On girly things, on grammar, on Gaiman, on guniqueness. (That last one was because I didn't want to break the pattern, could you tell?)

Hi there, internetalonians. I have things to say.

You know what's a funny concept? That which assumes that if you're a girl who doesn't want to spend effort putting thought into the gifts you give to other girls, beauty products are the readily acceptable standby.

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One thing I've noticed about myself: Though I'm slightly obsessive when it comes to grammar usage, my own takes on a stylized incorrectness in certain modes of writing. I enjoy run-on sentences and sentence fragments and over-hyphenation. In some cases, I like to write as if I were speaking. My mood affects my sentence structure.

Personally, however, I think I know to draw the line. I do nothing so despicable as to, say, overuse commas. To me that's one of the worst offenses in the textbook of badness.

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I read Neil Gaiman's newest children's book, Odd and the Frost Giants. Then I read the biography. This is what it said.

NEIL GAIMAN writes books. Some of them are for adults, like American Gods, and some of them are comics, like the Sandman series, and some of them have pictures, like Crazy Hair and Blueberry Girl. He was awarded the Newbery Medal for The Graveyard Book. (Hello.) Other awards he has won include the Hugo Award, the Nebula Award, the World Fantasy Award, and, hardest to spell, the Mythopoeic Award. (I bet you could win awards just for spelling Mythopoeic correctly.) His books Coraline and Stardust were made into films. (Does anyone read these biographies?) He is practically fifty years old and has three children. (Help, I am being held prisoner.) He wears lots of black clothes and probably needs a haircut. (They make us write these biographies of authors all day.) He wrote Odd and the Frost Giants for World Book Day in the UK, and thinks there are more stories about Odd he would like to tell. Visit him online at www.mousecircus.com.

His author biographies at the ends of his books are always goofy and entertaining. I enjoy reading them.

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"There's no one on Earth quite like her."

I am interested in this concept of uniqueness. Nobody is unique. People are not snowflakes. We would like to think we are special, and perhaps in our own spheres of world we are, but there are way too many people out there. Many others share our weirdest thoughts.

True, there are celebrities, who for one reason or another are different than the rest. But the fact that they are known for these differences is circumstantial. Ten other girls like Amanda Palmer were creative enough but not brave enough. Ten other girls were confident but talentless. Ten other girls were strong but not supported. Ten others found the wrong sound for there special-new-genre-of-music. Ten others could not find their drummers.

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I think the girliest thing about me is my strange little affinity for nail polish. It's been in and then out again for periods of time that have lasted years. I don't really get it. Last time I wore nail polish was probably at least three years ago, and suddenly I came to SVA and met my roommate and the second weekend here, she was painting her nails and I decided to join her. I hadn't brought any of my old things (which had mainly consisted of pen or marker doodles with a clear coat over anyways), but I found a color I liked in her collection, called 'Gunmetal' (I think I would not have liked it half as much with a tamer name), and suddenly I phased back in.

Colors are on my list of things I like. Somehow this makes sense.

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From twelve to two tonight, I read three one-act plays aloud to myself, for class tomorrow. Purgatory, by Yeats, The Man with the Flower in His Mouth, by Pirandello, and Hello Out There by Saroyan. I quite like them all, though they are very different.

There's something beautiful about plays, that I've always admired. They are required by nature to be more expressive than other written forms. In characters' monologues one often finds the urge to yell.

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Two thirty now. Time for bed.

Olivia

Psh.

The general assumption is that one is better than one's peers, above their level, more entitled and more powerful and much less vulnerable. After he overhears friends giggling about him he pulls on his coat and storms off.

Oh, the rampant hypocrisy of teenagers. "I can mock you, but when you reciprocate you're going too far."

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She wants to be, needs to be the center of attention. Even when the conversation has moved on she clings desperately to herself, repeating her wasn't-it-funnies about her drunken escapades of the night before, until someone acknowledges her offhand. She is the girl who stares at herself in mirrors and in reflections, and who cannot go a day without attracting attention from a guy.

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I am tired, even though it is early. Good night.

Olivia

Stuff about Neil Gaiman, stuff about Amanda Palmer, stuff about NGAFP, stuff about Twitter, stuff about relationships, and other stuff.

Hey, internet! News time!

YAY. YAY. AHHHHH YAY. HAPPY TIMES.

I love them. I'm so happy they're together. I'm so happy they're getting married.

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Went to the Knickerbocker (heh, I like that word) Orchestra concert at the World Financial Center to see Neil Gaiman narrate Peter and the Wolf. Concert was wonderful, Mr Neil was wonderful, Ms Amanda was there and although I didn't see her, no doubt she was wonderful as well.

About halfway through the narration, upon the entrance of the wolf, a little boy ran into the aisles and, with bent knees and fingers for claws, yelled 'wolf!', which Mr Neil answered with a solemn nod. I tweeted about it, and he @'d me. Is it weird that that makes me feel special?

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Speaking of Twitter, I connected to Twitter mobile today. I feel slightly dirty. I am going to hell.

But it's fun anyways.

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Adding to my list:

Lockets.
Sketchbooks.
Paint chips.

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Jen is so adorably girl sometimes. She's on the phone with her friend and I hear her from across the apartment yelling "I keep texting him and I shouldn't be texting him, and Brooke says I should tell him over text because I'll never be able to tell him in person. I don't want to like him anymore, Steph! I don't want to like him and it's so weird but I do, and it's so awkward, and arrghhhhh! Fuck my life! And I feel really dumb because I feel bad because I don't get to see him for two days of the week, and I feel stupid, because that shouldn't upset me as much as it does! I'm the most..ugh..oh my god." Then Brooke walks in and yells "Jen, did you tell him yet?" And then Jen yells "No, shut up, Brooke! I can't tell him! It's so weird and awkward and I can't tell him and it's so frustrating and I don't want to tell him and I don't want to like him and it sucks! Fuuuuuuck!"

Goddamn. It almost feels like me. But I'm not so publicly vocal about it..

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Been watching too many movies while I paint recently. I like having background stuff going on when I'm drawing or painting or sculpting, so usually there's music or television or a movie playing. I think I've 'watched' like three today, although most of it is just listening to what's happening as I work.

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It's one thirty; early bedtime for a Saturday, but ah well.

Blargh tired argh,
Olivia

Cool People.

Tonight was funtimes. I hung out with Cool People. The kind of Cool People who make chainmail and play with a Ouija board (and talk to a six-, I'm sorry, five-year-old ghost boy named BITCHBUR or whatever he ended up spelling..whose favorite color is GREN) and collect things. I'm really tired now. I'm going to bed.

Goodnight,
Olivia

Drunken party in the next room, list of Things, painting, and other bits of life.

Hey internet. I'm holed up in my room tonight; loud party thing in which I would rather not be involved.

So I've been thinking about it, and it's really not fair that in Eragon, the dragon dies with her rider. Racist. But somehow, if the dragon dies, the human can live. What, because he's stronger? Hah. I understand that Paolini's trying to emphasize the bond between the two, but human supremacy runs rampant in bad (and sometimes good) fantasy. Let the dragon live, I say; make her go insane or feral, perhaps, but let her live.

Bad movie. Anyways. Moving on.

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Today in my narrative workshop class I made a list of Things I Like, instead of taking notes. (Well, I also took notes, but there weren't many. I also started working on a new story concept. It's kind of a script for a short wordless film. I was partly inspired to do this by Christine, who decided to write one of her own after watching Neil Gaiman's Statuesque. Mine might or might not actually be made, but I'd like to finish writing it anyways.)

Here's the list. I keep adding to it.

Gargoyles.
Keys.
Masquerades.
Masks.
Puppets.
Playing cards.
Tarot cards.
Dice.
Balloons.
Wings.
Ballgowns.
Monsters.
Mirrors.
Puddles.
Statues.
Patterns.
Numbers.
Dragonflies.
Fountain pens.
Ink.
Eggs.
Gemstones.
Plain stones.
Half-humans (mermaids, centaurs, harpies, the like).
Music notes.
Resonance.
Chalk.
Metals.
Glass.
Prisms.
Colors.
Colored lights.
Clocks.
Pocket watches.
Wristwatches.
Magical fishes.
Arrows.
Feathers.
Parchment.
Magnifying glasses.
Telescopes.
Greys.
Peacocks.
Music boxes.
Fire.
Candles.
Flames.
Tribal tattoos.
Reptiles.
Monocles.
Typewriters.
Large cats.
Small cats.
Buttons.
Fairy tales.
Lockets.
Sketchbooks.
Paint chips.

It's not done.

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Today I had an inexplicable urge to paint. (Me: Ahhhhh I really want to paint for some reason. Other part of me: Then go paint, stupid.) So I set up my easel. Took it down. Slept for half an hour. Set it back up. Got all my painting stuff out. Sat in front of the easel for a very long time thinking about things I could paint. Lit on an idea. Got reference. Started sketch. Got more reference. Finished sketch. Did underpainting. Started uhhh..not-underpainting.

I haven't painted since summer. And this isn't strictly observational; that is, it's not a still-life. We'll see how it goes.

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It is eleven thirty. There are so many loud drunk people outside my bedroom.

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Awesome.

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It's Miyazaki Day in Olivia Land. Started watching Princess Mononoke before class, finished it after class. Watching Spirited Away right now. Might go for Howl's Moving Castle afterwards, depending on whether or not I'm tired.

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I've noticed something. Since I began my 'real art training' (read: when I got a drawing teacher last August to help me prepare my portfolio, and onwards), I haven't been able to do any of that shitty inventive drawing. All I can do is observational stuff. I'm getting a lot better. But all my 'Yay let's draw dragons and other weird creatures and environments and things' is gone. I guess it's partially a good thing. But I want it back. Maybe I just have to wait until I get better and real shit?

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Twelve thirty, they're playing loud drunken poker. Or attempting to. One is teaching everyone else.

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One o'clock. They went off on some drunken adventure.

I'm thinking sleep now, before they come back and be loud again.

Drunk people are only fun when I'm friends with them and can make fun of them,
Olivia

More drawing class, more Professor Layton, NGAFP ALSKLSDKGJ, silly conversations, easel assassins make an attempt on my life, and a bad movie is bad.

Heyo internet people and internet empty space.

TM gave us an interesting drawing assignment for this week. He says that this semester will be kind of different; our sketchbooks aren't completely free-choice; he's giving us a different theme or phrase every couple of weeks. The first week, we make a sketchbook based around the theme, and the second week we'll expand on our drawings. It's still pretty open, though, because the ideas are broad. This week, for example, is 'The Thief's Journal'.

I'm excited to start. I think I know what-ish I'm going to do.

By the way, I'm pretty sure I'm getting better at drawing. Awesome.

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I am too old for toys but some just make me happy. Thanks for showing me, EAA. I want it.

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Oh by the way if this photo means what I and everyone else think it means, AWESOME. GREATEST THING EVER. YESSSSSS.

If you don't know what I'm talking about you probably don't know me very well.

Anyways. I know the photo was only posted today, but the lack of confirmation or bloggage from either party is killing me. I am dying. Two of my favorite creative souls in the universe are killing me. Agghhh.

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"It's not like you have to make dwarves shun alcohol from their society, but you don't have to keep them as drunkards either!"
"And you don't have to fucken make elves the perfect humans, either."
"...in retrospect, it would be funny to play on the trope by having dwarves force alcohol out of their society -because- they all became drunkards"
"Hah, that would be great. New DnD character: sober dwarf cleric."
"If elves were so much better than humans, why would humans still exist? Their racial feat, Really Fucking Stubborn?"

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"I'm thinking that the substance that makes magitek possible in my DnD campaign should be called mithrorichamantium."
"I have no idea what that means but it's awesome."
"Combining mithril with orichalcum and adamantium. It's like the holy trinity of unobtainium. Or does orimithramantium sound better?"

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I was attacked by two easels today. And I'm pretty sure that third one was coming at me too, but it missed by a wide margin.

Seriously though. One fell on me while I was getting the one next to it before class started. One almost fell on me but was caught less than an inch away from my head by the person who'd been leaning on it. And Tom's toppled over two spots away from me while we were drawing.

Today I was the mark. Not sure why.

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"See, when you say 'Kksgslklsksgkllk', I imagine a gurgling, violent death."

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Eragon is a Really Bad Book. It was my least favorite until Stephenie Meyer came along. But it's an Even Worse Movie. Seriously. Cheesiest thing ever.

What the hell. Really now. She just flew up in the sky and grew up. Even worse than the book.

Cheesy characters.
Cheesy music.
Cheesy one-liners.
Cheesy dialogue.
Cheesy set.
Cheesy montages.
Cheesy fight scenes.
(Ridiculously) cheesy villains.
Cheesy elf girls.
Cheesy effects.

Arghblargh.

I should probably sleep instead of watching this horribly awfully crappily bad movie. It's one fifteen. Tomorrow is our first narrative workshop class. I'm hoping it will be a good course; I'm excited.

Good night.

Probably going to finish watching the movie anyways, because she's apparently a masochist or something,
Olivia

PS. Angela just walked in. Cheesy costumes, too. (Although that was there from the beginning. I just forgot to list it until she arrived in that ridiculous getup.)

PPS. And really bad timing and pacing.

PPPS. Eragon, stop flirting with her, she's an elf, she's probably like eighty years old or something. Also, I just noticed she doesn't have pointy ears; why go for all the fantasy cliches in the world and then take out the pointy ears?

Tidbits.

I seem to be posting two today.

So my English class, The One-Act Play, turned out to be more of an acting class. This semester should prove interesting for me.

We stretched. The teacher made fun of our stretching. He led us in an exercise in meditation. For a minute I thought he was going to drop us off that cliff, but we made it up the mountain. Then we acted. I got in a huge fight with my husband because he wanted to take me out to dinner after he'd been cooped up in the house all day but I was dead tired from the day's work and wanted to sleep. It was fun.

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This is Super Hilarious. Also very Dramatic.



Well it took me two views to fully understand the story, probably because I couldn't tell the difference between the two main dudes in the beginning. But now I think it's actually kind of cool. If still very Dramatic. And Silly. Except for, you know, the cancer bit..

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Dude. So my phone has a 'xylophone' keypad sound setting, and I just discovered that when typing the word 'super' in T9 it will play the first few notes of the duh-nuh-nuh-nuh duh-nuh-nuh-nuh that everyone associates with the Twilight Zone.

Awesome.

Super.

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Oh my gosh. I love whoever is behind TheLlama.

"Pinch your cheeks for a girlish flush. Smile pretty and say "Brassiere." Good."

"Wiggle your fingers up in the air, then check them for spiderwebs. Say "Radiant." Good." (Charlotte's Web reference, yessss!)

"Finger-gun-shoot something on your desk. Then turn that thing on its side. Say "You'll never cross me again." Good."

"Stare into the nearest beverage. Imagine tiny boats. Blow on it to make it ripple. Say "That's right. I'm king." Good."

"Place your hands on your hips and puff up your chest. Authoritatively say "I am a giant bird." Good."

"Pretend you can shoot lasers out of your eyes. Now destroy your desk. You may say "Pew pew pew." Good."

(And on a tangent from that last one, yesss. Yesss. Yeeaaahhh.)

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The title of this song is awesome.



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Whenever I say I'm going to sleep, I end up staying up at least another half-hour dawdling. So, good night internet. I'm going to sleep.

Spammed you quite a bit tonight, sorry about that,
Olivia