Feel my Pain

http://www.drugs-db.com/drugs/c/claravis.htm

Remind me not to get pregnant anytime soon.

Metamorphosis a la FANBULOUS

Here's the plan: It's a satire. Guy (or girl) goes to bed and the very next morning wakes up gay (like Gergor Samsa waking up as a beetle; they can decide to be gay or have it magically thrust upon them, since apparently one can be "turned"). Their family isolates them and then they kill themselves. It's genius! (Not for me though, one of you write it.)

Notes

1. The Big Lebowski was disappointing in its comic qualities. I'd heard so much, but it was rather lacking. Maybe that's because I'd heard so much. I dunno. I did like the "common man" amidst all this crazy philosophy and confusion of the "big rollers" who didn't bowl at all. But that's just me.

2. Firefox should be the browser choice of everyone. Talking to Elizabeth, I think I've figured out that it is so good because it runs off of the hopes and dreams of America's youth. That's why they're all cynical, disillusioned, and materialistic. Hey, it's free. If you can't beat em... then you're not into S&M.

I hate depression. The only way I can think to help alleviate it is to say a blanket "I'm sorry."

So... I'm sorry. Thank you.

Son of Mann

Well, I watched "The Terminal" tonight and, as usual, it got me thinking. Fortunately on more positive thoughts than last Friday (although the existentialist aspect was quite prevalent, what with the alienation and confusion; the end result would have been much more inspiring if it didn't seem like the characters who befriended the main weren't so... nice. It was almost illogical, so it wasn't as believable. Anyway...). I, once again, was moved because, as I've mentioned before, I am really a little girl. Or emphatic. Or both.

Anyway, once again I was stirred by the desire to make something moving, and, overlooking my novel, I found it insufficient a device. To create beauty, something powerful that "tugs on one's heartstrings", I think you need a vision. A complete vision, a larger vision. I deal with details. I read word by word, not paragraph by paragraph. I don't see a painting all at once, I have to focus. And the focusing takes away from the effect. I think. I don't know. Maybe it's a justification of my poor writing or lackluster ideas. The execution, perhaps. As usual, your guess is as good as mine.

But I've decided it's ok for this effort not to be spectacular. I have a plan. Instead of a singular novel, I want to create a trilogy. "Dear sweet mother of inservice days, why is he taking on MORE work!?" you cry. Well, it's not immediate. I want to write this novel when I'm 18, fresh out of adolescence with little perspective, lots of uncertainty, and quite a bit of stress. I want to see how I progress. The next milestone in one's life seems to be 40. At 40 you're "over the hill" which, oddly, just occurred to me tonight that "over the hill" refers to one's life expectancy. At 40, half of your life is through. You're coasting downhill from this point forward. That's why it's so depressing. So 40 will be a good age. Then I want to write my last novel at 80. If I live that long, and judging by current habits of self preservation, I'll be lucky to make it to 40. We'll see. If I make it to 80, I want to write the third in the trilogy. The first about Avery Mann. The second about his son. The third about his son. Ironic, because at that point I may have grandchildren of my own. It's an impossible distance and an idea that I'm likely to forget in a month. 22 years til the next installment? It sounds impossible. Here's to a dream, though. No matter the result, it's an effort worth undertaking. Think of the result. Even if just one of my descendants reads them... my legacy, perhaps. One I find perfectly suitable. You'll have to remind me at our high school reunion years from now.

I'm crazy. But a harmless crazy. For now... check back with me after half my life's over and we'll see. Until then... Cheers!

Two notes

1. I hit it to make it work. The computer wouldn't start, so I hit the blasted thing and it worked as well (or poorly) as it normally does. Makes ya think. No, Elizabeth, I know what YOU'RE thinking, and you really ought to stop.

2. I hope Mr. Ross has a sense of humor. I wrote, more or less, a note on the card we went to the Ross's since Mr. Ross's mom broke her hip: "Ms. Ross, I sincerely hope you get better. Mr. Ross come back soon, existentialism is meaningless without you." It's better than David's "Come back Mr. Ross, I'm tired of doing work!" Or David Duncan's pun, referring to the perky insect he wrote under inside the card "BEE sure to get well soon." Some people.

Just for Caitlin

Big props to the Student Council on a quick effort to get money to the Tsunami victims. Hopefully more, better publicized efforts will follow, but it's a cause I really support. I look at 9/11 and people with terminal illnesses and think that there are larger pictures that should be addressed instead of the individuals. But the tsunami was on such a scale that it deserves as much attention as it can get. We were shocked, awed, and massively changed by around three thousand deaths in a terrorist attack. This is at least 50 times 9/11 in its death toll alone, not to mention the widespread devastation. It fills my heart with a literal surge of joy (strangest feeling) when I read of people donating, especially countries giving a really significant amount (although given the total we've supplied to Iraq, our tsunami relief seems lacking). At any rate, good job Student Council. I deride your dances and lack of any real meaningful power in the school, but this sort of thing is what the group ought to be about. More people should follow its example. A Cardboard tournament for Tsunami victims? You never know...