Sunday, January 18, 2004
You're Mark Cohen, an amateur filmmaker looking for
inspiration. You observe from afar, sometimes
detatched from what's going on around you.
Rent Character Quiz
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Wednesday, December 10, 2003
It's a quarter to two in the morning, I'm sitting up wide awake having just finished my Tulane scholarship application and my Vassar essay, and I feel like shit, physically and emotionally. I've got an awful cold, and I've been thinking way too much as usual. I read something on www.intellectualwhores.com, a link Milli sent me called The Ladder Theory. and the whole thing pretty much rings true to my life. Granted I'm not bitter about just being friends with girls like the guy who writes this thing is, and while there may be some underlying sexual attraction behind every friendship I'm not out to get laid all the time, but it seems to me that he's right about the way women think. I come on as much to friendly. There's a list on part of this website that has five things that are surefire ways to know that she's not interested in you in a romantic way. I've heard all five of them at least once. The most common ones I get are "You're like a brother to me," and "I feel like I can talk to you about anything."
It's like girls never look at me the way they look at other guys. I don't know if its because everyone refers to me as Baskin and thats a lot less personal than a first name, because I'm just not stellar looking or because I'm literally just too nice sometimes, but whatever it is I really hate it. It's not like because I'm a nice, understanding guy who tries to talk you out of slitting your wrists that I don't want to be loved in the same way that some badass punk or some concieted jetta-driving shitbrick wants to be. I know girls "Can't help the way they feel," but could they at least tell me whats making them feel that way? I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing that you people just don't think of me that way. WHY THE HELL NOT? IF YOU DON'T AT LEAST EXPLAIN WHAT NEEDS TO CHANGE SO THAT OTHER PEOPLE MIGHT.
Every year of high school I've hung out with a different crowd of people. I don't even fucking talk to Lizzie anymore, and we used to spend a couple of hours on the phone every night. Hayley took me to the Candy Cane last year and she doesn't even make eye contact with me in the hallways.
1. Alison: I just want to be friends
2. Lizzie: You're like family
3. Simona: I don't want to make things wierd
4. Margaret: I don't want to ruin the friendship
5. Alea: You're like a brother
6. Emily: I don't think of you that way
7. Masha: Nyet
8. Melissa: I can talk to you about anything
9. Jessica: I can count on you for anything
10. Amanda: I don't see you like that
(Your Name Here): (Variation on the Theme)
And these are the ones that come to mind right off the bat.
What can I do to be a piece of ass instead of a piece of advice from time to time?
It's like girls never look at me the way they look at other guys. I don't know if its because everyone refers to me as Baskin and thats a lot less personal than a first name, because I'm just not stellar looking or because I'm literally just too nice sometimes, but whatever it is I really hate it. It's not like because I'm a nice, understanding guy who tries to talk you out of slitting your wrists that I don't want to be loved in the same way that some badass punk or some concieted jetta-driving shitbrick wants to be. I know girls "Can't help the way they feel," but could they at least tell me whats making them feel that way? I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing that you people just don't think of me that way. WHY THE HELL NOT? IF YOU DON'T AT LEAST EXPLAIN WHAT NEEDS TO CHANGE SO THAT OTHER PEOPLE MIGHT.
Every year of high school I've hung out with a different crowd of people. I don't even fucking talk to Lizzie anymore, and we used to spend a couple of hours on the phone every night. Hayley took me to the Candy Cane last year and she doesn't even make eye contact with me in the hallways.
1. Alison: I just want to be friends
2. Lizzie: You're like family
3. Simona: I don't want to make things wierd
4. Margaret: I don't want to ruin the friendship
5. Alea: You're like a brother
6. Emily: I don't think of you that way
7. Masha: Nyet
8. Melissa: I can talk to you about anything
9. Jessica: I can count on you for anything
10. Amanda: I don't see you like that
(Your Name Here): (Variation on the Theme)
And these are the ones that come to mind right off the bat.
What can I do to be a piece of ass instead of a piece of advice from time to time?
Monday, December 08, 2003
Brighton Beach Memoirs is coming up this weekend, performances are Saturday and Sunday at 3:00 PM at the middle school auditorium. It'll defenitely be worth coming to. We're gonna be awesome.
Friday, October 17, 2003
Melissa made a copy of a CD for me, and made it all personalized and awesome. The cover has the phrase "I like cheese" in three different languages. Hehe crazy, very crazy.
So I managed to get myself nominated for homecoming king, but much to everyone's surprise I wasn't the only 'dork' on the list. Adam and Mike Tycon (my class's saluditorian and valedictorian, respectively) were both nominated alongside me. That means I'm not gonna win, which isn't necessarily a bad thing because I don't really want to, but it also means that Adam isn't gonna win, which is a bad thing because I want him to. Oh well, either way we both get to ride in the homecoming parade at the football game, woot woot.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (gonads and strife)
So I managed to get myself nominated for homecoming king, but much to everyone's surprise I wasn't the only 'dork' on the list. Adam and Mike Tycon (my class's saluditorian and valedictorian, respectively) were both nominated alongside me. That means I'm not gonna win, which isn't necessarily a bad thing because I don't really want to, but it also means that Adam isn't gonna win, which is a bad thing because I want him to. Oh well, either way we both get to ride in the homecoming parade at the football game, woot woot.
WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! (gonads and strife)
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
I was going through some of my old files on my computer, and I found a story that I wrote some time last winter. I may or may not have posted it on here then, but I read it, and it just got me thinking about shit. I'm gonna post it again because I happen to think its a pretty good peice of writing even if its about stuff I don't like to think about. Just for your information I took my poetic license, not all of this is true to fact. Though a lot of it happens to be.
The doorbell rings, and she looks at the clock above the TV. It’s almost nine o’clock. Why in the world did he insist that he come over and watch this movie with her now? But in a way, she’s glad he did.
“You’re so stupid!” she insists as she lets him in, but her smile gives away that she’s very happy to see him. “You’re not going to like the movie at all, and I’m going to fall asleep and you’ll be sitting in my house watching a movie you don’t even like-“ He puts a finger to her lips.
“Shhh. I’ll like the movie just fine, and if you’re that tired, you go right ahead and sleep.”
“That’s silly, I can’t sleep when you’re in my house.” It takes them a couple of minutes of fiddling with her DVD player, but finally they get it to work. The title screen reads in big red letters, “PRETTY WOMAN.”
“Do you even know what this is about?” she asks.
“Not the slightest idea, that’s why I’m watching it.” The night before she had told him two of her favorite scenes in the movie, but they really hadn’t given much away as far as the plot line was concerned. He was confident that if this were in fact her favorite movie, he would enjoy it thoroughly.
He starts the movie and takes her hand in his. She looks at their hands, together, then says “Do you know what my dad said to me before you got here?” She giggles a little bit. “He asked how often he would need to check on us to make sure we weren’t making out.” They both laugh, but on the inside the irony of this hurts him.
“I think he can rest assured that nothing bad will happen. I know I’ll be too busy watching the movie.” As he says this they hear the heavy sound of footsteps on the stairs and she pulls her hand away quickly and slides a few inches down the couch. “You know,” he whispers, “that this looks even more suspicious that if we were holding hands?”
Her father comes into the room. “Hey there,” he says, looking at the opening credits on the screen and then back at the two of them. “You guys need anything?”
“No dad,” she says, exasperated.
“Thank you,” he chimes in.
Her father heads back up the stairs, and her hand finds his again quickly. She slides easily back into the groove in the couch she had left behind, still warm from when she had been there. Not as warm as his body next to hers.
“Your hands are always so warm,” she remarks, running her other hand over the back of his. His attention is rapt on the screen.
“You didn’t tell me this movie was about a prostitute!” he says, astonished. She laughs and covers his eyes as a scene involving two members of the opposite sex in various states of undress commences. There is a purring sound on her other side and they both look to see the cat sitting there, feeling rather left out. He lets go of her hand and reaches around behind her to pet it. When he is done he tugs her in closer to him and wraps his arm around her waist, taking both of her hands in his.
“Don’t touch my fat,” she admonishes, pulling his hands farther away from her stomach. It never ceases to amaze him that she can possibly think she is fat.
“What, this fat?” he says, pinching her side. “This isn’t fat.” She puts her hand on top of his to flatten it out against her stomach and locks her fingers in with his.
“Yes, that fat,” she says, sliding into a more comfortable position against his side. She was very tired, but happy all the same that he had insisted on coming. She can hear his stomach rumbling from time to time. “Did you eat?”
“No, I missed dinner tonight, but I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? You can have something to eat if you want.”
“I don’t want to impose myself.” They sit happily and watch the movie, and he breathes in her smell ecstatically. He had always loved the smell and the feel of her hair. After a while he says, “You know, maybe I will take something to eat.” She laughs, and they get up to pause the movie.
The kitchen has a cold, tiled floor, which quickly gets to her bare feet. “You aren’t wearing any socks!” he says in surprise, and lifts her up off the floor.
“Put me down,” she says laughing, “I’ll be fine for a few minutes.” They scrounge about the kitchen and discover that there really isn’t very much to eat, and he decides that he will be fine waiting until he gets home to sate his hunger. When they get back into the living room, he lies down on the couch. “Now where do I sit?” she asks.
“You don’t,” he says, smiling mischievously. “You lie down, because you’re tired.” The end of the movie finds her sleeping in his warm embrace, using his arm as a pillow. He’s so nearly asleep himself in the hazy happiness that he doesn’t really notice until far too late that her father has come back down the stairs. He puts his finger to his lips to motion for silence, and her father nods, smiling, and goes back upstairs. Eventually she does wake up, and they sit up, still holding hands.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she says, smiling sheepishly, leaning against his shoulder. He lifts her face up by her chin. There is a short silence.
“If I kiss you, will you hold it against me?” he asks. She looks down.
“I have a boyfriend.” He is crestfallen, but does not let her see that. He simply kisses her lightly on the forehead before he gets up and leaves. Outside, the light rain cleverly disguises the tears on his face, but he feels them there because of their warmth.
The doorbell rings, and she looks at the clock above the TV. It’s almost nine o’clock. Why in the world did he insist that he come over and watch this movie with her now? But in a way, she’s glad he did.
“You’re so stupid!” she insists as she lets him in, but her smile gives away that she’s very happy to see him. “You’re not going to like the movie at all, and I’m going to fall asleep and you’ll be sitting in my house watching a movie you don’t even like-“ He puts a finger to her lips.
“Shhh. I’ll like the movie just fine, and if you’re that tired, you go right ahead and sleep.”
“That’s silly, I can’t sleep when you’re in my house.” It takes them a couple of minutes of fiddling with her DVD player, but finally they get it to work. The title screen reads in big red letters, “PRETTY WOMAN.”
“Do you even know what this is about?” she asks.
“Not the slightest idea, that’s why I’m watching it.” The night before she had told him two of her favorite scenes in the movie, but they really hadn’t given much away as far as the plot line was concerned. He was confident that if this were in fact her favorite movie, he would enjoy it thoroughly.
He starts the movie and takes her hand in his. She looks at their hands, together, then says “Do you know what my dad said to me before you got here?” She giggles a little bit. “He asked how often he would need to check on us to make sure we weren’t making out.” They both laugh, but on the inside the irony of this hurts him.
“I think he can rest assured that nothing bad will happen. I know I’ll be too busy watching the movie.” As he says this they hear the heavy sound of footsteps on the stairs and she pulls her hand away quickly and slides a few inches down the couch. “You know,” he whispers, “that this looks even more suspicious that if we were holding hands?”
Her father comes into the room. “Hey there,” he says, looking at the opening credits on the screen and then back at the two of them. “You guys need anything?”
“No dad,” she says, exasperated.
“Thank you,” he chimes in.
Her father heads back up the stairs, and her hand finds his again quickly. She slides easily back into the groove in the couch she had left behind, still warm from when she had been there. Not as warm as his body next to hers.
“Your hands are always so warm,” she remarks, running her other hand over the back of his. His attention is rapt on the screen.
“You didn’t tell me this movie was about a prostitute!” he says, astonished. She laughs and covers his eyes as a scene involving two members of the opposite sex in various states of undress commences. There is a purring sound on her other side and they both look to see the cat sitting there, feeling rather left out. He lets go of her hand and reaches around behind her to pet it. When he is done he tugs her in closer to him and wraps his arm around her waist, taking both of her hands in his.
“Don’t touch my fat,” she admonishes, pulling his hands farther away from her stomach. It never ceases to amaze him that she can possibly think she is fat.
“What, this fat?” he says, pinching her side. “This isn’t fat.” She puts her hand on top of his to flatten it out against her stomach and locks her fingers in with his.
“Yes, that fat,” she says, sliding into a more comfortable position against his side. She was very tired, but happy all the same that he had insisted on coming. She can hear his stomach rumbling from time to time. “Did you eat?”
“No, I missed dinner tonight, but I’m all right.”
“Are you sure? You can have something to eat if you want.”
“I don’t want to impose myself.” They sit happily and watch the movie, and he breathes in her smell ecstatically. He had always loved the smell and the feel of her hair. After a while he says, “You know, maybe I will take something to eat.” She laughs, and they get up to pause the movie.
The kitchen has a cold, tiled floor, which quickly gets to her bare feet. “You aren’t wearing any socks!” he says in surprise, and lifts her up off the floor.
“Put me down,” she says laughing, “I’ll be fine for a few minutes.” They scrounge about the kitchen and discover that there really isn’t very much to eat, and he decides that he will be fine waiting until he gets home to sate his hunger. When they get back into the living room, he lies down on the couch. “Now where do I sit?” she asks.
“You don’t,” he says, smiling mischievously. “You lie down, because you’re tired.” The end of the movie finds her sleeping in his warm embrace, using his arm as a pillow. He’s so nearly asleep himself in the hazy happiness that he doesn’t really notice until far too late that her father has come back down the stairs. He puts his finger to his lips to motion for silence, and her father nods, smiling, and goes back upstairs. Eventually she does wake up, and they sit up, still holding hands.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she says, smiling sheepishly, leaning against his shoulder. He lifts her face up by her chin. There is a short silence.
“If I kiss you, will you hold it against me?” he asks. She looks down.
“I have a boyfriend.” He is crestfallen, but does not let her see that. He simply kisses her lightly on the forehead before he gets up and leaves. Outside, the light rain cleverly disguises the tears on his face, but he feels them there because of their warmth.
Monday, October 06, 2003
I feel so heavy tonight, and I don't know why. Not like I'm overweight, I've just got this awful knot in my chest thats like bottled up everything that I hate about my life and I feel like its wrapped around my lungs and squeezing all the air back out of them.
This weekend has really just been awful. Prozac is supposed to make me super duper not depressed any more, but I'm just getting worse and worse. I feel like I did last December again. I feel like the best thing for me would be one through the roof of the mouth. And I really hate feeling that way.
And my cell phone is broken. Not that anyone was really calling me any more anyway.
This weekend has really just been awful. Prozac is supposed to make me super duper not depressed any more, but I'm just getting worse and worse. I feel like I did last December again. I feel like the best thing for me would be one through the roof of the mouth. And I really hate feeling that way.
And my cell phone is broken. Not that anyone was really calling me any more anyway.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
You are Bubs. You are the disco dancing king.
People like you because you sell them food.
Actually you eat most of the food yourself,
that's probably why you're fat. It doesn't
matter though, cuz your voice is awesome!
What HomeStarRunner Character are you?
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