesn’t mind. She stares out the window at the rained-smeared lights and imagines herself in London. She’s never been to London, but she can fake a decent Londoner accent, and she watches lots of soc— football matches, so she allows herself the brief fantasy of a foreign land.

“Next stop: Democracy Boulevard,” chimes the bus, friendly and entirely wrong. Democracy Boulevard remains three stops behind, and Alice is fairly sure the bus cannot time travel.

Alice checks her watch, a blue and red explosion that wraps around her wrist. The watch is cereal box branded and inexplicably accurate, and it reassures Alice that no, the bus is not time traveling; she still has five more stops till the library.

She feels slightly disappointed, but a shadow in the form of Big Ben cuts across the window and makes her smile.

=========

I had something else to say, but it's hard to concentrate when you can hear a housemate turn on her Rabbit.

Well, maybe it's for the best... I have lives to save!

objectionably yours,
jdl

P.S. No asterisks?!

Filler? I hardly know 'er!

2008-05-27T11:52:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I worry that I'm just hiring stand-ins for Kristen, chasing after a love I lost long ago. But prostitution is a now a buyer's market, and Valencia has incredible lips, so... fifty-fifty?

-jdl

EDIT: Ahahaha! Moments after I posted this, the real Kristen actually emailed me... haha, wow. Valencia's gonna be pissed.

EDIT 2.0: I have guy friends, I swear!

The Man Behind the Curtain

2008-05-22T22:13:00.001-04:00

The key to antidepressants is consistent, continual intake. I mention that only because this week was a bad week to be depressed. I moved into my new apartment, I'm settling for a crappy job, I can't afford food,* and... well, no, that's it.

It didn't start out that way-- staying at my girlfriend's apartment and playing house was as fun as it sounds.** But it spoiled me, and moving into my lonely room, almost empty, was somewhat of a shock.

Last night was the nadir of my "crash."

There was more to write, tales of woe and angst akin to listening to The Cure. I found relief, however, in the most unlikely of places: the girl formerly known as The Girl.

Apparently, she decided to take a break from degrading my very existence in order to open up and write one of the best emails I've ever gotten. I wish I could copy and paste it here... she even compliments me!

Later she ruined it by pissing me off, and I had to cheer myself up, but yeah, I'm cool now.

==========

In other news, I've got a house!

A room in a house!

A basement!

A roommate!

But I've got a house!

==========

I hope I'll continue to fight for causes I believe in, as long as I live, but I think part of growing up is picking your fights.

Natalie looks so happy in this picture, and I'm glad! Really. Filing all those restraining orders against me must be tiring.*** And I have a wonderful girlfriend, a fantastic harem, and a lovely boy prostitute in Sri Lanka.

Sometimes, though, I imagine Natalie and I, holding hands and watching the moon illuminate some impossibly reflective waters. The Idan Raichel Project would be playing softly in the background, while Natalie and I would whisper sweet nothings, and analyze microfinancing.

Then my ankle bracelet starts to beep.

controversially yours,
jdl

* haha, you think i'm joking.
** and disturbing.
*** just ask alice!

APB!

2008-05-19T16:10:00.003-04:00

I don't have pink eye. I rubbed my face all over my girlfriend's pillow, though, just in case.

Halt! Who Goes There?*

2008-05-19T15:14:00.010-04:00

Hey, check out this awesomely textured and stunningly professional CD case!

I had long hair and a beard back then. Also? Dignity.

==========

Remember these? The equal sign dividers? Man, those were the days.

==========

I wrote a longer post, but it would have bored the fuck out of all of you, so instead I'll just summarize: these bastards have polluted my writing style, and I'll never escape their shadows.

Those who find this shit boring, skip to the end of this post and enjoy the WTF moment.

Now...

William Gibson, the first author to clue me into the idea of GOOD WRITING. Sure, I love Asimov, but... "The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." Clever and evocative metaphors are one thing, but to conjure up an entire world, an entire atmosphere... an entire genre? Damn, yo.**

An unreadable, terribly formatted collection of his short stories appears here. I'd suggest searching for "Burning Chrome," at the very bottom of the page, as it sums up what he's known for (gritty gritty greedy grit) best. However, "Hinterlands" continues to freak me out.
But, come on, you've read Neuromancer, right? Right?!

Emma, my cousin-- she writes brilliantly. She puts me to shame, in that she makes the jump from "flowery prose" to "flowery prose draped over powerful stories." Seriously, my stuff can't hold up next to hers. But more importantly, she made me the pretentious, literary snob I am today; she introduced me to
Vladimir Nabokov, the single greatest prose stylist of the English language.*** I mean, there's just nothing I can say about him that will do him justice. Pale Fire makes me laugh every time, even as my eyes run over the (third) most beautiful lines ever written.**** His writing's so good, you can't help but like Humbert Humbert, the murderous pedophile narrating Lolita. Yet his words contain some emotional power-- Lolita, a darkly comedic work with a despicable protagonist, ends with a touching, emotional catharsis.

Signs and Symbols, by Vladimir Nabokov.

I'm going to keep going, because even if my words can't do him justice... well, fuck it. For a while, after reading his work, I could only write in a poor imitation of his style. Anything else seemed not even worth it, to me. It's only recently I've broken out from under his shadow... and into the shadow of

Haruki Murakami, a Japanese Philip K. Dick with a sense of humor, as one critic described him. This is almost true. I'd describe him more as an optimistic, wistful PKD.***** Murakami writes dreams... wonderful, surreal, realistic, quiet, noisy, hopeful dreams. I read After Dark while in the psych ward, and I'm fairly sure it's the sole reason I get out of that hellhole with my sanity intact. He's been a huge influence on my current WIPs, both the Wholly Unique Experience story and the Alice story. His prose is deceptively simple... and beautiful. His lucky streak of talented translators helps.

The Second Bakery Attack versus On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl: which wins?

Max Barry, Australian author of artistically... autistic... ah, shit. He writes funny books about corporate life and marketing. Here's Chapter One from his first book. The opening paragraph also happens to be my facebook "About Me" so, yeah, does that say something about me?******

He actually hasn't influenced my writing, per se, I just wanted to plug him. Guy's blog is also very funny, and very smart.

==========

And now for something completely-- uh, I mean, and now for your moment of Zen: The Soviet Red Army Choir singing "Sweet Home Alabama", in English.

ever populist,
jdl

* back with the shakespeare.
** brought to you by awkward white boys, inc.
*** fuck off, eric blair.
**** after shakespeare, and omar fitzgerald, ahead of borges and hemingway and... hmm. maybe i shouldn't rank art? just maybe?
***** people's kommunist division? people of korea's democratic party?
****** actually, no.

Bitch, Please*

2008-05-15T14:23:00.005-04:00

Sure, disasters all over the world are killing people, and sure the world economy is on the brink of collapse, but let's not ignore the real tragedy here: I might have pink eye. No, no, stay your tears-- stay them, I say. Because I also might not have pink eye. I'll keep you updated.**

In other news, those that know me know that I've been off the pill*** (not that one) for a month or so now, and the change is my mood has become readily apparent. I can even feel myself slipping. Luckily, I can medicate myself with Japanese pop rock. Now, I never said it was good music, but come on, how can you not smile while listening to this?****

ever happenstance,
jdl

* my blog titles used to be shakespeare quotes... ah, progress.
** with color photos!
*** not necessarily the best idea, i admit.
**** some insensitive comment about the rape of nanking here.

Everything Seems the Same*

2008-05-14T16:04:00.010-04:00

(now with asterisks!**)

Today I...

redesigned my website, because my girlfriend hated the new design, and quite frankly, so did I.***
tried to figure out Alina, formerly known as The Girl.
really, really thought long and hard about working out.
really, really thought long and hard about changing my computer's background from a picture of Natalie Portman to a different picture of Natalie Portman.
mapped out in my head where the Wholly Unique Experience is going to go.
finally worked out a rough plot for the Alice vs. serial killer story.
ate a sub.
ordered sushi.
hurt my back.
missed my girlfriend, which alarmed me, because I thought I had that gland removed years ago.

Today I didn't...

figure out Alina, formerly known as The Girl.
work out, even though Tae Kwon Do training resumes next week and I'm going to get my ass handed to me in seventeen different languages.****
change my computer's background, because Natalie Portman's just too damn pretty.
write any more about Alice, or the murderer, or the Wholly Unique Experience, because I'm a failure of a writer.
improve my posture.
read "Dance Dance Dance" by Murakami, because I think the bastard ripped off my idea. From the future. Somehow. Those tricky Japanese.
get used to my recently cut, ridiculously short hair.*****

And now, for you viewing pleasures...******

[edit: pictures deleted-- so, did i take them down fast enough?]

I'm an idiot.*******

photogenically yours,
jdl

* but i worked something out last night, that changed this little boy's brain.
** like this!
*** i mean, really, fucking clouds? christ, i must have been high.
**** English, Spanish, Urdu, Arabic, Polish, Russian, French, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Mayan, Navajo, Ancient Sumerian, Greek, Ancient Greek, Tagalog, and Newspeak.
***** the nice man cutting my hair said, in stilted english, "now you look like a gentleman, right? not like a woman with long hair." fucker.
****** that's right, all of them, all six of your viewing pleasures.
******* in china with my host brother, having a photobooth war with alina, being couplish with my girlfriend.

Blue Monday*

2008-05-12T01:33:00.006-04:00

So I hate this new layout. I'm not saying I hate it, of course**, I'm just saying that I think I could have executed it a little better. Why must everyone have differently sized computer screens! Argh! Anyways, what do you all think?

Credit for the picture used goes to the lovely Ashh-ra.

==========

Other hateful things*** include those new fig newton packages, with the peel-off lid. Yeah, you know the kind, where you peel off the top ever so conveniently, until you realize the space they give you isn't wide enough for the fucking fig newtons!?

Hateful.

==========

The post-apocalyptic wasteland, however, will not be hateful, as long as I sport one of these badass ninja urban survival outfit extra word here things.

I mean, I wouldn't be too upset about fending off mutated mice-men or scavenging discarded fuel cells, as long as I could fend off these omnipresent threats in style. Yes, to defend myself from the other survivors, as we scramble to collect food from the wasteland that is Manhattan-- to do this fashionably is my dream.****

As long as I, you know, survive. Yeah, the end of the world seems less funny when you're the one actually ending. And when there's no amusing accents that, come on, how can you not love the video?

==========

I'll finish that Wholly Unique Experience sidetrack as well. I know, you were just so worried!

==========

Lastly, I am a terrible, terrible boyfriend.

transparently yours,
jdl

* is this reference still too vague for you? hint: not an allusion to vonnegut.
** except i am.
*** sei, i am so sorry. i've got to stop cramping on your style.*****
**** what's with me and post-apocalyptic scenarios? seriously, i'm beginning to scare me.
***** yo.

BFY

2008-05-08T17:26:00.005-04:00

Happy Birthday, Israel! I know I promised a more substantial post, but whatever... you'll get a whole new redesign tomorrow, probably, so hey! Deal.

-jdl

Curious George

2008-05-07T17:51:00.003-04:00

"Jealousy is all the fun you think they had." -- E.J.

The Centre Cannot Hold*

2008-04-28T01:08:00.007-04:00

ON April 4^th, at around 11:45 PM, on the second floor of the university library, I decided to have a Wholly Unique Experience.

“I’m going to have a Wholly Unique Experience,” I said.

Across from me, Dave was soaking an economics textbook with the help of one very ugly, very pink highlighter. He nodded, eyes wide and bug-eyed behind his glasses, and then kept ignoring me.

I tried focusing on the work in front of me, analyzing the nature of worldwide recessions that—“I’m going to have a Wholly Unique Experience,” I said, again.

Dave grimaced and shrugged. “All right,” he replied, leaning back with an entirely faked sigh, “tell me about it.”

“What?”

“Tell me why you’re going to have a wholly unique experience.”

“No, no, I’m going to have a Wholly Unique Experience.”

Dave stared.

“Forget it,” I said quickly, tapping my pen on the edge of the table.

A grad student behind me hissed. “Some of us are trying—”

“Sorry, sorry,” I whispered.

She sneered and made a show of spinning the wheel on her iPod.

Dave snickered and went back to his dedicated underlining as I tried to develop thesis. I’m not sure why, though, the phrase kept bouncing, drifting, floating in my head: a Wholly Unique Experience. Even the capital letters excited me. I wanted my own Wholly Unique Experience, and more immediately, I wanted to share this desire.

“Hey, man, listen...”

Dave groaned and threw down the pink highlighter, an intimidating move mitigated only by the involvement of the pink highlighter. “What?” he asked, slumping over his books. “What's up? Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

I grinned. “So glad you asked.”

“Course you are.”

“So you know how everything’s been done before? Someone’s already died for their true love, someone’s already climbed Everest, someone’s heard the laughter of a small, frail child—“

“Wait, what?” Dave scratched his head. “The laughter of a frail child? Is that common? Have I missed out on—“

“Anyways!” I continued, raising my voice and earning another hiss from the grad student. “Anyways,” I continued, lowering my voice, “The point is that everything’s been done before, right? Every experience you and I, uh, experience... it’s been done.”**

==========

The Girl is pissing me off. The Girl's best friend and my former best friend is pissing me off. Yet I indebted to both.***

==========

Unfortunately, the wrong people read this blog.**** No, I don't mean you uneducated and Australian hicks, I mean my girlfriend. How am I supposed to write about the embarrassing birthmark above her

-jdl

* everything is better in british. which is why i'm going to london. so i can pick up a sexy london accent. and maybe start wearing something other than thrift store t-shirts. also, crappy food?
** to be continued, of course.
*** i need to chose my sins more carefully.
**** but the right people don't read it at all? i'm not sure where i was going with this.

And a Prince of Mars

2008-04-22T17:25:00.001-04:00

The latest fortune cookie...

-jdl

Do you like The Decemberists?*

2008-04-14T01:36:00.007-04:00

Well, ha! Photos follow...

The lovely ladies accompanying me on the ride home...

==========

On my first date with the wonderful girl that I'm well, dating, I ordered a banana, peanut butter, and honey sandwich.** The girl then pointed out to me that she was fatally allergic to bananas.

Suddenly, I was faced with a conundrum that every man fears: Do I eat the sandwich, thus precluding any chance of kissing the girl later that night? Or do I kiss the girl, and miss out on eating a delicious sandwich?

I chose both.***

irrevocably yours,
jdl

* well, close enough. colin meloy, sans band, still awesome, still funny as fuck.
** you might be wondering what kinda date it was if i ordered a peanut butter and banana sandwich, but trust me-- busboys and poets makes sandwiches to die for. in this case, literally!
*** she didn't die. and our date ended up lasting 19 hours. so, good?

Fear Itself

2008-04-06T19:16:00.003-04:00

Oh, come on. Just after I read about the latest developments in nuclear strike survival strategies, the United States and Russia decide to make up.

Now how will I entertain my post-apocalyptic fantasies, huh? (Note: that video starts off slow, but it's really just laying the groundwork for scaring you shitless. That's not figurative, FYI, the slow creeping horror will nest in your mind and interrupt your nightmares with nocturnal defecation.*)

Good thing Putin's a liar.**

==========

I know these pictures are supposed to be hot and arousing and all, but mostly they just creep me out. Is Jolie immortal? Has anyone checked into this?

Do you know who I'd check into? That's right, Nata-- ah, fuck it, you know the drill.***

==========

I, um, seem to have fallen into a relationship. Like, a boyfriend/girlfriend sort of arrangement... and I'm as shocked as the next maladjusted man-child. The fact that the relationship isn't with The Girl is...

obvious,
surprising,
disappointing,

and...

healthy.

Not entirely sure what to say.****

intuitively yours,
jdl

* that sentence pleases me to a degree some might call disturbing.
** in his defence, however, i don't think he really expected anyone to trust a former kgb officer.
*** also? her lawyers.
**** that applies here, as well.

LOL, LMAO, ETC

2008-04-01T19:29:00.005-04:00

I had something funny of my own to post, but I'll spare you. Instead, please sit back and enjoy the following video.

If you enjoyed the video, feel free to try one of our many other products!

The funniest series on YouTube, bar none. Sure, that's not saying much, but...

You know, I'm feeling oddly happy right now. I can't even dick around and pretend to be clever I'm so damn happy. Maybe that's because of

Late Night Shots*

2008-04-01T15:43:00.004-04:00

I did not understand a single fucking word in this headline: "UBS doubles sub-prime writedowns." I know I should care, because sub-primes or prime numbers or Optimus Prime or something is ruining the US economy.

But "doubles sub-prime writedowns?" Is that like doubling down? And no, I'm not going to read the article; I'm too busy researching the mythological origins of Optimus Prime.

Fuck off.**

=========

Last night I threw up a post, with the allusion to puking intended, which I soon took down because it was filled with terrible, terrible prose. The rest of it wasn't so bad, but dear god those five or six paragraphs just murdered whatever dignity this blog retained.

That is to say, not much! But anyways, at the end of the post I ended with a comment about The Girl, which was kinda funny because I had begun the post with a promise not to end with a comment about The Girl.

(My life works this way, you know.)

Right, where was I? My comment about The Girl: "The Girl just visited me, and I didn't tear off my clothes and jump her. I view this as a victory."

What's funny*** about that statement, which was entirely true, is that she (as always) treated me with complete and utter apathy. If I didn't know better,**** I could have sworn she was bored by me. She's always like this around me-- she finds my sarcasm unnoticeable at best, pathetic at worst... she thinks I'm too emotional, etc.

Essentially, I'm attracted to females that don't like me. The psychological underpinnings behind this don't really bother me as much as the implication that I will never get a girl I like. Unless, somewhere out there, there is a girl with stolen Aviators, waiting for me.

So, yeah, never.

==========

Note: Developing your villains is always a dangerous task. Horror films go downhill so quickly when you finally see the boogeyman. That robs the villain of all his/her/its mystery, and our imaginations, quite frankly, can scare us better than any script writer or author could.

Even when you have fleshed out, revealed villains... seeing only one side of them makes them threatening. Inhuman. You can't reason with a monster, and reasoning is a man's last line of defense. See the terrified girl (in a bra) beg for her life in any modern slasher flick.

It's scary because you know it's futile.

Now, I've reached the point in this burgeoning story where the initial inspiration stops. This is the singularity, the point past which most wannabe-writers never venture... I have trouble stepping beyond it myself. Because now, to paraphrase a fabulously wealthy writer, we have to put one word in front of the other. Repeat several thousand times. Force it. Get the ugly prose out of the way and done with.

(This all connects, don't worry.)

So now I look back at the last two excerpts, and I'm wondering exactly how the plot got from point A (the beginning, the Killer and the silver necklace) to point B (the end, Alice and her world).

I can't just write paragraph after paragraph about the inner thoughts of an ironic killer, or an accidental saint. I mean, I could, but I'm not good enough to pull it off. I need something to change. The Killer has to experience some new and different situations, while still holding onto that enigmatic wrongness.

[Wow. While writing this, I slowly began to unravel the plot and the point of this story. This post expanded twofold, feminist theory and my experiences in the psych ward and stupid television ads made an appearance, and I learned a little something about myself. Well, no. But still, the rest is true. I've got to post it up later.]

==========

Second Note: This Allison Green, aka Alice, bears no relation to the Alice of whom I've previously written. This Alice has most definitely gotten laid.

ever censored,
jdl

* please please please get the reference?
** that seems a bit mean and uncalled for, doesn't it?
*** in a funeral sort of way.
**** and i don't.

Our finest hour (annotated)...

2008-03-31T14:35:00.006-04:00

Exactly 1,234 yards away, Alice stepped off the bus with a notebook in her right hand, one hundred drip-smeared pages of earnest illegibility. She sighed. She felt she deserved the sigh.

Above, spasmodic tricks of radiance hid behind storm clouds. Alice whispered, then stopped and scratched her ear. No, that wasn't right, there are no stars out tonight. Maybe. What about her story?

Her thoughts dashed across the rooftops, lept over telephone lines, slithered down into the abandoned husk of New Amsterdam, far below, and carried her straight to the steps of an apartment building she liked to calls hers.

==========

Keep your friends close, and your enemies in bed, right?

Right?

Aw, shit.

hesitantly yours,
jdl

Sleeping in the Nighttime

2008-03-29T13:25:00.005-04:00

We fumble in the dark, playing a tug-of-war with each others' hair until she stumbles back into a wall. I press up close against her as her hips begin to wave, slowly and almost invisibly, back and forth to some internal rhythm.

Her teeth drag over my lips, and I open my eyes to see an impossible smile, sneaking in between the hungry, aimless kissing.

She grips my hair even tighter, and one of her legs tries to wrap itself around me. My hands trace a line from the seams of her jeans, up her hips, grazing over her breasts to land on her neck. My fingers run over the smooth skin and encounter a necklace, plain and silver.

I wonder, How much could I pawn that for? And what would I do with the body?

-jdl

A False Esteem

2008-03-28T15:41:00.004-04:00

Just got back into reading Lester Brown's Plan B 3.0, and reached this interesting bit*:

"Suddenly the world the world is facing a moral and political issue that has no precedent: Should we use grain to fuel cars to feed people? The average income of the world's automobile owners is roughly $30,000 a year; the 2 billion poorest people earn on average less than $3,000 a year. The market says, Let's fuel the cars."

That's about the (excellent) point where I start to get angry. Not at the book, I mean at the situation in general. You see, for all my socialist tendencies I'm really a market-loving capitalizt at heart, and for all my Victorian fetishes I'm really a futurophile.**

But even I recognize the market can, and will, fuck over the vast majority of humans in the rush forward. Profit motivates corporate actions, and where there is no market (hello, Africa!***) there is no profit.

Silicon Valley tech-evangelists seem to forget this, in their eagerness to prove that they're changing the world. This Silicon Valley brand of capitalizm is different. Really! The internet is inherently egalitarian. Fight the power!

In a country where only 17% of the population has a high-speed internet connection, egalitarianism doesn't amount to much. Woohoo, all the white**** upper-class educated adults are equal now! Rejoice!

Obviously, the internet has affected developing nations. Chinese and Arab bloggers excite me to no end, even after the inevitable firing squads.

Now, I admit I made a sudden shift from market to technology, and you could (but shouldn't!) argue that I've blurred the two.

Maybe, but technology and the free market are inexorably intertwined-- the best and brightest flock to tech companies that define the cutting edge.

Fuck that shit, use your brains to improve the other half.

Our consumer gadgets tend to trick down and reach the third world, I pretend I hear you cry. Cell phones aside, though, that's not entirely true. Consider the lack of sewage systems in certain parts of the world, sewage systems we've had here in the west since before the British drank tea.

==========

Notes from beyond the break...

Russians and Israelis now number among my readers, almost motivating me to research my ances-- wait, no, America's Next Top Model is on.
Also, Maldives?
I'm looking forward to the Speed Racer movie, because if there's one thing I adore, it's seizure-inducing visuals.*****
I'm looking forward to The Tracey Fragments, because if there's one thing I adore, it's post-apocalyptic worlds populated entirely by Ellen Page.
Le sigh.
On Chesil Beach. Read it now. Don't ask questions. Do it.

ever multiplying,
jdl

* in a chapter linking the world oil crisis and the world food crisis, no less. the man's a genius.
** best word i've ever made up and i did so invent it!
*** arms dealers aside.
**** all right, all right... asians too.
***** that wasn't sarcasm. i'm actually a bit in love with the hyperkinetic, candy-colored world shown in the trailers.

The Most Terrific Liar

2008-03-22T05:54:00.003-04:00

“It was a very stupid thing to do, I'll admit, but I hardly didn't even know I was doing it.”

-- J.D. Salinger, whom I swore I'd never quote.

Joyously Juxtaposed*

2008-03-20T19:02:00.009-04:00

Enjoy?
You see that first link on the right? That one? Yeah, click it. Collaborating (in a manner) with her was the most fun I've had all week, and was worth a night sans sleep.**
I don't want to imply that I've giving you a choice-- click on the text that reads: "Jessica Joy" now! Also, I'm going to take the following picture down before midnight.

[I'm a man of my word. Well, I'm at least of my word. The picture is down like Foreman in the eighth.]

==========

Lastly... well, actually, no. I almost typed up a little rant about my personal life, but this really isn't all that much of a personal blog.***

[I started talking about how I, in a hilarious reversal of the usual rigmarole, was used by The Girl, but there's no way to talk about it without actually gagging on my on words.]****

Ha!

...So, uh, anybody got any Ben & Jerry's?

modestly yours,
jdl

* shut up, i get more fun out of these titles than i did out of the last matrix movie. and no, that wasn't an easy but out-of-date diss, that was the whine of a fanboy still grieving.
** does the french play? like, does it work? what i'm asking is-- alice, do you feel wooed?
*** this is a collection of data, floating and ignored by you unappreciative sheep.
**** and here, just to be contrary, i was going to make crude comments about her body.

Dare Frame

2008-03-18T23:59:00.005-04:00

I know you don't take me seriously, I know you don't believe me-- but when you gaze across the scorched earth, when you gaze upwards at the unending, unsympathetic sky, and when a metallic claw reaches out to end your incessant gazing.... you'll wish you did.

ever cassandra,
jdl

P.S. I'm internet famous!

For her own breakfast she will project a scheme...

2008-03-16T22:38:00.001-04:00

..nor take her tea without a stratagem.

I follow him to serve my turn upon him...

2008-03-16T19:23:00.004-04:00

Lessons learned today:

Rashomon happens everyday.
I am not Viggo Mortensen.
There is a large difference between 300 and 400 dollars.
If I was European, that difference wouldn't matter so much.
I am not European.
An hour spent attempting to harness hidden mental powers would have been better spent studying.
I am still not Viggo Mortensen.
I give great advice!
Red Bull does not, in fact, give you wings.
It's so very, very hard to quit smoking.
Especially when it makes approaching random girls so very, very easy.
My friends demonstrate psychotic tendencies, as listed in the DSM-IV.
Rape jokes? Not always appropriate.
Often, I can overreact and blow something out of proportion. Hence, I have to admit that I am not, in fact, Viggo Mortensen.

On that note, for the lady Googlers out there... viggo hot naked sex mortensen nude porn scrambled eggs.

==========

I saw her today, at the bus stop. Her coat was a bright raincoat yellow, glowing against the dead empty trees all around. Her hair frizzled and weaved and rebelled, and in her left hand was a cigarette poised like some expert cue, and in my head I fell a little bit in love.

Ask her for a cigarette, I told myself, but the past week crept into my mind and its assault on my confidence kept me silent.

The bus came.

She was careful to throw her cigarette in the trash, my heart skipped a few beats, and we climbed the steps, nodding at the driver. I took my seat stage left, she glanced at me, the empty seat next to mine-- but we were strangers, and she sat stage right.

We played the game-- you've played it, you've watched it-- the accidental game that is so routine. I would lose myself in thought, and my head would drift and my eyes would steal a glance at her, a proxy for my shyness.

And then, impossibly, I would see her return the look; embarrassed, quick, she would face front again before I could meet her eyes.

The bus came to a stop.

I followed her off and my attention began to focus on my errands, so mundane, just wait for the light and cross the street and I see her turn right, and keep walking, and I am left behind just in time to see her turn and meet my gaze.

She is gone, because I have no scriptwriters to pen my bravado. No coincidence will reunite us.

I wonder what's on TV tonight?

erroneously yours,
jdl

Mask the gentle sky...

2008-03-15T21:33:00.002-04:00

Recent studies show I am an idiot, but an innocent one at that. I might have bought a great book, and I might have left it at home, but...*

the raw sharks descend and
cut my words because my
cut my words because my
words may cut because

the raw sharks ascend
from beneath my short
texts and my short
breaths ascend shortly.

the raw sharks descend and
say sorry miss, sorry--
say, "sorry miss, sorry--"
i missed my sorry, miss.

but this isn't an
apology isn't an
apology is not
right, all i've left

is a short shrug,

==========

In other news, I'm whoring myself out to a variety of political types, but since my whoring includes a entirely falsified resumé, and a brown-nosing cover letter, my friends forgive me. Basically, if I'm not studying at the London School of Economics this summer, I'll be doing some kinda internship.

Do I go for the sexy, glamorous internship? Or the important, but unknown organization?

This decision is easy for a moral character such as myself.

teasingly yours,
jdl

* I love fucking over the English language,** mostly because my English teacher once gave me a mark of "Failure." Psht, what does skipping class have to do with anything?
** Irony, irony, iron-iron-irony...

Imported British Tar

2008-03-07T20:32:00.007-05:00

It starts off so simple, so harmless-- "Oh," you tell yourself, "I'm going to clean my room."

Perhaps a lady friend has announced her intentions to visit, perhaps you can't see the carpet, perhaps you suffer from OCD... the initial spur doesn't matter. What matters is that you begin to clean your room.

It starts off so simple, so harmless-- a few dirty clothes here, a few loose sheets of paper here, a book there, nothing serious enough to worry you. Then it begins to get complicated, but you're still not worried. So there's a bass guitar under your bed, that's not too bad. Old socks shoved between the mattress and the wall don't require much effort to remove. Bottles scatter themselves across your desk, but that's normal.

Soon you find empty condom wrappers on the thin line between your roommate's side and yours, enough Nantucket facts for an encyclopedia entry, and speaking of, what's this textbook doing here? Have you ever even cracked the spine?

Strange shirts, vaguely but distantly familiar to you, start to spawn along side strange, red colored stains and you can count the calories consumed via Tic-Tacs and millions and oh G-d, how long have those sandals smelled like that?

The darkness begins to form and coalesce like some malevolent tide, lapping at the edges of your sanity. You fumble for the vacuum cleaner, panic suffocating your mind, but its whine begins to tear at your soul and the old pennies cling to the puke-dyed carpet like leeches.

Rational thought fades away, some childhood memory irrelevant in the face of the sticky-sweet lines on the wall and on your posters. "The horror," you might mumble, "the horror."

But no one can hear you, no one can help... You're all alone and your room is filthy.

It started off so simple, so harmless, didn't it?

-jdl

Seventeen, Not Just a Terrible Magazine!*

2008-03-05T21:16:00.002-05:00

-jdl

* that almost rhymed. almost...

The Cure for All Sadness

2008-03-04T23:58:00.003-05:00

I'm not sure how many AARDVARKs still read this blog; I know Alice doesn't, ever since I left her that voicemail.

Still, whoever is reading this blog, I encourage you to visit my experiment in applied graphic design. By which I mean my CafePress Shop-- the Shop du'Loque, to be more precise. (And pretentious.)

Everything there is marked up a mere 2 dollars, so why aren't you out and spending your parents' money?

Oh, right, you want the link.

Anyways, I'm just asking you to step up and fund my heroin addiction. Anonymous, that means you.

stereotypically yours,
jdl

--turn down an empty Glass!*

2008-03-03T22:30:00.007-05:00

I am nerd-- I know, my deep baritone and smooth moves might have thrown you off, but I'm 100% nerd.** That should help explain why this excites the hell out of me. It's like.. it's like Neuromancer! Wetware hacking, even the phrase makes me ho-- uh, happy!

Now, I've given this some serious thought, and I've decided my first construction will be a pheromone that attracts Natalie Portman. I'm just dedicated to science that way.

==========

You know how some people can spend all day in a drug-fueled haze, blissfully unaware of time's passage? My fix is Flash.

==========

There's this amazing girl I know, named Kelley BossyBoss, who co-presides with my over our university's Amnesty International chapter. She's like a model, only short and feminist.

So contribute and comment on her blog if you care about the sad prevalence of sexism in our society today and damn Alba's hot, the unspeakable things I'd do to her...*** Anyways, visit, because I'm tired of being subtle and girls... all joking aside, women need to stand up and start taking responsibility for the sexism they don't just allow, but encourage.

CLICK THIS LINK!

==========

Now isn't this nice? Just like my blog used to be. Vapid and empty.****

northeasterly yours,
jdl

* my last blog post ever will be titled "tamam shud," and if you don't get the reference, G-d doesn't love you.
** or, as the girl would say, 100% spaz! ...that's good, right? that means she likes me, right?
*** all of them would involve a king's gambit. i'm so dirty.
**** this footnote is for the in cogito boys: IRONY.*****
***** this footnote is for the rest of you: not so much.

hey ho! sun rise, sun fall, the sun

2008-03-02T02:52:00.005-05:00

Cheers!

Cheers, to the cowards who hit walls and grab at scarves. To the motherfucking idiots who shout poetry just in time to see the elevator doors close. To the men who can't pull up their pants in time, and to the girls who cover their dresses with old Navy coats.

Raise one to the dreamers that dream idly, to the plots unworthy of plotting! To the old neckties and the mistaken waves, to the unfixed cars and the the unplanned trips.

Here's to the truthful sober, the truthful drunk, and the designated driver. Here's to the musicians with dusty guitars, the actors with more Oscar speeches than monologues, the writers with wry New Yorker profiles.

Drink up, every goddamned one of you, because even the rats are smart enough to flee.

-jdl

Joy to the world...

2008-02-28T23:04:00.003-05:00

Haha, oh, I had a good night tonight. I got into an argument with Shannon, but then, we're always arguing, so nothing new there. I think I also made a new friend. And, just to top it all off, I stole some Chef Boyardee, which I've never had before-- I know, it's a crime. Everyone tells me it tastes like shit, yet my curiosity demands satisfaction.

Plus, you know, the boys from In Cogito felt like responding in force. I almost felt like a troll, por cierto, because I kinda knew that such a sarcastic and mildly offensive post would draw a reaction. But the degree to which they honored me with such repartee was impressive.

If my post really was so inconsequential as they implied, then they needn't (underused contraction, that there) have responded at all. If I deserved a sound spanking, they had only give me a sound spanking and some educational pamphlets and set me on my way.

They, however... wow. I'm not even sure where to begin! The part where they mock my admittedly unoriginal sarcasm, all while doing... the very... same? The many, many non sequiturs? The understandable, though ironic, typos? The aroma of indignation?

Let's start at the end, because I'm feeling arbitrary that way.

"As a final added note, your blog layout is horrible. It doesn't follow internet standards, doesn't work in firefox, and the idea of sticking a bunch of undivided text in a small box composing less than 1/5 of the screen is ridiculous."

I've had my own problems with this layout-- it's based off a 800X600 layout, the text might be too small, etc... I'm a fan of minimalism, though, and I like the underlying concept. Maybe I'll stretch the box out a bit, give the text some room to breathe.

Oh, and my Firefox browser sees it fine... and my Safari... and my IE. I mean, formatting wise. Design-wise, sure it's not perfect and more of a personal experiment, but unlike you all I'm not desperately seeking internet cred-- erm, I mean, I'll leave out the personal attacks for now.

But see, was that even really necessary? If we were discussing politics, I wouldn't begin to describe how your tie clashed with your shirt. Unless I was a complete blithering moron, that is, and you all aren't morons, are you?

Silly extraneous attacks out of the way, let's get to the succulent meat of Spero's attack. Um, attacks... forays... thrusts... spasms...

Spero, whose name is actually really cool, resents how I characterize his two posts. I'm not sure if this was clear, but I was being glib. Flippant. Irreverent. Obviously, your posts weren't so simple or stupid. By the end of your Obama piece, you admit to some cautious hope, and I agree with your criticism of the BBC report. Turkish reforms won't have a huge impact and the BBC tends to twist such announcements.

While we're on your entries, however, let me point out what I was, in fact, referring to:

"Islam, as most people know or should know, is around six hundred years behind Christianity and other western religions(Judaism ect.) in terms of its progressiveness."

While I agree Islam has some serious problems, and while yes I'm a bit biased against it due to my upbringing, I'm also somewhat aware of the sheer stupidity of reducing such a complex discussion and argument to a self-evident dismissal.

But you really aren't the brunt of the beachhead, you're more a tag along to Voice of Reason.

First off, Voice of Reason, I'm glad you like my asterisks, but I don't think you got the point of them. That said, however, I'm excited others are catching onto and copying my odd formatting habits. I've always wanted to become a meme.

Next up: the opening sentence of your comment.

"Such an emotional response to mere annoyance!"

Unlike you, I am a very generous and incredibly humble man, and thus will give you the benefit of the doubt. Please tell me you were being ironic? Please... I want to believe you were being ironic, because otherwise I don't know what I'm doing responding to you.

Moving on... I don't have the attention span necessary to respond to each condescending statement of yours, so I'll focus on the exciting, easy to attack sections. Like so!

"Furthermore, as I am sure you know (with all of your apparent profound philosophical insight), Cogito Ergo Sum is Latin for "I think, therefore I am," and I wanted to clarify this to readers who may not be as greatly intelleigant** and educated as you are."

Where was the part where I claimed to have profound philosophical insight? If you're going to mock someone, at least make sure you're mocking them for something they actually did. Just because I'm making fun of your non-existent insight, doesn't mean I'm claiming to have any myself. Also, where's the part where I claimed to be greatly intelligent? Sure, I'm an unparalleled genius, but I never said I was smart.

Anyways, that's tangential-- if you had really wanted to clarify the meaning of cogito ergo sum, just write a post about Descartes' skepticism and how he developed the idea and various translations of the Latin and so on and so forth. Don't ramble aimlessly ahead of time. Talk about the actual idea, don't dumb it down to a well-we-can't-really-know-anything-c'est-la-vie level.

I'm excited to get to your blow-by-blow defense, however, so let's set that aside. Let's get to the part where I'm devastated by your... what?

THE HEIGHT OF HYPOCRISY:

"So instead of the usual stream-of-consciousness nonsense I usually spoon-feed you, the unwashed masses, I'm going to provide orderly and organized nonsense." -jdl

Uh, okay, maybe I am an idiot. Explain this to me in very small words. How, exactly, do my ironic self-deprecations translate into hypocrisy? Did I accuse you of never having a good laugh at yourself?

Did you even realize that I was making fun of myself in that introduction?

By the way, the alias Voice of Reason is a religious allusion that I would not expect somebody like you to understand. It is also intended in a sarcastic manner to intentionally reflect pompousness and arrogance.

Haha, I get it now! A clever religious allusion that was supposed to be self-mocking and I took it too seriously! Silly me... you would never take someone's sarcasm in a straight manner, would you?

Aw, shucks, course you wouldn't!

Lastly, the bit about the pompousness and arrogance: HAHAHAHAHAhahahaaaaa.... haha. Ha!

Allow me to drop the sarcasm for a minute and talk to you straight.

Even when I'm being sarcastic or asinine, I realize and acknowledge it. But you seem capable of peerless condescension and arrogance and pompousness and godknowswhatelse, and you don't even realize it. "Someone like you..." I mean, really?

Or was that irony again?

==========

Spero did make a good point about this rather peculiar blog layout. So what do you all think? Scrap the whole thing, edit it and expand the box, add more user-friendly text, or just keep it?

ever metamorphic,
jdl

P.S. @The_VORster: Your own asterisks just devolve into unironic juvenile humor, so base and stupid that even I can't touch it. So I'm going to let those footnotes slide, because I really do respect you as an intelligent human being. Really!

A Confederacy of Dunces...*

2008-02-28T16:56:00.005-05:00

Today Jacques** is going to channel his healthy introspection*** into sheer, unbridled anger.

Well, okay, that's not entirely true. I'm not angry, per se, just annoyed. You see, while I was trolling the interblags for advice on how to manage unruly innerHTML documents, I tripped over a peculiar blog. This blog has the best of intentions, laid low by the worst of pretensions.****

In Cogito! In Cogito aspires to be a political/philosophical blog for the thinking man, because until now those unthinking men have had all the fun. However, in almost every post the writers fall prey to a classic flaw of intelligent men-- namely, arrogance.

I won't even get started on their latest post, a hodgepodge of undergraduate-level philosophy that fails to make any insights, or even restate old news in a clever, interesting way. Wait, no, scratch that, I will get started.

I don't have any delusions of great eloquence on my blog, and I don't expect Nabokovian prose from any blog, even the best, but I do expect something above high school literary prose:

"Why should anything exist? Since the beginning of time, man has always been preoccupied with the quest to assign meaning to the existence of the universe as we know it. We have searched endlessly for any kind of evidence that can confirm or characterize existence. We have fabricated myths that attempt to apply meaning to existence. We have approached the question scientifically, using mathematics and the laws that govern the physical universe to attempt to quantify the concept of existence. But nevertheless, we have always found that the more we discover, the more we discover the less we know."

Redundancy and repetition are well-respected and potent writing tools, when used to make a point or draw attention to a particular point or when there's a bloody point at all. But no, this entire clusterfuck of clichés leads to...

Is it possible, perhaps, that all along, we have been asking the wrong questions? We yearn to know why there is existence, yet we have no definitive answer for what existence is in the first place.

Could it be that the physical universe is nothing but an idea, a construct of the mind?

Setting aside the rape of rhetorical questions, let me just ask what the fuck?! Oh, yes, thank you for bringing up the idea that the entire universe is nothing but a figment of the imagination, no one has ever thought of that before a thousand fucking times over.

(And stop bloody repeating "existence!" Christ, you're pissing on the grave of one angry German, not to mention Strunk & White.)

Where was I? Sophomoric attempts at originality? For the sake of my drinking habit, I'm going to skip the superficial gloss about dreams and whatnot, and skip right to the delicious end.

Regardless of our efforts to define existence, it will always remain an enigma to man. So in world where we cannot even be sure of its existence, what can we hang on to so as to base our perceptions of reality on? It seems that the only definitive truth in the universe is, “I think, therefore I am.”

I want to make fun of the way in which they ignorantly parrot Descartes, but no, it's too easy. I didn't mean to seem too angry, but this post just confuses me. Were they trying to educate their audience? Because I've gotten a deeper introduction to the subject from "Philosophy for Dummies," no joke, than what I've read here.

Were they trying to make some headway into the completely legitimate questions of: "What is real? How do we know? What does it matter?" Cause, you know, they didn't make any fucking progress. They just copied and pasted and summarized Wikipedia articles.

I'm almost scared to think that maybe, just maybe, they're trying to be smarter and better than the average, lowly, unpretentious political blog.

Look! I barely have any room left to tear apart the entries that actually have a point, however erroneous-- like the bit where Obama supporters are delusional and Obama will destroy us all, or the post in which we learn what's wrong with Islam. You know, Islam in general, cause it's all the same.

I'll get to those posts later tonight, once I'm done shooting up. I really didn't start out this angry, I swear...

Haha, hold on, I nearly missed the funniest part! The In Cogito writer/sophist calls himself "Voice of Reason."

(EDIT: If any of the In Cogito writers read this, I would like to hear a mature, intellectual reply. Don't let my own immaturity discourage you. Or, you know, do.)

platonically yours,
jdl

* that's what C.o.D. stood for, on my old blog.
** whose real name isn't john, or jonathan, that's a joke.
*** it's not that i can't date the girl, it's that i shouldn't.
**** see what i did there? see?!? man, i'm so clever.

Open then the Door!

2008-02-27T19:46:00.004-05:00

You can now comment on this blog. You can now peruse the greatest links known to man. You can also smell your own armpits, but I wouldn't advise it.

Cause, you know, they stink.

-jdl

The Wisest and Stupidest of Men

2008-02-23T21:00:00.009-05:00

"All but Death, can be Adjusted—
Dynasties repaired—
Systems—settled in their Sockets—
Citadels—dissolved—

Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors
By Succeeding Springs—
Death—unto itself—Exception—
Is exempt from Change—"

by Emily Dickinson

-jdl

His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge...

2008-02-21T00:12:00.007-05:00

I'm feeling rather mathematical, as of late, owing to an overdose of economics.* So instead of the usual stream-of-consciousness nonsense I usually spoon-feed you, the unwashed masses, I'm going to provide orderly and organized nonsense.

News:

The future is finally here! It's made out of urine.**
Two pieces of good news, the first of which I did not seeing coming at all. Rational thought ensues.***
Secondly, Italian scientists prove what everybody already knew.**** Women can orgasm in response to stimuli to sensitive nerve clusters! Shock and horror ensues. *****
Whenever I hear about some military action, I can't help but wonder what the government could be covering up.
Natalie Portman.

Personal Life:

Studying feels weird, like the slimy oil that begins to coat your skin after you don't shower for about a week. But, like that natural oil, it's also good for you.******
The Girl and I just had a lovely little confrontation and argument, during which we were both grinning the entire time. (It has been some time since I've had a proper fight.) She was mostly right, of course, but I like to think I held my own.
My pleasure reading lies neglected, just behind my laptop... but then again, all of this neglected art has an deadline. Sorry, Ian McEwan, you lose to Singapore.
Natalie (of youtube fame) has (and if you only click one link in this post, shame on you, click this one) returned to form! More importantly, she's stopped listening to idiots.*******
All of this has left me in a very good mood, another weird sensation. Today's just full of them!
I might be the only person on my floor that enjoys Bjork.
Natalie Portman.

This post has been brought to you by...

"My Generation," by The Who
"Brain Storm," by Arctic Monkeys
"Meditational Fields," by Susumu Hirasawa
"Heart It Races," by Architecture in Helsinki
"Lust for Life," by Iggy Pop
"Rock and Roll Music," by Chuck Berry
"Flash Light," by Parliament
"Weapon of Choice," by Fatboy Slim
"Goth Girls," by MC Frontalot
The Four Seasons, Op. 8, No. 2, "Summer"

uncharacteristically yours,
jdl

* "teach a parrot the terms supply and demand and you've got an economist." -- thomas carlyle
** well, no, but accurate descriptions aren't as funny as misleading ones.
*** the republican party disbands.
**** and italy continues to lead the world in sexy, headline-worthy science.
***** the republican party disbands.
****** okay, i've really got to stop with these metaphors.
******* i had something else to say here, but damn-- the asterisks strike back.********
******** the republican party disbands.

My Echo Chamber*

2008-02-19T15:33:00.005-05:00

Can I call it or what?**

Luckily, I've got you people covered.

==========

My distaste for humans does not end with the younger iterations, nor with their playthings. Luckily, you too can experience the joy that is misanthropy. ***

Hey, are my blog posts becoming less substantial? Nah...

wishfully yours,
jdl

* i really like how scrubs titles its episodes. and this footnote is interesting to nobody else but me.
** admittedly, everyone else called it too, but still! i called it.
*** birthday parties? far easier to organize.

and that’s okay.

2008-02-19T01:16:00.002-05:00

and that's okay

i used to write
poems with cute endings
and clever
twists because
i am different, really
my poetry’s better
and bigger and smaller than them,
you know
that—

but i try to see myself on
a misplaced
bench and you ask me well-deserved
light bulb questions

but i’ve got
nothing left to answer for, maybe
except worn pencils

and a warm, lost
phone.

so what? we’ve got
nothing but time and timers

Afterwards, all girls smell the same... Comment!

2008-02-17T14:11:00.009-05:00

In the news today, Kosovo declares independence, because the Balkans don't seem to fucking learn. That, or they just felt that their "powderkeg" status was threatened by, you know, Eastern Europe and the Middle East.*

I wonder how many readers of this blog actually bother clicking through to all my informative links? Goddamn, why do I try?

==========

I am getting a huge amount** of readers, from all over the world: Sweden, Japan, Britain and Ireland and Prague, just to name a few. I even attracted a couple from some weird Central American country called "Texas."

Comment! Since Alice & Co. have disappeared from the comments, you all should leave a comment and make me feel loved. Same goes for everyone in the United States, or its Canadian colony.

If commenting isn't your thing, email me at duloque@gmail.com. Send pictures or poetry or whatever.

If you don't, I will get myself elected president of this nation and invade you. Assuming, you know, Russia or China doesn't beat me to it.***

==========

To prevent myself from talking about her, let's bring out some more graphic design! This time, a CD liner suite.

helvetically yours,
jdl

* i'm actually in support of kosovo's independence, so screw off, serbs.
** by huge, i mean, when i try counting that high, i get distracted and start reading something else.
*** or, at this rate, venezuela.

Therapist, Medium Rare* and Why Jacques is an Amoral Sociopath

2008-02-15T16:42:00.009-05:00

(EDIT: Sonofabitch, I have got to stop using my real name in these blog titles.)

So my therapist** and I made a big breakthrough*** in figuring out my depression-- I'd like to share it with all of you. Because if I can't inflict my mental damages on you all, why I am writing blog?****

Now, we actually made two, but I think the one about my parents in bullshit; however, that Harvard medical degree on the wall intimidates me.

The second insight, though, seems somewhat accurate.

For all my bleeding heart liberal ideals, I am an emotionally detached individual. I've joked about this on the blog before, but it wasn't until my last therapy session I realized how true that is. Whenever she asks me, "How did that make you feel?" I would just respond with what I thought about the situation. She kept pressing for me to express my actual emotions, and I realized that I really don't feel emotions like everyone else does.

I just don't get sad, or scared, or elated, or anything like that... annoyed, yes, but that's usually on an intellectual level.

I've detached myself emotionally to protect myself from getting hurt. I still feel, obviously, I just don't consciously allow myself to be aware of these feelings.

But my anger... I have very explosive anger, and instead of letting it out and feeling angry, I just cut it off and turn it inwards.

Which results in suicide attempts. So, yeah, the whole inward-anger-thingy has to stop.

And THAT is why I am a terrible boyfriend.

==========

Do you want sketches? Of course you do! Click, as always, for the full version.
Why stop there? I made a logo for my fake card company!
Poems and the first chapter of my novel come next week. Yes, yes, you must bask in the shadow of my ego. Unless you're Alice. Then you just pat my head, muss up my hair, and offer to put my work up on the refrigerator.

She can get away with it, too.

ever incorporated,
jdl

* oh, how i amuse myself.
** if you've read this blog regularly, this should come as no surprise.
*** well, my therapist did, but she got all the material from me.
**** besides to chronicle my perfectly legitimate and legal obsession with natalie portman.

My Theme Song (Filler Post)

2008-02-14T18:04:00.002-05:00

Hey, I found a theme song!

"Academia," by Sia

You can be my alphabet and I will be your calculator
And together we'll work out on the escalator
I will time you as you run up the down
And you'll measure my footsteps as I blow through this town
The mean of our heights is divided by the nights
Which is times'd by the daggers and the route of all our fights,
The pass of your poem is to swathe me in your knowing
And the beauty of the word is that you don't have to show it

Oh academia you can't pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love

I am a dash and you are a dot
When will you see that I am all that you've got
I'm a binary code that you cracked long ago
But to you I'm just a novel that you wish you'd never wrote
I'm greater than x and lesser than y, so why is it
That I still can't catch your eye?
You're a cryptic crossword, a song I've never heard
While I sit here drawing circles I'm afraid of being hurt

Oh academia you can't pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love

You're a difficult equation with a knack for heart evasion
Will you listen to my proof or will you add another page on
It appears to me the graph has come and stolen all the laughs
It appears to me the pen has over analysed again
And if I am a number I'm infinity plus one
And if you are five words you are afraid to be the one
And if you are a number you're infinity plus one
And if I am four words then I am needing of your love

Oh academia you can't pick me up
Soothe me with your words when I need your love
Academia

Lesbians, The Ivy League, and You*

2008-02-14T01:38:00.005-05:00

This first part is somewhat directed towards Just a Girl, but also towards anyone who is reading this blog and preparing for college.** That said, if you want to hear about lesbians, feel free to skip this bit.

Anyways, where was I? Right, Just a Girl...

Don't go to an Ivy League school, you could do better.

Now, obviously, like any blanket (and dramatic!) statements, this isn't entirely true. The graduate schools in these Ivy League universities are world-class, among the best in the world. Harvard's law school, UPenn's medical half... they will grind you down, surround you with assholes, and turn you into to one hell of an educated fill-in-the-blank.

That, however, is the grad school. You know, where all those big name professors actually teach, instead of assigning a TA to the lecture hall. For undergraduate... Ivy League schools, quite frankly, suck.

You almost never get those celebrity professors, despite what the university's marketing campaign tells you. Sorry, but in the sub-Ivies, you'll probably get smaller classes and you'll definitely get more face time with a professor-- which, as any student knows, makes all the difference.***

"But the other kids!" you cry, "They're like me! Smart and talented!"

Well, yes. Maybe. Sort of? Most of them are smart, you can't argue against that. Sure, they also fluffed their resume and their parents wrote the essays and oh, they're legacy... but they probably have brains beneath all that. So they're smart-- just not the smartest. The smartest kids can be found in Ivies, sub-Ivies, and underrated state schools across the nation.

Oh, and the fucking culture, fucking hell. I mean, sure it's a stereotype, and I know**** lots of decent human beings that attend an Ivy... but there is a snobbish culture. Insulated institutions plus constant affirmations of entitlement result in you, whether you like it or not, wearing the sweater vest.

"Ah-hah! Jacques du'Loque, you are just jealous because you do not go to an Ivy League school. My B.A. from Yale will open doors your university could not," you say in my hypothetical conversation.

You're wrong. I got into one, and I refused admission.***** Also, that brand name recognition? Yeah, that lasts for a couple years, at most.

==========

Wait, no, it's okay. This girl just redeemed the entire Ivy League: here.

==========

What, you wanted to hear the lesbian story? This blog post is too long already. Sorry, in a non-apologetic sense. Maybe tomorrow.

ever elitist,
jdl

* alternate title: yale. (now wait, relax, that's an inside joke.)
** hopefully not at the same time.
*** especially when you've missed half your classes.
**** knew. c'est la vie.
***** over a girl-- biggest mistake of my life. if there's one sincere thing i'll ever write on this blog, here it is: there's only one girl i could possibly marry, and who would marry me, and she was her. she was my soul mate, and possibly the most amazing person i've ever known. i am so very, very stupid.

oh, hold on, there's still natalie portman. whew, that was a close one.

Excerpts from Life (Pictures of Me)

2008-02-12T23:05:00.007-05:00

You get a post filled with random trivia, drawn from my life, because I'm too busy to actually, you know, post something interesting. But you also get to see what I look like. Hint: I'm white.*

Underneath the "Diseases" section of my local bookstore: Getting Pregnant.
My roommate, to his long distance girlfriend: "Hey, do you know what would be really hot? If I puked everywhere, and you cleaned it up. That'd get me really horny."
Also: "Yeah, before we have butt sex, you have to get an enema and then not eat for three days.... No, I'm just kidding. Two days."
Why tones and teeth matter in Chinese-- instead of saying that I had a sore throat, I told the teacher that there was a hand in my mouth.
I'm painting my bass guitar for graphic design class. See me take it apart, possibly rendering it inoperable! [picture deleted]
My graphic design project also includes a Valentine's Day card, my distaste for the holiday aside. The first picture is the cover, and the inside would say, "I still love you." No, it's not based on anything from my real life, I just wanted to do an emotionally complex/realistic Valentine's Day card.
Uh, it looks shitty as a low quality JPEG, I know. EDIT: But if you click it, it magically turns into a high quality JPEG!

orderly yours,
jdl

* no witty comment here, sycophants. i just feel i have to lay claim to the asterisk shtick, seeing as how everyone is stealing from me. i invented it!

How To Walk*

2008-02-09T19:12:00.000-05:00

Hi, everyone, my surprising short sabbatical has obviously come to an end. Welcome to the sexier, shinier, sleeker Du'Loque! And while none of those adjectives apply, my work in advertising has taught me that it's okay to lie.

==========

Now, my fellow students, I understand that you have a lot on your mind. Sex, alcohol, how to get said alcohol, whether to drink said alcohol or smoke pot, your resume, and classes. You're busy and preoccupied! I understand.

So your inability to walk I'll blame on society, because society is so easy to blame. In fact, since I'm so generous, I'll teach you how to walk.

Remember cars? Remember driving them? Remember what side of the road you drove on? (British subjects shut up I'm not talking to you.)

Yeah, that's right, you drove on the right side of the road. Apply this very simple fact to walking, and maybe you won't keep fucking running into to me as you spring up the wrong side of the stairs you moronic--

Thanks, no, really, thanks for reading, and good luck in all your future walks.**

==========

The section above seems to imply that I'm angry and better. But I'm not! Recent studies*** show that I'm actually happy. You may thank free sushi and Keanu Reeves for such a miracle.

==========

I hard more to blog about, but there's a Kurt Cobain retrospective on, and I want an excuse to wear flannel.

unexceptionally yours,
jdl

* since "hated things" was already used by the lovely sei.
** but maybe you shouldn't?
*** conducted by my roommate, while hung over. at midnight. he breaks spacetime.

Maybe Goodbye?

2008-02-06T21:03:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry. Hopefully this won't be permanent, but I can't say when I'll be back-- not for a week, or two, at the least. It depends how everything turns out... given today, it won't be for awhile.

Thanks for reading so far, and who knows? I might be back to entertain you all again. Soon, even.

never yours,
jdl

When the air was clean and sex was dirty...

2008-02-05T16:33:00.000-05:00

She straddles me and runs fingers through my hair. I smile at her, in that distant and vaguely uncaring way that probably drew her to me in the first place. Beyond her head, 36.5 tiles line the ceiling, and I know because I counted.

"Your eyes are so hot," she says, as her fingers begin to drift downwards, an inexorable tug more erotic than Newtonian.

"I think the irregular tiles at the edge follow the Golden Ratio," I want to say, but instead I bring my hands up her back, tracing her spine with the slightest of pressure. We both shiver, involuntarily.

"Wow," I reply, with my usual smirk. "That was almost poetry. 'Your eyes are--'" but my sarcasm ends when she laughs and brings her lips down to my neck.

Alas, my weakness.

"Shut up," she murmurs, through hot breath and wet skin, and I do.

==========

I almost began that with: "...and now for something completely different!" But we all know how that ends. Some of us, in fact, should know better than others.

Anyways, yeah, there's not much more to say, huh? Comments, questions, phone numbers? No?

literotically yours,
jdl

My Green Hat*

2008-02-03T21:42:00.000-05:00

Excerpt from a recent conversation with my Chinese host brother....

Me: 我不会说汉语，好的？
Him: Uh... I think you need more practice, OK?
Me: I hope our country's collective nuclear arsenal obliterates your pathetic nation, you dirty Commie whore.
Him: I am sorry, what?
Me: Nothing, I agree.

Don't worry, he later got his revenge...

Me: Well, I broke up with [my ex-girlfriend] a long time ago.
Him: Oh, maybe now you can get a Chinese girlfriend?
Me: Yes, maybe.
Him: Is there a Chinese girl you want to date?
Me: Uh, Zhang Ziyi?
Him: Is there maybe someone else?

Also, random note, typing this to Wired All Wrong's "Nothing At All" seems so right.**

==========

In pressing political news, The Girl*** continues to tolerate my entirely asinine self and my jaw-droppingly dumb mouth.

"Why, Jacques," you might ask, "would you strive after her? Why not some other vic- lucky girl?"

Well, Alice has filed a restraining order against me, and Natalie Portman's dating a billionaire, so my efforts are constrained to The Girl. She doesn't seem to be enjoying it, though. Understandably-- our last conversation:

Her: You're so... *exasperated pause, as she considers murdering me* ...dramatic!
Me: So, you're more of a Cary Grant girl than a Gregory Peck girl?
Her: ...
Me: You know-- less drama, more comedy.
Her: ...I'm just going to ignore that.
Me: Sorry, what? I was just imagining our wedding-- wait, no, where are you going? Come back! It was really tasteful!

Anyways, yeah, I won't mention her again.****

=========

Don't ask me how the Superbowl went. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to HOW THE HELL no wait, I'm not talking about it I just need some time to mourn.

bradybrokemyheartedly yours,
jdl

* copyright 1200 ce, obscure chinese expressions ltd.
** some might suggest it's my theme song. i would suggest this in its stead.
*** capitalizing her like a proper noun makes me feel dirty. it's like she's become a character in this blog, and like this blog is turning into a.... personal blog.
**** remember our old friend, the lie? well, he's back and looks to settle down.

These are a few...

2008-02-02T12:49:00.000-05:00

I promise that I'll update. Really! There's lots to talk about! But right now I'm busy dying of the flu.

hispanically yours,
jdl

Lo Siento, No Obscure Titles This Time

2008-01-30T22:07:00.000-05:00

LSNOTTT? The repeated "T" bothers me on a moral level. Which is perfectly healthy.

Anyways, I'm currently a bum, having missed two days of classes, devoid of functioning vocal chords*, and just not my usual sarcastic self. Some of my friends are beginning to develop egos, which offends me on a moral level.

My morals are easily offended, apparently.

Speaking of irony, how about the wonderful news that the transhuman rich might finally get around to helping out** the subhuman*** poor?

==========

This photo I took reminds me of Alice in Wonderland (Carroll's, not Richmond's). Particularly, Alice's request for directions from the enigmatic Chesire Cat.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don't much care where --" said Alice.
"Then it doesn't much matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--- so long as I get somewhere," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if only you walk long enough."

==========

Oh, and I blew my chance at a date with the girl who's not Natalie Portman. Luckily, I have some terrible Eurovision CDs to cheer me up.****

arhythmically yours,
jdl (by the way, has anyone here figured out my name? i've hidden it in a few posts... and not so cleverly)

* my friends celebrate these moments, they really do.
** i hate the term "feeding," it makes it seem like, well, the next asterick will cover it.
*** irony! charity that turns the targets into subhuman objects of pity, all "noble savage" like, only fuel the problem... feed it, even.
**** okay, seriously... if you're from the hague, or manila, or costa rica... leave a comment!

Permissible Delights

2008-01-30T11:40:00.000-05:00

So, apparently there's this made-for-TV musical called "High School Musical." And apparently it was ridiculously successful and Disney decided, out of creative necessity, to make a sequel. "High School Musical 2" went on to even greater success; however, I remained blissfully unaware of this cultural phenomenom, despite the inability my musicalophile friends to stop fucking singing the fucking songs.*

But then I discovered how cute the female lead was...

...which of course had no impact whatsoever on my decision to watch the movie. Anyways, I know you're all expecting me to tear apart "High School Musical" while mocking its fans in disturbingly personal attacks.**

But I'm not going to-- I believe that this musical might be one of the greatest post-modern ironic deconstructions of a genre, ever. There is simply no conceivable way someone could purposefully make such a terrible, nonsensical musical, Disney Channel Original or not. This movie embraced the tropes and then took them to their logical extreme, commenting on the self-contained implausibility of spontaneous song as well as the audience's ability to enter the fictive dream.

That, or it's a festering cesspool where harmony goes to die.

==========

Apparently, Alice behaves like a normal teenage girl!*** In addition, Whorey McWhoreslot wins the award for the best blog name.

==========

I finally have readers from China! I can't wait till the government censors get around to reading the radical, pro-democracy opinions I express.****

==========

Other news of late, relating to me, because there's nothing important going on elsewhere:

I'm almost over this shitty fever and hallucinations aren't fun kids oh G-d no.
I missed dance class today because of the fever's after effects, which means less time to see her, which unfortunately does not refer to Natalie Portman.
I am a terrible person and I hate myself and my writing sucks. Isn't that a lovely daily mantra?
An artist friend of mine invited me to visit her sometime in Chicago. The best part? She's somewhat of an artistic genius.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, I managed to add a few fixes to my doodle before the fever knocked me out. Once I catch up on all my missed work, I probably should sit down and turn it into something real.
Why would you mention that you've never been kissed in your "About Me" section? Do you feel it informs the readers as to your nature? Or is it more of a fun little factoid? Oh, and I should get around to linking you one of these days.

deviously yours,
jdl

* which might or not be true. but it makes the joke work. for loose definitions of "joke."
** so was i!
*** not the jonas brothers part. i don't know who they are, and i'm fairly sure i wouldn't care if i did. i refer to the liking-dane-cook part.
**** this blog is pulling in quite a few readers, but no one ever seems to comment. am i that mean? oh, wait, that's right...

Sketch Dump Sunday Surfaces

2008-01-27T03:06:00.000-05:00

Nothing sarcastic or Pokémon-related to preface this, apologies duly rendered-- I'd suggest you check back Monday. However, have some WIP. No, really, I insist.
Funny thing, she was supposed to be gangsta. I think the school girl skirt kinda fucks that bit up; however, it probably won't even make the final cut and yes I can see the arm proportions suggest a birth defect of some sort I'll fix that shut up.

sans astericks,
jdl

EDIT: Those arms are bothering me something fierce. They're actually really beginning to piss me off. I'm trying not to delete this post but I mean... ugh.

Ad Nauseam*

2008-01-24T17:20:00.000-05:00

Points to address, or dress, shut up here's some points:

"Pokémon?!" an erstwhile** reader exclaimed, just after agreeing with me. Yes, pocket monsters battle for my pleasure. I'd like to think that I'm the only fan of the game that considers the ethical implications of forcing these supposedly sentient lifeforms to fight while, you know... forcing them to fight.
In addition to writing, drawing, and dancing (more on that later), I also happen to enjoy certain aspects of math. Like computer science! I've programmed neural networks before, you know, dinky little AIs-- this article, though terrifying, is also incredibly exciting. We're not alone! There's life out there! We make it vacuum our rugs.

Two points might be two little to make a list out of, but I like to think I shatter paradigms.

==========

Speaking of defying heteronormative standards, why do some guys think dance is gay?*** I'm taking a modern dance class, and besides forcing me to actually work out, the class seems to be the average guy's fantasy.**** I don't think I need to delve into the details.

Anyways, don't ask me why I'm taking it. Oh, you did? Well, see, there's this girl...

==========

Photography? Yes, please! (Click as usual.)

surreally yours,
jdl

* all of my titles are quotes or references or sayings of some sort, and i'm not sure how many of you get them, but they're really just there for me. like the astericks!
** not really, but it's a fun word.
*** besides the fact that most guy dancers i know are gay. i mean, there's that.
**** but not mine. no, my fantasy is to participate in a writer's workshop with vladimir nabokov. natalie portman, of course, would moderate.

Unless They're Very Tiny

2008-01-21T21:39:00.000-05:00

So, there is tragedy, and there is happiness-- but we have serious business to attend to.* Namely, Pokémon, and more specifically, my team set up. I grow tired of leveling up my entire stable of pocket-sized monstrosities, and so have sought to find a core group that can deal with most trainers, no matter the type.

I'm referring to Sapphire, natch, and my team o' Pokémon is as follows: Combusken, Kadabra, Aron, Wingull/Geodude, Whispur, Sableye. "Why?" I hear you cry, "Why must you bore us with such information?"

Because May and Wally are going down.**

==========

Sources*** tell me that someone I know reads this blog and that troubles me. I mean, there is a reason I suddenly decided to cut off access to this blog from a certain social networking site with a disturbing name.****

Now I have a problem; I fascinate this girl, G-d bless her therapist I can't imagine why, and she reads this blog, and now I can't write about her openly. Oh, sure, I was never going to mention her in the first place-- nothing against you we just never see each other-- but say I was... now I can't.

There is another friend of mine, from my hometown, that also reads this blog.***** Her reading doesn't bother me that much, because I don't have to deal with intersecting social circles and she's-- actually, just a bit younger than Alice, and the two would probably get along brilliantly.

==========

Where was I going again?

==========

In other news, Natalie Portman.

consistently yours,
jdl

* i've already used that gag, haven't i?
** italics cause i'm serious, and wally because he's a bipolar brat.
*** the person in question. but i said "sources," and that made you take me so much more seriously, didn't it? try saying it in a british accent, like from NPR or something. it sounds even better.
**** delusions of hemingway, and if you get why i said that, than you'll love next week's joke about baby shoes. for sale, never used. (oh i crack myself up.)
***** and is a girl why don't i have any friends with whom i can trade y-chromosome stories seriously what the fuck?

The Basement

2008-01-19T20:21:00.000-05:00

I once saw a man who wanted to change the world. He sat down, each day, on the streets, and taught the violin to anyone who walked by. The world was winning, maybe, but each day I had a different reason to dance.

==========

Instead of playing basketball this afternoon, I got caught up in the epic of our times. And now the Mickey song is stuck in my head. What's that? Are you laughing at me? Oh, you laugh now...

==========

In other news, Alic-- whoa, I was just about to write about Alice, my novel's protagonist, and then realized that it could have been taken in reference to Alice in Richmondland. Natalie Portman once also played a character named Alice.

coincidentally yours,
jdl

P.S. No astericks?!

Book of Judges

2008-01-18T00:13:00.000-05:00

The Assyrians were one of the earliest empires, conquering the entire Fertile Crescent and then some. Their army was unmatched, mostly due to their technological superiority. In wars, they would use corps of engineers to breach enemy walls, cross rivers, and such. Units were highly organized and highly disciplined, and the Assyrians might have even developed the earliest telescope.*

Assyria first arose around 2000 BCE, and its final incarnation finally fell when the Babylonians took Nineveh** in 612 BCE.

What I am trying to say is that whoever who stole my keys, I will burn your home to the ground and salt the earth.

==========

So, my friend's class has a varied and interesting reading list. One particular book was written by that charming*** man Hitchens, about Mother Theresa. The title? The Missionary Position.

I laughed. I am either juvenile or asinine.****

==========

Hey kids! Want to know more about me? Of course you do.*****

I speak Spanish, Chinese, some Russian, some French, some Hebrew, and a bit of English. I can fake accents, but then I can't stop-- thus, I have some Southern drawl mixed in with my British vowels, Californian slang, Spanish flair, and New York gruff. I can pick locks, but I am terrible with anything involving, you know.... physical objects. My worst grade in high school was in shop.

Yes, I was that kid.

I hate the idea of IQ and SAT tests, but I'm sometimes tempted into comparing such scores with others. I am brilliant with spatial reasoning and concepts, but I can't read a map and have a horrible sense of direction.******

I have shoplifted far too many times. I have a secret fondness for girly pop-rock. I curse often. I hate funerals. I find Objectivism morally offensive. High school probably wasn't as bad as I make it out to be. I am head over heels for a girl who was in Pakistan when Bhutto was assassinated.

I didn't cry on 9/11 until my little sister asked me why everyone was upset. I tried to explain it to her and I broke down. I've volunteered as an EMT and a firefighter.

==========

Stream-of-consciousness makes for nice blog filler. Feel you've gotten to know me yet?

deceptively yours,
jdl

* maybe.
** the capital.
*** in case you've forgotten, this is an excellent example of irony.
**** if this was a test, the answer would be c.) all of the above
***** unless you're alice.
****** i blame the idiots that designed the highway system.

!כִּי מָחָר נָמוּת

2008-01-16T16:58:00.000-05:00

"Carpe diem," Robin Williams told me, and he hasn't lied to me.*

But fuck that, as I am ever wont to say-- no one really understands the words they parrot. Neither do I, of course, but hey! Shut up.

Carpe diem is not a call to hedonism**, it's a call to action. Wikipedia actually has an excellent translation up, so let me quote from that... oh, wait, sorry. For those who didn't know, "carpe diem" comes from one of Horace's poems.*** What leads follows:

Leuconoe, don't ask --it's dangerous to know--
what end the gods will give me or you. Don't play with Babylonian
fortune telling either. Better just deal with whatever comes your way.
Whether you'll see several more winters or whether the last one
Jupiter gives you is the one even now pelting the rocks on the shore with the waves
of the Tyrrhenian sea-- be smart, drink your wine. Scale back your long hopes
to a short period. Even as we speak, envious time
is running away from us. Seize the day, trusting little in the future.

I think the tendency to "drink your wine" is all right, but that's not the point. The speaker is rebuking the woman, telling her that there are some things she cannot control. She cannot control, much less predict, the future or where her fates lies. She only knows today, and should make each day worth it, worth the "envious time."

Don't keep playing the lottery, hoping that sometime in the future you might when that Super-Duper-Jackpot! Start a business now, today, invest now, today.

Sure, drink your wine. There's nothing here to stop you from enjoying yourself. But don't waste those moments in idle pleasure, because even then you're not making the most of your last winter.

No, what Robin Williams was really trying to say**** when he taught his students "carpe diem," was to seize the day and make the present yours. Drink your wine, and then go out and change the world. Help a man get a job. Counsel a friend through depression. Don't wait for others, or the future-- this is literally the only second you will have to make a difference this very second.

Carpe diem, carpe self.

What's your excuse?

==========

The problem with working out is that you can never win.

"Oh, look, I can do ten one handed pushups!"

"So? Bruce Lee could do fifty. And then run a 3 minute mile. What's your mile?"

"4:30..."

"How much can you benchpress?"

"Five toothpicks?"

==========

The problem with technology is that you can never win.

"Oh, man, my new MacBook Pro is sweet!"

"So? The MacBook Air***** has the same stats. And weighs less than half as much, and can fit into a manila folder, and has a multitouch pad. What's so great about your computer?"

"It... um... has a Natalie Portman background?"

"How much can you benchpress?"

"Five tooth-- wait, what?"

==========

Lastly: I have to stop complimenting people. I'm worried that Alice might soon develop an ego. And while I'm being so compassionate, does anybody else feel really sorry for Angelique? I feel like buying her plane tickets.******

abusively yours,
jdl

* yet.
** but it'd be pretty cool if it was. we need a cool to hedonism. and no, the blog's title doesn't count.
*** horace, one of the two people to singlehandedly redeem the terrible mistake that was latin. the other? ovid.
**** besides "don't deny your sons the right to pretend to be malevolent fairies."
***** i always told myself that i wouldn't join the mac fanatics, even when i got an ipod and macbook pro. but... but... the air. luckily, steve jobs is enough of a dick to make me not care.
******my bank account, however, does not.

With Enemies Like This

2008-01-11T17:38:00.000-05:00

(EDIT: I fixed the Slacktivist link. In other news, I'm an idiot.)

When I said I wouldn't put up another post until Saturday, I was lying. You have only yourself to blame. I mean, you believed me. Anyways, at this point I was going to transition to a rather serious topic with the ever-so-smooth segue, "speaking of cruel and destructive deceptions," but I realize I owe you a list of my favorite blogs.*
So, sans fancy introductions...

Coming in at number five is Alice, who cannot be a high-schooler. It's just not fair. She already writes better than I do, is funnier than me**, and has more readers from Switzerland than I do. Also, she's more mature.*** I'm willing to forgive her, though, because that's just the kind of guy I am. Forgiving! Which makes me divine.
四，Waiter Rant. What could you want more than bitterness and minimum wage humour? How about some of the best writing you'll find in any blog? Aren't staged rhetorical questions fun?****
Numero Tres, for my fellow feminists out there, is one of those few Gawker blogs that's both well-written and palatable. I'm speaking, of course, about Jezebel. Pointing out sexism and hot guys, all on the same page-- it works! Who knew? Even straight (and manly, did I mention manly?) guys like me can enjoy it.
The penultimate... or rather, the runner-up on my list of favorite blogs was very hard to decide on. Some of my favorite writers have blogs, and not all of them are living. However, Max Barry not only manages to make me laugh, almost every day, but... well, that's actually it. He's hilarious, hates advertising excesses, and buy his books.
Finally, my favorite blog. The Slacktivist. He's a liberal evangelical and... wow. I can't really tell you how much I look forward to each post. He's either thought-provoking, or touching, or funny, or insightful-- and often all at the same time. I know you all come here for my snark and misanthropic misadventures, but this post sums up why I blog. Don't just read that, though, read it all.

==========

My adventures in bilingual vignettes:

We called him “San Pedro.” No sabíamos por qué- we didn’t even knew what the hell it meant. We just knew it was the right name. Nuestros padres knew him as the “Peanut and Whiskey Man.”
Every Friday afternoon, the town set up tents for their baskets of fruits and vegetables and stacked up chicken crates and filled racks of little trinkets para los gringos que estuvieron visitando. And as our viernes mercado stumbled to life he would arrive, winding through the alleys of los vendedores y turistas y gritando huérfanos, his cuevas de brazos (“Cuevos,” we’d call them, stretching our skin tight in la sombra of his loping gait) straining to push the wheelbarrow.
He’d pile red-striped bags of peanuts on top of boxes, six bottles to a carton. Había muchas bebidas en la mercado, pero whisky era raro. Yet he had it, with salted peanuts and both for less than my weekly allowance. He wouldn’t sell to us, but still we trailed him like some qué mente chinge burro, echoing his shouts of “¡Cacahuetes y whisky! Cacahuetes y whisky, ¡solomente tres, cinco pesos!”
The older folks and us saw the “Peanut and Whiskey Man,” and we all saw him, after each market, disappear behind his dusty cape, kicked up by the broken wooden wheels of his wheelbarrow. He ended, each Friday afternoon, for them.
But for us he began on Saturday nights, when he dressed in ropa de fantasía y subía a la campana de la iglesia y cantaba canciones de barítono. (Antes lassabía.) That was the man we knew: San Pedro. The kids, owned him- he was ours just as much as we were his for two hours todos los noches. And we never asked why, because why not? He had two hours of singing in him, I guess.
Eventually, though, San Pedro did stop singing. I don't remember when, or why. No he vuelto en años.

==========

Today a cashier was checking my ID, which is always interesting; my hair has changed colors since the photo was taken. He looked at the picture, then at me, then the picture, as if one of the them would eventually win out over reality.

"Excuse me," I said, "Do you need help?" And by that, I meant, flowers for Algernon.

But he just grinned and handed the ID back to me. "Dude, you look like Sid Vicious in this picture."

Oh, happy days.

retroactively yours,
jdl

* and, if you're australian, an apology.
** without that whole "demeaning others" thing.
*** insert your own joke here, you jackals.
**** yes.

One Thousand Words, Mas o Menos

2008-01-10T19:40:00.000-05:00

In support of the Writer's Guild, I'm going to boycott the English language.* Pero, mira! Dibujos!

Latro,
jdl

*de hecho, soy solamente perezoso. y estoy cansado.

Transparent Noise

2008-01-09T18:28:00.000-05:00

Instead of my favorite blogs, you'll be getting iTunes by way of Sesame Street. Today's letter is T, T for tyrannical terrorists:

"Transformer" by Gnarls Barkley
"Transparent Things" by Fugiya & Miyagi
"Treat Me Mean, I Need the Reputation" by Xploding Plastix
"Triumph of a Heart" by Bjork
"True Affection" by The Blow
"True Magic" by Mos Def
"Truth Doesn't Make a Noise" by the White Stripes
"Try a Little Tenderness" by Otis Redding
"Tu Principe" by Daddy Yankee
"Tumbling Dice" by The Rolling Stones

==========

According to StatCounter, I now have readers from every civilized continent in the world, plus Australia. This worries me, of course, because somewhere along the line I'm bound to insult one of you. Like my lone Australian reader.

==========

I'll probably be too busy to post for the next few days, as I'm getting ready to go back home,* and apparently I have to pack and see old friends and such before I leave. I've always viewed such obligations as mere details, but then again, I'm broke and friendless and I have a bounty on my head. So... my opinion doesn't really count for much.

Check back Saturday, if you must check back at all. If you mustn't, well, rest assured, this sentence is merely an excuse to use "mustn't."**

Also: cupcakes!

tantalizingly yours,
jdl

* home being very south of jon stewart, and somewhat north of alice.
** that spelling looks horrible, but apparently it's right.

挥手自兹去。。。

2008-01-07T11:46:00.000-05:00

Last night I was chatting with my best friend, for the first time in a while, and it was a nice conversation. But somewhere along the line, when she started shouting "You bastard!"* at me for calling her a "German whore," I realized how very, very screwed up we are.

Also, in other news, World War III! So I guess you really don't have to worry about those grades, after all.

==========

I know, I know... after a week of nonstop posting, I suddenly disappeared from my blog! I'm just mysterious like that-- I should start covering half of my face and kidnapping opera singers. You know, for consistency.

Oh, and I ever-so-briefly posted a blog on Friday that I quickly deleted because it might have been the most embarrassing arrangement of English words I've ever, well, arranged. I blame it, of course, on my new job and the idiots that populate the rank-and-file.**

What can I say? I'm just mature like that.

==========

Wow. There's nothing really to add to that. I mean, unless they make me add something. I'm definitely going to revisit this topic later, though. Then again, last time I tried to discuss something seriously, you all just enjoyed my magical-conversation-escape lines.***

==========

Anyways, I must off and actually work now.**** Before, however, I abandon you to the vagaries of the internet,***** I'd like to leave you with another hobby of mine:
(click for detail)

That's just a something I drew quite a bit ago, but I'm thinking of expanding it for submission into an art book.

Th-t-that's all, folks!

ever referenced,
jdl

* in french.
** friends don't let friends write in passive voice.
*** which, admittedly, were pretty magical.
**** how else could i put my dealer's kids through college?
***** you can turn a sphere inside out?!

When I Am Dead

2008-01-03T01:08:00.000-05:00

I don't know why my friends continue to listen to me.

A friend of mine, who currently studies chemistry, came to me recently and asked for help on a formula. I noticed the similarities between that formula and a certain other formula I know, and thus went about correcting his various molarities and solvents and such.

I rewrote his formula to produce what is the chemical equivalent of a stink bomb.

What I didn't know was that he needed this formula for a practical exam.

He soon returned to me, strangely irate and lacking a shower. After several minutes of incoherent threats, I eventually figured out that he was lucky enough to have first practiced for the exam before actually performing the experiment in front of the professor. I apologized profusely, and changed the formula.

Into the chemical equivalent of a smoke bomb.

I'd like to think that I'm teaching him through trial and error, but still... I don't know why my friends continue to listen to me.*

==========

I'm tired from writing cover letters and applying for various positions and I'm beginning to consider "viking" as a potential lifestyle choice.

So I'm sorry if you came here for the sarcasm and the irony, you'll have to settle for the pillaging and the plundering of the European continent instead.

All in all, though, it's a fair trade off.**

==========

This is more of a filler post, since I'll be gone most of the day. If any of you happen to live in New York (never attach "City" to the end) and might be attending a film premiere, keep an eye out for a young Bob Dylan wearing a white deviantArt shirt over a black, long-sleeve shirt. I guess it's supposed to be cold out, so expect a grey jacket as well.***

==========

I suppose I should leave you with another example of my writing. This is a hastily done character sketch, but I ended up falling for the character I'm working her into my novel. I much prefer short stories, but hey! I'm just adventurous that way. Daring, even.

Looking over it, I'd like to rework the ending to this character sketch, but I promised you all unedited examples of my writing, and I am not liar, except when it's funny. So allow me to introduce...

Alice Green draws. She screens her boss’s phone calls, and then writes them down, and then draws the caller. She doesn’t know what they look like, not usually; she knows what Mr. Garcia looks like, because she delivered messages during the strike. Alice knows what her boss’s wife looks like, because she drops by every Friday and glares at Alice. I know you’re fucking my husband, her pupils say.

Alice is 22, and a virgin.

But she draws, even the callers she doesn’t know, and imagines their birthmarks and thinning hair and toned calves. She draws her coworkers, and thinks Pam has posed for Playboy and Hae-Soon probably knows karate and Marcus was once a soldier, weary and covered and dirt and lighting a cigarette against the backdrop of artillery. That sketch came out especially well, even though it was Alice’s first try at cross-hatching. Later, she tried to draw Kim as a queen, the same way, but it didn’t turn out so well.

But Kim commands the Accounting staff like a queen, and Hae-Soon is in love with her even though she only dates other blondes. Alice hears this, sometimes, when her coworkers pass her desk. Hi, they nod, and steal a mint from her Snoopy-themed candy jar. Hi, she replies in her head, and then cracks a sheepish smile, in her head.

Her coworkers are nice, though, and once in a while they ask her out to Ladies’ Night at the bar two blocks down from the office. This usually happens during December, and Alice shrugs and says thank you and then says that no, she has to take her cat to the veterinarian, and they express their sympathies and offer a ride home.

Alice lives alone, and is allergic to cats.

Alice files. Not just the many memos her boss likes to issue. I’m here! they scream, and Alice duly copies and emails and organizes them and earns the ire of the office. Alice does do that filing, but she also files her drawings, in categories, back in her apartment.

This would work well in a comic book, she tells herself, and the Guggenheim would probably juxtapose this piece against a Hopper. She smiles, and then she gets in bed and watches the History Channel and hugs her pillow gently, carefully, because she doesn’t want to be mean. Then she draws Joan of Arc. The sketch begins dramatically, with the rough contours of a cross, the barest suggestion of a flame.

Alice loves mechanical pencils, because she can measure her progress with each click. Flaming red hair like fire, two clicks, face, one click and an erase, perfect body, one two three four clicks, two erases.

But then she draws little ghosts above Joan’s head. Wrapped in a stylized mist, they chuckle knowingly. Told you so, one says with a cheeky grin, and Alice smiles, and then cries a little, and then goes to sleep.

And the opening paragraphs of the novel...

In the basement of the California Loan Company, behind the green filing cabinet (the others were painted brown, anticipating rust) there was a door and nobody had opened the door in thirty years. Thirty years ago, of course, the California Loan Company moved into this new building, and that meant that thirty years ago, a construction worker, at least, opened the door. But since then, it remained untouched; once in a while the head custodian would suggest that, hey, maybe one of you could go and take a look?

But the janitors were Mexican and Thai and something else, and weren't paid enough, and they said no.

And the head custodian, because he was new, or maybe because he was bored, would occasionally ask one of the secretaries hey, what's the deal with that door? He felt a strange tug towards the door--was he neglecting his duties? There could be a leak behind that door, or a misplaced... something. So he would ask the secretaries, because secretaries ran the company and knew everything.

This year, he asked Alice.

==========

I had more to say, again, but I'll spare you. g2g, BrB, as those wacky bloggers would say.

acronymically yours,
jdl

* from what i understand, he figured it out and corrected his mistakes and will pass the exam, so i'm not a horrible person.****
** unless you're european. then you're fucked. but come on, you should be used to this by now.
*** congress has yet to pass a law mandating snow when temperatures drop below freezing, even though i explicitly voted for my representatives on a "pro-snow" platform. the bastards told me my vote counted! the only option now is open revolt.
**** shut up.

I Hope It Is Said

2008-01-02T19:46:00.000-05:00

Very depressing day, today. Oh, sure, there's the inevitable collapse of east Africa's one functioning, democratic nation-state, but that's not so depressing. No, what really brings me down is the news that fluoride might actually kill you-- which I read only just after I bought expensive, fluoride-saturated toothpaste at the behest of my ridiculously overpaid dentist.

And while we're on the subject of me, I'd like to point out that the United States of America is being invaded by those damn Mexicans.* Of course, that's not my normal opinion on the matter, but after losing a football (soccer) game to a team of Mexican and Puerto Rican kids probably half my age, I'm not feeling very charitable to our southern neighbors.

En serio, es imposible mover el balón como eso... sobre su cabeza? Hijo de puta...**

==========

Funny thing, when I was first learning Chinese, I mentally translated everything from Mandarin to Spanish to English. I couldn't help it, it just worked out that way. And now, when I try to speak Spanish, Chinese comes out.

Then there's a friend of mine who's so good at languages, when she gets drunk she begins to speak in a different language without knowing it. And with an impeccable accent. I hate her. ***

==========

I'd hate to be negative**** for an entire post, so let me post this happy and catchy little video. "Song For Kids" isn't even one of my favorite Miho Hatori songs, but come on... look at her! She's adorable. *****

==========

I had more to say, but it's gone now... like tears... in rain.

Oh, but let me add that Alice is quickly turning into one of my favorite bloggers, and I know I still have to put her and Alex and K up on the hypertextual navigation interface. I'll do that.

Really.

Would I lie to you?

robotically yours,
jdl

*and man, those guatemalans are even worse.
**fun fact: shouting "chinga a tu madre, cabron!" will endear you to your spanish teacher/mexican girlfriend/ms-13 gang member. the latter might even initiate you.
***she is also my best friend and doppelganger, which explains my feelings for her: hate.
****haha.
*****and if i ever use those words again, in an non-ironic manner, i will blow my fucking brains out.

His Sins Were Scarlet

2008-01-02T13:51:00.000-05:00

(alternate title: The #2 Reason You Shouldn't Sleep With Me)*

My real life friends would recognize this hobby of mine-- the worst things to say after sex:

Do you believe in God?
You remind me of my mother.
So, how do you feel about abortions?
When you get a medical test, "positive" means "good," right?
Wow, you're almost as flexible as your sister.
If we had a baby boy, would you name him after me?
What are your feelings on premarital sex?
That didn't take long.
Does nominalism offer a logical response to Descartes' ontological proof of God, or does, as Heidegger would claim, our understanding of the notion of "being" require closer examination?**
My wife's gonna be pissed.

And, while we're on the subject, I have a response for a question Alice posted on her blog, some days ago: while it's true that domestic American airlines have rather cramped bathrooms, foreign airlines such as JAL tend to have very spacious accommodations.

==========

EDIT: If you came here for sarcasm and don't care for sincerity, you may skip the following section. But ask yourself: what would Jesus do?***

Hi, there. Do you consider yourself a decent human being, worried about the earth and other people and the current international situation? Well, you're wrong.

You can become less wrong by reading Lester Brown's Plan B 3.0.

Now, the brief sarcasm may have obscured my point. So let me try again: you all need to read Plan B 3.0 right fucking now. That book should, more or less, be required reading for anyone who's running the world.

Lester Brown, probably one of the smartest people around, first proves to you that the world is in trouble, in case you don't read the news.**** Environment, health, failing states, all interconnected and all very real.

He then goes on to providing a guide on what we can do. We, as in individuals, corporations, and governments. It's all very carefully delineated, and it's all very possible and realistic.

Last night, a friend and I were discussing what we wanted to do before we died. That led to a discussion of "living in the moment," and how very few of us actually "live in the moment." That doesn't mean you disregard the past and future, it simply means you recognize that now, right now, is all you get. There might be heaven, or reincarnation, but that's not your life. Your life is literally happening right now.

What does this have to do with environmentalism? It means you not only can do something, you should do something. Will your actions make a huge difference? Maybe, maybe not. But you still can act right now, right here, and there's nothing stopping you.

I, shockingly enough, talk. Quite a bit. But it's only recent that I've also begun to walk the walk. Take shorter showers. Turn off your computer at night, and lower the brightness on the screen. Use public transportation or carpool. Pay attention to what you consume; I don't mean merely eating, but watching how many wrappers you throw away, small gadgets you grab that add (slowly, inexorably) to landfills and poison the ground. What are your clothes made of, and where did that paper come from?

Isn't spending 10 cents more worth a half an acre of Amazon rain forest?

It takes so little effort to change your lifestyle, but it's also so easy to rationalize your lifestyle away.

And this is not incompatible with free market capitalism. Printer companies would not only help the environment if they began building modular, interchangeable, and upgradeable products, but they'd lower their own design and production costs. They could profit. Oil companies could look to the long term, and begin their monopoly on solar power, or wind power.

There's nothing unrealistic or "hippie" about this. But that's not to stop you from being hip: The Lazy Environmentalist is a nice place to start.

(Hippie, hip... notice how I did that? Oh, man, I'm practically Shakespeare.)

I will probably follow this rant up with something about Africa. Ha! You thought the worst was over.

==========

Other things you didn't know about me...

I consume unhealthy amounts Tic-Tacs. A significant portion of my caloric intake stems from those bits of minty goodness. I never wear brand names. Ever. Most, bordering on all, of my friends are female and I have no idea why. I hate racist jokes, even when they're made by someone of that race/group.

Someday, before I die, I want the chance to say, "Smoke 'em if you got 'em" without irony, and just before I led my men into a suicidal mission. I have no idea how that'd happen, but I'm fairly sure it would one of my greatest moments.

Whenever I'm tired of someone and I want to get away from them, or generally when someone is clinging to me and won't shut up, I turn to them, with a straight face, and say, "We'll always have Paris."

I then escape in the ensuing moment of silence.

==========

K... after reading through your blog, there's a variety of comments I'd like to make, but most of them would result in your hatred of me. I usually like to save the hatred for later in a relationship, so for now I'll merely remark that you're earnest and clever and hilarious, and I like your "List of Things to Do." *****

Everyone, read about the Clumsiest Ninja Ever. When I'm feeling less lazy I'll link it, literally, in the list located laterally.

always alliterative,
jdl

* #1? chlamydia!
** i personally feel that nominalists are missing the point, or making the wrong assumptions, about the nature of language, but that's just me.
*** jesus being the name of my first girlfriend's father, of course. you'll hear about her later.
**** actually, i disagree with him slightly in this arena. i don't feel there's an imminent end to the world, or the human race, but i'll save that rant for another day.
***** while my girlfriends like to start off right away.

But His Books Were Read

2008-01-02T10:06:00.000-05:00

Some of my favorite blogs are written by writers, professional or otherwise, and it'd always interesting when they decide to post some of their works. Sometimes I'm surprised, sometimes I'm disappointed, but I'm still impressed by their bravery. Even when I'm laughing at them.

Anyways, my passive-aggressive indulgences aside, I suppose I should maybe put up a few examples of my writing. Don't worry, I won't meditate on the nature of creative expression or whatever, I'll just occasionally post something I've written.

Now, I haven't written poetry in a while, but here's some older pieces that are fairly typical of my poetic style. Hell, of my prose style too. I'll get the poetry out of the way, and then maybe start posting some prose works-in-progress. Those should probably be less painful. For you, the reader, as well as me.

==========

"murder"

they tell me autumn
is the season of death:
the leaves dyed red,
and the quaker graves
where we lost our lung’s
virginity to imported british tar.

but i was alive
when i picked you up
at seven o’clock,
for the eight o’clock show.
and i didn’t want to go,
and you didn’t, but we did.

because it had been
one week and humans,
like us, craved delusions,
and we deluded more than most,
like that we weren’t alone,
and that no one was getting hurt.

and we laughed with the
old ladies and daughters,
and their jewish whine,
at the wrong times,
and cheered when a window spilt
movie glass into a street of extras.

and we left the movie,
lost in the familiar streets,
until we found,
a parking lot emptied
of mexicans and ricans and lights-
guarded only by one yellow forklift.

we sat, buckled in,
until you lost your sandal
in the back of my car,
and i lost both socks
and the wet slap of sweat pulled
our skin together and made us smile-

a brief interruption-
we were too busy sighing
and brushing away hair,
black and blond, to notice
each other. you closed your eyes
in some colored dream, and i saw

some other girl whose name
i can’t pronounce, with dark skin
and exotic clothes
and brown, colonized eyes
in the fog-fucked windows sitting above
you like some dumb, dim hurricane.

after, i could only think
about whether the sky was orion,
or the big dipper,
and the astronaut
i met when i was nine and wanted
to visit an unfettered dead planet.

and wasn’t that nice
and we smirked and mocked
some ex- of yours,
because he was an idiot,
and we weren’t as i drove you back
to a house, both hands on the wheel.

you raised your eyebrows
in some ironic goodbye,
so i honked twice, dogs
shrieked down the block
and you flipped me one calloused
finger. you didn’t even have to look.

i drove off while you
crept up rotting stairs,
went to your art-shrouded
room where you used
to paint beautiful moments of color,
askew and wrong in so many ways;

and you took one bottle-
they counted, they always do-
of seconal and sonata
and played schubert
so you wouldn’t interrupt your
mother’s love affair with a glass,

or your brother’s sleep,
or your grandmother,
irish and pulling
the threads of family
as tight as she could convince herself
they were knotted by a dead sailor.

then you died like a horse,
or a cow, or a prisoner
in california, where
some brown-eyed girl
still lives. she kept offering me plane
tickets, even on the day of your funeral,

which was held in winter, a gray
season- you died on a solstice, -----.

==========

"chord, ata!" *

sun, rise (i'll love the newnew day
(and its headstrong- (don't deny,
you climb up again in your own (mule)) way.))

treasure every cheesy (sleazy) rhythm, a gay
(i mean like spinning round lamp in rain (don't cry-
sun, rise (i'll love the newnew day.)))

fantasticalurbanastically (mythic) fey
that (rain, remember? sleet slopes slip; (little guy
you climb up again in your own (mule!) way.)

why speak now (rich red chairs call - may
i indulge the little (alright, sly)
sun, rise (i'll love the newnew day.)))

up and slips the punctuation, okay?
it's to communicate the dream – “wake!” i try-
you climb up again in your own (mule) way.

in a brief (maybe) moment, they’ll all say
that (no names please!) it’s all gone awry-
sun, rise (i'll love the newnew day,
i’ll climb up again) in your own way.

==========

I don't know what's with all the free verse nowadays. I mean, there's nothing wrong with free verse, but I think you should master (well, okay, learn) the traditional poetic forms before writing free verse. It makes you a better poet, and often, a particular form might even improve your poem. **

E.E. Cummings, for all his "poem-picture" flourishes, wrote sonnets. Picasso mastered the traditional painting techniques before innovating his own style. James Joyce studied grammar in school, before he decided to fuck the English language. ***

anagrammatically yours,
jdl

*if you can puzzle out the title's various possible meanings, then you and i are nerds. also, the poem's parentheses themselves are a not-so-subtle nod to a huge, if unusual, influence on my art.
**i think blank verse is the most fun to write in. try it-- once you get over the concept of iambic pentameter, you'll see how it forces you to wield words cunningly, as opposed to whatever else you were doing. oh, and blank verse is much more flexible than you'd expect; not all blank verse is written in high, archaic language.
***and i mean "fuck" in the best possible sense.

This'll be on my videotape...

2008-01-01T19:50:00.000-05:00

I stole this from the cute and lovable Amy C., who might just be the coolest person I've ever met, but Angelique and Alex got here before me.

Nonetheless... About Me, in a random format, because fuck it all.

I hate when people skip to the end of a song, but I do it all the time. I have terrible allergies. I love winter. I give everyone nicknames in my head because I can’t remember their real names. Except for names, I have an almost photographic memory... so if I tell you I’ve forgotten, I’m probably lying. I tend to get obsessed with one song and play it constantly for a week or so. Consequently, certain songs make me remember/feel certain things whenever they play. I can’t draw, but I love to anyways. I think Spanish is the most beautiful language in the world. I still play Pretend. I have an incredibly short attention span, and tend to get obsessed with one thing before getting bored and moving on. This habit has cost me thousands of wasted dollars over my lifetime. The first thing I notice about someone is his or her hair. I hate the word “love.” I’m never serious. Seriously. My obsession with Natalie Portman is only half-joking.* I dance to music even when I’m alone. I have, in my life, alternated between devoutly religious and devoutly atheist.** Any topic can spur me to puns, and no one can rein me in once I’ve begun horsing around—I’ll keep at it until I’ve ridden the metaphors to the ground.*** I detest the aesthetic of the capital letter. I love grammar, and I love breaking the rules thereof.**** I’d love to be an actor, but I’ve begun to realize I just don’t have enough talent, and I’m not attractive enough to make up for the lack of talent.

Lastly, I hate all humans.*****

==========

While I'm linking others, the second of my two commenting readers is the charmingly named Alice, and if her name isn't enough to make you love her, her blog will. In one of those pseudo-coincidences that make up Life, I actually began reading her blog awhile back. As in, before I even started blogging.

==========

Courtesy of ThinkProgress

It was with sadness that I signed my name this grey morning to a letter resigning my commission in the U.S. Navy.
There was a time when I served with pride, knowing that by serving with the finest men and women in the country, we were part of an organization whose core values required us to “do the right thing,” and that we were far different from the Soviet Union and its gulags, the Vietcong with their torture camps and a society of surveillance and informers like Nazi Germany.
We were part of the shining light on the hill who didn’t do those things. Sadly, no more.
The final straw for me was listening to General Hartmann, the highest-ranking military lawyer in charge of the military commissions, testify that he refused to say that waterboarding captured U.S. soldiers by Iranian operatives would be torture.
His testimony had just sold all the soldiers and sailors at risk of capture and subsequent torture down the river. Indeed, he would not rule out waterboarding as torture when done by the United States and indeed felt evidence obtained by such methods could be used in future trials.
Thank you, General Hartmann, for finally admitting the United States is now part of a long tradition of torturers going back to the Inquisition.
In the middle ages, the Inquisition called waterboarding “toca” and used it with great success. In colonial times, it was used by the Dutch East India Company during the Amboyna Massacre of 1623.
Waterboarding was used by the Nazi Gestapo and the feared Japanese Kempeitai. In World War II, our grandfathers had the wisdom to convict Japanese Officer Yukio Asano of waterboarding and other torture practices in 1947, giving him 15 years hard labor.
Waterboarding was practiced by the Khmer Rouge at the infamous Tuol Sleng prison. Most recently, the U.S. Army court martialed a soldier for the practice in 1968 during the Vietnam conflict.
General Hartmann, following orders was not an excuse for anyone put on trial in Nuremberg, and it will not be an excuse for you or your superiors, either.
Despite the CIA and the administration attempting to cover up the practice by destroying interrogation tapes, in direct violation of a court order, and congressional requests, the truth about torture, illegal spying on Americans and secret renditions is coming out.
Andrew Williams, Gig Harbor

==========

StatCounter is a nice time waster, but also fairly concerning. For instance, I know I have a reader (not really) from Singapore, which I can only assume was Angelique checking out my blog. But the length of the visit was 0 seconds. How is that even possible?

Did her browser close itself in a noble defense of her mind? Or is it, as I'd like to think, that for some reason my overseas readers register in as 0-second guests?

informatively yours,
jdl

*unless you are ms. portman’s lawyer, in which case, i’m completely joking.
**guess which one i am now!
*** “whoa!” i can hear you say.
****irony, redux.
***** except natalie. doesn’t “mrs. natalie du’loque” sound nice?

En Serio, Tu No Quieres Saber

2008-01-01T17:08:00.000-05:00

This home, however temporary, resides within the boundaries of civilization*, and thusly I am content.

Also, you know how I promised a post about environmentalism when I got back? Yeah, that was another one of those "blatant lies" that keep cropping up in this blog.** Rest assured, though, it'll come... soon. Maybe. In the meantime, you're just going to have to put up with some filler posts as I nurse myself back to health.***

Let's start now: random thoughts!

Snow is fun except when it stops you from escaping the wilderness and then tries to kill you.
I know, I know, kids are hitting puberty earlier than ever nowadays.**** But put some fucking clothes on your daughter, and stop buying her fucking mascara. It's a cliche rant, yes, but the point remains.
I don't know what's with me and gloves, but they're fun to wear shut up.
Though I am a heathen, I recently received a camera as a gift, my first ever. I cannot explain how much fun it is, except by admitting that maybe I should start believing in Jesus every December.*****

linguistically yours,
jdl

* give or take.
** notice how i absolved myself of responsibility? i'm quite clever, you know.
*** i wish i was joking.
**** having a period when you're nine years old? what the proverbial fuck?
***** yeah, you can hate me for that, i wouldn't blame you.

Coronation robes glittering with fire...

2007-12-29T10:28:00.000-05:00

Please bear with me, for a moment.

Benazir Bhutto led what was, in all likelihood, a very corrupt government. And by all accounts she was stubborn and haughty and arrogant.

Yet she came back to Pakistan, knowing well the risks. She came back and gave her life for a cause she believed in. I cannot find a more succinct definition for martyr. Ms. Bhutto was no saint, but now she’s a martyr, and she was—ever so briefly, dimly, a flicker in the dark—one more chance, one more hope for Pakistan’s democracy.

Now, though, her death edges Pakistan that much closer to collapse. She offered democracy in opposition to Musharaff’s authoritarianism. But Musharaff offered authoritarianism in opposition to militant Islam, and a militant Islamic government in a nuclear state...

The assassination plays an important, but small, role in the ongoing chaos that engulfs our world. Many other have died, will die, and now that Ms. Bhutto is dead, governments need only focus on the consequences. It’s very easy, and necessary, to forget Benazir Bhutto, the individual, amidst the fallout.

But there was a woman who was killed because she came back to save her country.

What would you die for?

==========

And now for something completely different...*

“Oh em gee!” I hear you cry, “We’ve missed you! Where have you been?”

You then follow this up with: “And how do you ever get your hair so sensually and expertly tussled?” ** Which is a bit creepy, because you shouldn’t really know what I look like, but who am I to insult my adoring fans? As you were. ***

Anyways, I’m currently in one of the few, it seems, regions of the world that lack internet access; however, I’ve managed to secure a small moment of civilization. You don’t want to know what I had to go through to get a connection. ****

I have so many posts, so little time. Since I’ve started to blog, my mental meanderings all end with: “Oh, shit, this would make an awesome blog post!” But, for whatever reason, they sound so much better on my head than on paper. Screen. Something.

Nonetheless, I’ll be back by Mr. Gregory’s New Year’s Day, with my sarcasm and misguided idealism and baroque sentence structures intact. I know, I know—you’re just thrilled.

I can tell.

Just wait till you find out the topic. Hint, it’s “environmentalism.”

ever isolated,
jdl

*i realize the irony in endlessly quoting a comedy troupe renowned for their originality... but they're so quotable.
**this is yet another example of irony.
***to quote angelique: if you know who i am, pretend you don't. if you don't know who i am, don't pretend you do.
****but it makes a great bar story.

Blogging!

2007-12-25T23:15:00.000-05:00

My blog* and co.

I should be linking other people's blogs that I read, but damn it, I'd have to go dig up the links from my other computer. And I'm lazy!

So here's one that I have on hand. Ooh, pretty!

I don't know how Angelique does it. Sure, I'm not as charmingly quirky and bubbly and offbeat and whatever as she is.** I never will be, so I won't try, and I wouldn't want to imitate her anyways. But she just casually posts whatever, always makes it interesting (just because of her voice! grr), and does this all effortlessly.

The blog isn't anything more than another appendage for her.

Me? Aside from the crap writing I constantly throw up, I'll be surprised if I keep this blog going, what with my constant self-criticism and pointless posts and hatred of the personal essay format.*** And yes, blogs are so the modern essay.

Literary snobs can kiss my ass.****

Grr. Bedtime for Jacques du'Loque***** begins when I start growling, because usually I replace growls with unnecessarily convoluted turns of phrase. Tired du'Loque begins to speak in the third person and types out animal sounds.

Grr.

Oh, but random thought: does anyone else find it fun to mess with the children of family friends? Like, convince the boys that you own a space station and that you're an astronaut, or teach the little girls how to make a Molotov cocktail? No? Not really? That's just me?

I'm twisted? Grr.

primitively yours,
jdl

*some people may not like the word, but I love it: blog. Beh-luh-augh. Blaug. Blog!
**the words my friends use to describe me aren't fit for polite company. and the internet is nothing but polite company.
***i love reading personal essays, i just can't write them for shit.
****this is what's called irony. pay attention, it's gonna be a recurring theme on this blog.
*****and this is what's called a pseudonym. and not even a very good one, at that.

The time is out of joint: o cursed spite!

2007-12-25T20:32:00.001-05:00

I'd apologize for not posting yesterday, but I honestly don't know if anyone other than me reads this blog.* Is there some way to find out? I should get on that.

Not that I'm complaining-- I mean, I'm only ten posts in. Give me twenty more, at least.

Anyways, to make up for the lack of posts, I'll just type whatever comes to mind. You know, something completely different from the norm, tearing up trends and shattering stereotypes.

I'm just like that.

Covered today: Russia, Wong Kar-wai, the fairer sex, ethical dilemmas, this muscle twitch in my thigh, the problem with boasting, and my recent epiphany.

Thrilling, I assure you.**

==========

My friends learning Russian couldn't be happier. They're going to get lots of jobs, soon.

If China's the New Russia, then Russia's the New China. What would this make America? The old New Target, made New again.

==========

My emotional crisis was short lived. I can't give all the credit to Wong Kar-wai, but yeah, he helped. I mean, there's a reason he's my favorite director: 2046. I identified with Leung's character, and the imagined android and all the girls and--

Well, let me start over.

Wong Kar-wai is a genius. He shoots without a script, will redo a scene countless times, and as a result, he often goes over budget and over schedule. But this also means that not a single shot in his movies is wasted, forced, or artificial. Each shot, each flicker of the shadow and study of hands and painted doorways, adds to the characters. Each shot and each scene flows organically, from one to the next.

I find his "dreamy and surreal" films so much more realistic and gritty than whatever Oscar darling is making the rounds. I wish I could give you an example, but for all I love my prose, I really couldn't do justice to his movies.

Watch 2046. I throw around "great," like everyone else, casually: Oh, that was a great movie, I'll say, coming out of the theaters.

But a movie like any of Wong Kar-wai's*** truly deserves "great" affixed to it. Wong Kar-wai doesn't film movies, or characters, he films people. Beautifully. Watch Days of Living Wild or Chungking Express or In The Mood For Love or 2046.

Now.

It's for your own good.

Plus, I mean, Zhang Ziyi.

==========

The term "the fairer sex" amuses me, and I don't know why.

Anyways, I have lady conundrums (a term that will not catch on, sadly) but I'm perfectly willing to just not deal with them till they slap me in the face. (The problems, not the actual people involved. I don't plan on a literal slapping. I could deal with a figurative slap, though.)

I was gonna list the various things I look for in a member of the opposite sex (another funny phrase), but I realized that even I didn't want to read it. Which might say something but shut up.

==========
[ethical dilemma skipped cause it's boring except to me]
==========

In other news, my right thigh is twitching! My upper leg, frontal region, throbs. The throbbing bothers me. Mostly because, you know, my leg is pulsing, but partly because it reminds me I should be stretching.

And this petty physiological update brings me to the problem with boasting. Namely, the inevitable calling out of the boast. Now, I really don't boast. In fact, I am usually down on myself, not modest just self-deprecating, because I've always known that somewhere out there there's somebody that can do something I can do, only better.****

So I don't boast. But I often stretch the truth while chatting with people, and this instinctual habit really just helps me get along better. Once in a while, though, I get carried away with an idea, like forming a band. With a friend that can play guitar quite well, oh yeah, and I HAVEN'T PLAYED BASS IN THREE MONTHS.

This spring, we're gonna start jamming together. AND I'M SCREWED. So I have to quickly learn bass all over again (I was merely decent to begin with), and I have less than a month to do this.

"Now," you must be asking, "certainly you don't play bass with your leg!" Of course not, I've tried***** and it doesn't work. But I've also gotten carried away with the idea of starting competitive Tae Kwon Do in the spring. I used to be a second-degree black belt, so I'm no novice, but hmmm... I quit, what was it, TWO YEARS AGO?!

So now I have to regain all of my flexibility, muscle, and speed. In less than a month.

I am freaking out, peoples, and I don't normally freak out.

Why does this matter to you? It doesn't... now. But you all, come January, will get to hear about how I got kicked out of a band I helped form, and then how I got my ass whooped by some Ivy League idiot.

There might even be video.

Stay tuned.

==========

Fuck it, I'll write about this later. For now, I'm going to try to conserve energy, and turn off my lover. My computer. Did I say lover? That's unhealthy.

metafictionally yours,
jdl

*i spent a long time wondering whether i should use "honestly" or "actually," or whether i should use them at all, since in essay writing you should avoid them. i thought about this for fifteen minutes, and the sentence sucks anyways. i am a nerd.

**blatant lie. or, as i like to call it, sarcasm.

***ignore the latest one. it's not bad, but it's not even in the same league as the rest of his work.

****i'm doomed to be a jack of all trades, master of none. but nobody's my master, nobody!

*****i've actually tried this, too.

Duty Over Dalliance

2007-12-22T12:20:00.000-05:00

Today's been rather emotional, which came as rather a shock because I thought I had replaced my heart with a cybernetic module. Apparently not.

Anyways, I can't say I'm feeling up to a post right now, but maybe Wong Kar-wai will cure this.

I will, however, post this picture; staged or not, the photo can touch even a cold-hearted bastard. Well, it at least made me smile. Also, on a completely unrelated note, I need a healthier sleep cycle. Waking up at noon doesn't seem to encourage a productive lifestyle, my roommate's objections to the contrary.

talking to himself,
jdl

I got nothing...

2007-12-21T08:22:00.000-05:00

Iraq "torture complex" discovered

"I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return." - W. H. Auden

我是谁？不知道！

2007-12-20T23:31:00.000-05:00

In lieu of merciless finger torture, I have decided to get some random thoughts out of my head. Also, that sentence sucked-- I am very aware of this.

==========

Excerpts from "The Pillow Book," by Sei Shonagon:

Hateful Things

A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him discusses all sorts of subjects at random as though he knew everything.

and

An admirer has come on a clandestine visit, but a dog catches sight of him and starts barking. One feels like killing the beast.

==========

I have a long list of books I'm reading right now: Everything Is Illuminated, The Heart That Bleeds, Short Stories of Kafka, 1001 Arabian Nights. And while I enjoy drowning myself in words, this puts off other books I'd like to read (On Chesil Beach) and other books I don't want to read, but probably should if I know what's good for me (textbooks).

==========

I tend to act an impulse, which often helps when I have no idea what I'm doing, but in the rare cases where I know what I'm doing, and I know what I shouldn't do... I tend to do it. Which is why, after a childhood sans video games, I own an Xbox 360. A $400 dollar purchase with money I don't actually possess.

That's what they call chutzpah!

Assassin's Creed did this, really, but Portal sealed the proverbial (and literal) deal.

==========

Youtube is, of course, a fantastic way to whittle away precious seconds of your life. But I've discovered the one legitimate video blog on it, a fantastic and charming and fill-in-the-adjective-here video blog by Natalie, an Australian who matches my levels of OCD. En serio, subscribe! Ahora!

==========

This article fascinates me; it's essentially what I think about when I'm bored and Natalie Portman isn't on my mind. I love information theory, mostly for the sheer potential of the theory, but the problem is (like DNA) how does the mere presence of information enact the reality of that information. I can write down a detailed description of some other world, but how detailed do I have to get before it becomes real?

What turns this laws of physics into a universe? Or does the universe operate independently, and these laws are just human attempts to comprehend it all? That's a somewhat depressing notion, but maybe that's just me. I'd like to think we're actually, if slowly, taking the universe apart, and that one day there it will be...

The Answer! (To the Universe, at least, if not Life and Everything In It)

==========

Ugh. I've wasted time enough.

I have a choice now, between murdering my legs first or murdering my fingers first. Now, I could do neither and just be a bum, but I hate letting people down, and people are relying on me. I might have exaggerated my skills a tad bit-- also, I'm competitive, and I want to destroy my opponents.

So, I will now attempt to revive what little musical talent I had three months ago, and then I am going to tear my legs apart.

The cake is a lie...

2007-12-20T21:36:00.000-05:00

In a joint statement, Stewart and Colbert said: "We would like to return to work with our writers. If we cannot, we would like to express our ambivalence, but without our writers we are unable to express something as nuanced as ambivalence."

(Alternate titles for this post: "While I'm at it..." and "QFT!")

Are You Productive?

2007-12-20T20:57:00.000-05:00

This should take care of that.

Kaixue

2007-12-20T19:52:00.000-05:00

I'm having trouble beginning this blog, and my online conundrum mirrors my real life conundrum. Do I want to blog (write), or do I want to be a blogger (writer)? I didn't plan to begin this way, as post-modern discourse on the nature of writing for an audience is somewhat of a weekend sport.

Hello, I'm du'Loque, and leaving me in a bookstore is akin to locking a drug addict in a pharmacy-- that is to say, shame on you, you enabler you. I realized the extent of my addiction today, as I went gift shopping. Around this time of year, I generally, though not always, give books as presents. I know books, and you can find a book for anyone. It's very easy. It doesn't help (or does help?) that I generally surround myself with others who enjoy books.

And so, while I'm shopping for books, I invariably pick up a few for myself. I can't help it! The money's in hand and those paperback editions are so plentiful and cheap and gosh darn it, the cashier line just happens to pass the "Literature" section.

Last week, in Borders (alas!), I bought my older sister a diary of Catherine the Great*; for my younger sister, I bought some book about the crisis in Darfur; and for myself, I bought Everything Is Illuminated. I know, I know-- I'm a bit late on the Foer-train, but thank fuck I did catch it. I couldn't make myself write, for the first day or two of reading the book.** I guess now I have to read his other book, with the boy and the key and whatnot.

Today, while in a used/antique bookstore, I came across an amazing, illustrated collection of Chekhov's short stories. I'd look the illustrator's name up, but I'm lazy. He was Eastern European though-- I know this because there was a misplaced "Z" somewhere in his name. Anyways, I spent an inordinate amount of money on the Limited Edition, so my cousin better appreciate this gift. But then again, considering she changed my life for the better***, it's the least I could do.

Her sister will receive Conscience of a Radical, by Scott Nearing. My other cousins will not be present at the family holiday celebrations, and thus have saved me some money. That money, of course, went to buying myself A Thousand and One Arabian Nights because I've never read it, and I plan to steal 1,002 ideas from it.

But enough about me-- and more about my blog.****

As I read over this post, I'm struck by how redundant I am, how much I overuse passive voice, and how my clauses tend to weigh the sentence down. I'm also struck by how unbelievably boring I am. I'm going to have to figure out exactly what my blog's, well, about. Will I become a literary blog, in the manner of BGB?

That, however, would mean I'd have to start reading more literary magazines, and other literary blogs, and really get into it all. And besides, somewhere along the line I'd take extensive detours into anime, cinema, cultural curiosities, and ethical philosophy.

Could I become more of a popular, but personal blogger, like Emma Story?

Or maybe I should stop worrying about problems of nomenclature and just fucking write.

ever the sybarite,
jdl

*it's actually really interesting, and i'm thinking of tearing the old-lady-wrapped-wrapping apart and read it myself. catherine was a smart and ambitious and charismatic lady; i doubt it'll be as funny and indisputably awesome as the pillow book, but it should be entertaining enough. besides, russians! they never disappoint. except when they do.

**this is an exaggeration. however, reading nabokov will do this to you, and he will haunt your prose forever. but that's really not so bad, is it?

***it went something like this...

cousin: "hey, have you ever read pale fire?"
me: "no, what is it?"
cousin: "it's a 999 line poem and the first line is also the last line."
me: "sounds stupid."
cousin: "no, it's really good. just read it."
me: "oh, alright."

that's how i became a lit-addict.

****i had something witty here, but i forget.

Test (take two!)

2007-12-20T19:50:00.000-05:00

If I was sophisticated, this test would include Latin, or pseudo-Latin, or a poem. Owever-hay, ig-pay atin-lay ill-way ave-hay o-tay uffice-say.