I bought me some new shoes. They're beautiful. Worship them, mortals. I am easily made happy by material goods. Ahhhh. Luxury.

Today has been the day of belated revelations. Apparently, Chinese and Japanese are really close. 'Cute' in Mandarin is 'ke ai'. In Japanese, it's 'kawaii'. The sad thing is that I've known these two seperate pieces of knowledge for a long time, I just never bothered connecting them until now. Translating from Chinese is a bitch. Here's a poem translated literally by me, for your viewing pleasure.

Grape fine wine night light cup
Before drink piypa horse up blow
Drunk (something) sand field please refrain laugh
Ancient come war how many return?

Now. What the hell is that? Please?? GothJesus, I hope Chinese to English translators get paid more than I do. I'm proud of my translating work on this poem, actually. I can make it rhyme. Here goes. Meter is too much to be hoped for.

Fine grape wine, night's glow in a glass.
Before I drink the sound of a lute on horseback wafts.
Drunk on the sandy battlefield, please don't laugh
Of the ancient pitched battles, how many men come back?

Better, I should hope. Blegh. Cantonese pisses me off. I'm like the only one at school who speaks that dialect and isn't an immigrant from Singapore, except for Chris Lee. I need to change my blog template- it makes my posts look way too long. I'd do it, if I knew how to move my comments too.

Second revelation of the day. Nick S is a Discordian. Hence, Discordo.blogspot.com. And multiple references to Eris. god, I'm so stupid.

I AM THE KING OF MASHED POTATOES.
On another note.
People somehow universally think I'm referring to Nick S in my 11/20 blog. I wasn't. He seems to be quite happily depraved. Anyone with Hawaiian shirts and a seven inch shlong can't be too depressed. I was referring to some sad depressed people I met on The MoFo. I love the place; it's been my home away from home since 6th grade. I love the people. Even if they're crazy. Like Frederik, who got manically depressed about a bus driver telling him not to drink juice on the bus. And got locked inside a museum in Sweden after closing time. And Rich, who insists that Sonic the Hedgehog is real, and heard voices from cartoon characters in his head. There are other depressed people, but they're not as mentally ill, as far as I know. I have enough Angsty friends who're depressed for a variety of reasons, and for the most part the last thing they need is some shit telling how they should be happy and stop whining. I'm thankful for their existance. Even if they aren't thankful for their own.

There's a funny headline on the AIM news ticker. "Girl Crushed By Cross At Brother's Grave." It's a riot! The article itself is quite tragic, which is why I'm not bothering to link to it, but the headline is hilarious. WOOHA! It's too late at night.

Came back from my friend's birthday party. She's addicted to the RPG I gave her. We tried to three-way call Alex, but it was his answering machine, which, due to some technological explanation that I fail to understand, created some endless loop on our phone lines. So we hung up. Lots of Karaoke in Chinese. I am somehow associated with trance music, and "Chicago House". Sounds like the name of a salad dressing. I don't like Thanksgiving. It's BORING.

I'm happy, actually. Without a crack-encrusted trenchcoat. HAHA, I love that term! See, see, little things make me happy, like it being Thanksgiving and me sleeping straight for four days. Woo! Four! Big things never happen to me. I feel I ought to experience things in life to make me elated, like ... I dunno. Snowboarding in the first snow of winter or rock climbing demented sandstone formations or other Mountain Dew/Viagra commercial stuff. I'll take what I've got though. Which is why I'm not depressed.

Good, my blog thing works. I swear I had linked to my Flaming Fork ASCI last time.

Oh, by the way. Go here. It's funny.

I'm being linkariffic, but my life is rather boring, so I'm entertaining you with other people's life happenings instead. I don't know what I'd prefer- feeling profoundly depressed and angsty, or just numb to the world. Not feeling pain may be a curse in itself. The Univalves, or whatever we call ourselves tend to belittle teenage angst as the ranting of the self-important. If you curse, if you go to school dressed in black, if you're horrendously left-wing, we like to brand you as immature attention-getters, and to a certain extent it's true, in that if you truly don't five a fuck about The Man's opinion, why go out of your way to displease him? But just because you aren't starving or you aren't abused doesn't mean that you must be happy. Lack of suffering does not chain you to an obligation to be happy. Well, it's one reason to be happy, but happiness is more than just not suffering. Any animal can Not Suffer. Then it dies, and worms eat it. That's the fundamental principle of teenage angst. You've achieved survival. And then? And then? What do you do with your life? What do you want to do? I suppose you could shake EvilGothBrooders by the collective collars of their crack encrusted trenchcoats and go, "Shut up and LIVE, you motherfucking bastards!" but that's their own battle to fight, and one hell of a battle. Not yours. If that makes any sense at all.

Thespark.com's test says I'm 35% slut. Go me.

Leonids rocked. ROCKED!!!! Motherfuckers. Woooooo!