AHH...CAN'T MOVE...FOUND THE AIR CONDITIONING VENT...
Ohh...So very sore...
Well, I've officially been sleepless for the last five nights...At least I got to play a little bit of basketball last night...We stayed at "The Facility" in Sanford, and besides the cute bass gituarist, it relatively sucked...But not horribly...Just not the optimal lock-in spot...
Uggh...I need a personal chiropractor, preferably one that models Antonio Banderas to a shockingly similar degree...Hmm...Antonio...How I've missed thinking of you...
I've been listening to Hairspray and Nine for the last few days, and so all I'm thinking about is Harvey Firestein and Antonio...Which is not a bad thing if you have no life and/or responsibilities...Which is untrue of my own situation, except for the fact that I don't have a life, which is uncanilly true...And seeing as I'm back in school almost a week from now, I have an immensely great amount of work to complete, and that...How do I put it nicely?...Sucks.
And I still need a back rub...
Grr...Where's Tony when you need him?
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
"AND THIS WILL TEACH YOU THAT PIZZA AND VOLLEYBALL SIMPLY DON'T MIX" SAID THE LEMMING...
We had fun at All Souls this evening...It was good...There were footballs being thrown, soccer balls being mercilessly kicked, and tormented cookies aching for a stomach and digestive track to become a part of...
Most of them joined a little club I'd like to call "Kelley's Calorie Count"...
But that's not my point...The evening was relatively uneventful and yet rediculously relaxing and soothing for my current frame of mind...I was confident and happy...And a little tired. But that's not my focus either.
I'm so content to have finally found a church who's limitations don't lie with how little money you have, but with whether or not you've got enough room in your heart and enough courage to tell eight people that you've just met that you know you love them already, as my friend Danny just did...
It's been a wonderful, amazingly simple night...
And that's the best part.
We had fun at All Souls this evening...It was good...There were footballs being thrown, soccer balls being mercilessly kicked, and tormented cookies aching for a stomach and digestive track to become a part of...
Most of them joined a little club I'd like to call "Kelley's Calorie Count"...
But that's not my point...The evening was relatively uneventful and yet rediculously relaxing and soothing for my current frame of mind...I was confident and happy...And a little tired. But that's not my focus either.
I'm so content to have finally found a church who's limitations don't lie with how little money you have, but with whether or not you've got enough room in your heart and enough courage to tell eight people that you've just met that you know you love them already, as my friend Danny just did...
It's been a wonderful, amazingly simple night...
And that's the best part.
WELL, IF CLAIRE METZ SAYS IT'S GOOD, THEN I GUESS WE HAVE TO BELIEVE HER...
I just finished up with my round 3 of Leadership Goodness at WESH News Channel Two studios along the darling little corridor of I-4, and honestly, it was an amazing amount of fun...We watched the noon newscast (Which was so relaxed...To my total disbelief, I must say...And Metz is really funny...Not George Stephanopo-popolo-popl-olos funny, but funny.), ate lunch (More like infant wolves ravaging over two trays of Paneras sandwiches and cookies, although no burnt cookies, if I may add...Apparently I'm the only person in the universe that enjoys burnt cookies...Freaks...) with Mark Middleton (Who is an anchor, not the sports guy, thank you very much...). We enjoyed ourselves, learned that no radio DJ ever looks like the sweet, charming voice he so cunningly displays on air, and otherwise tormented the poor media peoples who so naively invited us to their workplaces...Poor dumb media peoples...
I almost feel sorry for them--
Oh, nevermind.
I just finished up with my round 3 of Leadership Goodness at WESH News Channel Two studios along the darling little corridor of I-4, and honestly, it was an amazing amount of fun...We watched the noon newscast (Which was so relaxed...To my total disbelief, I must say...And Metz is really funny...Not George Stephanopo-popolo-popl-olos funny, but funny.), ate lunch (More like infant wolves ravaging over two trays of Paneras sandwiches and cookies, although no burnt cookies, if I may add...Apparently I'm the only person in the universe that enjoys burnt cookies...Freaks...) with Mark Middleton (Who is an anchor, not the sports guy, thank you very much...). We enjoyed ourselves, learned that no radio DJ ever looks like the sweet, charming voice he so cunningly displays on air, and otherwise tormented the poor media peoples who so naively invited us to their workplaces...Poor dumb media peoples...
I almost feel sorry for them--
Oh, nevermind.
Tuesday, July 22, 2003
FINALLY, I CAN LEGITIMATELY SAY THAT A GAY DANCE INSTRUCTOR NAMED STUART HAS BROUGHT ME TO TEARS...
And that was just Day Two of my Winter Park adventure! What new suprises do I have in store?!
Honestly, everything is perfectly jive as long as I don't end up like the frozen hockey man they found up in Austria...How ironic to die as a result of (Basically) your livlihood...I wish I could figure out how to live my life so as to not end up dead and frozen...I'm now in complete paranoia of skiing...
At least I spent my final hours learning how to swing dance...Or not...Because I'll obviously be faced with option of death or dancing...Maybe my captor would be a nice one...
I'd choose death.
And that was just Day Two of my Winter Park adventure! What new suprises do I have in store?!
Honestly, everything is perfectly jive as long as I don't end up like the frozen hockey man they found up in Austria...How ironic to die as a result of (Basically) your livlihood...I wish I could figure out how to live my life so as to not end up dead and frozen...I'm now in complete paranoia of skiing...
At least I spent my final hours learning how to swing dance...Or not...Because I'll obviously be faced with option of death or dancing...Maybe my captor would be a nice one...
I'd choose death.
Monday, July 21, 2003
PETE THE FISH WILL BE MINE...
Evil Laugh!
Anyway, today was the first of my Leadership: Winter Park adventure. And I kicked today's rear. Severely. I mean, it ran away looking for a doctor and some pillows to sit on.
But enough of my greatness. I was a bit nervous of the Muffy&Buffy atmosphere, but I ended up working well with the other kids, sharing my toys, and all that jazz...
However, there was a fish that one of the leaders is going to give away at the end of the week, and I have my sights set on it...Heh...
I'm taking over, little sight-seeing town!
Evil Laugh!
Anyway, today was the first of my Leadership: Winter Park adventure. And I kicked today's rear. Severely. I mean, it ran away looking for a doctor and some pillows to sit on.
But enough of my greatness. I was a bit nervous of the Muffy&Buffy atmosphere, but I ended up working well with the other kids, sharing my toys, and all that jazz...
However, there was a fish that one of the leaders is going to give away at the end of the week, and I have my sights set on it...Heh...
I'm taking over, little sight-seeing town!
WHAT I WOULD HAVE LIKED TO HAVE SAID TO DERK'S FACE LAST NIGHT AT CHURCH:
"Hey, over-grown storybook character who-can't-walk-so-he-shuffles-instead, go annoy some other God-forsaken teenager who thinks you're the human equivlent to Anthrax...Buy yourself a pink collar, you lousy man-bitc--"
-No, I don't think that my blog should become a rated-R-parental-advisory-sticker-wannabe just because of his sorry collar...
But I do hate him...At least I didn't go into hysterics, or anything slightly amusing like that...I handled myself respectfully and calmly, and only once did it cross my mind to hit him so hard that I'd never have to worry about him smiling again...Okay, maybe twice...Or three times...
But does it really matter?
Yes, yes it does. I wish it didn't...He's the single most annoying person I've ever had to deal with in my sixteen years of existance, and yet, I am forced by cultural and religious infamy, to respect him. To uphold him as one of the singularly most important people in my "walk with God" and otherwise faith-based life experiences.
My conscience says "Hell, no."
I agree with my conscience.
"Hey, over-grown storybook character who-can't-walk-so-he-shuffles-instead, go annoy some other God-forsaken teenager who thinks you're the human equivlent to Anthrax...Buy yourself a pink collar, you lousy man-bitc--"
-No, I don't think that my blog should become a rated-R-parental-advisory-sticker-wannabe just because of his sorry collar...
But I do hate him...At least I didn't go into hysterics, or anything slightly amusing like that...I handled myself respectfully and calmly, and only once did it cross my mind to hit him so hard that I'd never have to worry about him smiling again...Okay, maybe twice...Or three times...
But does it really matter?
Yes, yes it does. I wish it didn't...He's the single most annoying person I've ever had to deal with in my sixteen years of existance, and yet, I am forced by cultural and religious infamy, to respect him. To uphold him as one of the singularly most important people in my "walk with God" and otherwise faith-based life experiences.
My conscience says "Hell, no."
I agree with my conscience.
Saturday, July 19, 2003
"IT HAS WHAT ARISTOTLE CALLED THE FOUR ESSENTIAL ELEMENTS OF DRAMA:"
(1) Despair
(2) Intrigue
(3) Canadians
(4) Snorkeling
Dear God:
Why, God? Why am I not funny? He's 58. That's too old to be funny. Make me funny instead.
Thanks!
-Kel
PS- Relocating to Miami for his job isn't a problem either. But you already knew that. Okay. Toodles!
(1) Despair
(2) Intrigue
(3) Canadians
(4) Snorkeling
Dear God:
Why, God? Why am I not funny? He's 58. That's too old to be funny. Make me funny instead.
Thanks!
-Kel
PS- Relocating to Miami for his job isn't a problem either. But you already knew that. Okay. Toodles!
WHY DOES THIS SOUND LIKE KELLEY, MINUS THE PATIO AND/OR POOL?
(I Have To Give Credit To Dave Barry For Possibly Writing This...I'm Still Not Convinced It's My Own...)
People always ask me: ''Is it hard to be a professional writer like you and Joyce Carol Oates?''
Yes. Very hard. Here is a true example of the kind of difficulties we face:
The other day I was in sitting at my desk in my home office, doing what I do all day, which is frown at my computer screen and wrestle with professional writing issues, such as: ''Do I have anything to say about this topic?'' And: ''What, exactly, is this topic?''
This is tiring work, so roughly 35,000 times a day I have to take a break to eat something or drink something or scratch something. At this particular moment, I reached to my left, to pick up my can of Diet Coke, and
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
That is the screaming sound my brain made when it realized that my hand was, at most, two inches from a live snake. Really. As a South Florida resident, I'm used to having ants on my desk, but they are friendly, harmless and easy to smush. Whereas this was a full-blown snake, coiled for attack, with its head reared up and its tongue flicking out toward me, which is how snakes communicate the message: ''Hah! Perhaps you wish to die for your Diet Coke, Mister No-Topic Writer Man!''
Any wildlife expert will tell you that, when confronted with a potentially dangerous animal, you must remain calm and not make any sudden movements. That's why I always say: ''The hell with wildlife experts.'' Propelled almost entirely by my bun muscles, I shot, missile-like, from my chair, landing on my feet, clutching my keyboard in a defensive pose. The snake had not moved. It was clearly thinking: ''My species is millions of years old. I do not fear your keyboard.''
So I ran into the kitchen and grabbed what I felt was the best anti-snake weapon I own: barbecue tongs. Brandishing them, I went back to the office and lunged at the snake. The good news was: I was able to grab it. The bad news was: I grabbed it in its midsection, and it was long enough (I am estimating 17 feet) that it could easily reach my hands with its mouth, and it was flailing around in a very irate manner. Fortunately, I was able to keep a cool head, as we see by the following verbatim transcript of my thought process:
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I dimly remember bursting out the patio door, with my outstretched arm gripping the tongs as far back on the handle as possible while the snake thrashed wildly. The instant I was outside I dropped the tongs, and the snake, now free to go anywhere in North America, proved that it was in fact the Evil Demon Serpent from Hell by slithering directly into the swimming pool. Head high, it began to briskly swim laps in a counterclockwise direction.
''Ha ha, Barbecue Boy!'' it was indicating. ''Perhaps you do not have a large enough pair of tongs to handle the likes of me!''
So I had no choice but to pick up the tongs again and chase the snake around the edge of the pool, in that schizophrenic way that you chase a critter when you are actually terrified of it. Like, if you see a crab or a squirrel in your path, you keep moving toward it, not because you are brave, but because you believe it will run away from you. But if it's one of those renegade crabs or squirrels that run in your direction, you -- admit it -- turn and flee, whimpering, because even though you're 200 times the critter's size, you're afraid that it will bite (or pinch) you, whereas you know in your heart that you will not bite (or pinch) it.
We just have to hope that more critters do not figure this out. That was the situation I found myself in, chasing the Demon Serpent around the pool. I'd get close enough to grab it with the tongs, and suddenly it would reverse direction and whoa I was fleeing from the snake. This went on for several minutes -- chasing the snake, fleeing from the snake, chasing the snake -- until finally the snake made the classic tactical error of going into the pool filter basket. Once again, I was able to get close enough to get the tongs on it and
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
This time, when I dropped the tongs, the snake went into the patio planter, where it disappeared. It's still out there somewhere, lurking, and now I'm a nervous wreck, wondering how it got into the house, and where it will show up next.
I'm also exhausted. You try sleeping with barbecue tongs.
(I Have To Give Credit To Dave Barry For Possibly Writing This...I'm Still Not Convinced It's My Own...)
People always ask me: ''Is it hard to be a professional writer like you and Joyce Carol Oates?''
Yes. Very hard. Here is a true example of the kind of difficulties we face:
The other day I was in sitting at my desk in my home office, doing what I do all day, which is frown at my computer screen and wrestle with professional writing issues, such as: ''Do I have anything to say about this topic?'' And: ''What, exactly, is this topic?''
This is tiring work, so roughly 35,000 times a day I have to take a break to eat something or drink something or scratch something. At this particular moment, I reached to my left, to pick up my can of Diet Coke, and
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
That is the screaming sound my brain made when it realized that my hand was, at most, two inches from a live snake. Really. As a South Florida resident, I'm used to having ants on my desk, but they are friendly, harmless and easy to smush. Whereas this was a full-blown snake, coiled for attack, with its head reared up and its tongue flicking out toward me, which is how snakes communicate the message: ''Hah! Perhaps you wish to die for your Diet Coke, Mister No-Topic Writer Man!''
Any wildlife expert will tell you that, when confronted with a potentially dangerous animal, you must remain calm and not make any sudden movements. That's why I always say: ''The hell with wildlife experts.'' Propelled almost entirely by my bun muscles, I shot, missile-like, from my chair, landing on my feet, clutching my keyboard in a defensive pose. The snake had not moved. It was clearly thinking: ''My species is millions of years old. I do not fear your keyboard.''
So I ran into the kitchen and grabbed what I felt was the best anti-snake weapon I own: barbecue tongs. Brandishing them, I went back to the office and lunged at the snake. The good news was: I was able to grab it. The bad news was: I grabbed it in its midsection, and it was long enough (I am estimating 17 feet) that it could easily reach my hands with its mouth, and it was flailing around in a very irate manner. Fortunately, I was able to keep a cool head, as we see by the following verbatim transcript of my thought process:
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
I dimly remember bursting out the patio door, with my outstretched arm gripping the tongs as far back on the handle as possible while the snake thrashed wildly. The instant I was outside I dropped the tongs, and the snake, now free to go anywhere in North America, proved that it was in fact the Evil Demon Serpent from Hell by slithering directly into the swimming pool. Head high, it began to briskly swim laps in a counterclockwise direction.
''Ha ha, Barbecue Boy!'' it was indicating. ''Perhaps you do not have a large enough pair of tongs to handle the likes of me!''
So I had no choice but to pick up the tongs again and chase the snake around the edge of the pool, in that schizophrenic way that you chase a critter when you are actually terrified of it. Like, if you see a crab or a squirrel in your path, you keep moving toward it, not because you are brave, but because you believe it will run away from you. But if it's one of those renegade crabs or squirrels that run in your direction, you -- admit it -- turn and flee, whimpering, because even though you're 200 times the critter's size, you're afraid that it will bite (or pinch) you, whereas you know in your heart that you will not bite (or pinch) it.
We just have to hope that more critters do not figure this out. That was the situation I found myself in, chasing the Demon Serpent around the pool. I'd get close enough to grab it with the tongs, and suddenly it would reverse direction and whoa I was fleeing from the snake. This went on for several minutes -- chasing the snake, fleeing from the snake, chasing the snake -- until finally the snake made the classic tactical error of going into the pool filter basket. Once again, I was able to get close enough to get the tongs on it and
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
This time, when I dropped the tongs, the snake went into the patio planter, where it disappeared. It's still out there somewhere, lurking, and now I'm a nervous wreck, wondering how it got into the house, and where it will show up next.
I'm also exhausted. You try sleeping with barbecue tongs.
Friday, July 18, 2003
IT'S 12:07. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR DISCONTENTED TEENAGER IS?
I don't know...
I don't even really feel like updating this thing...I mean, it's "fun", but I enjoy writing about nothingness so much more than divulging my own life...It's that whole, "You don't know me" stamina that keeps me going, keeps me in that angsty youth persona that works out pretty well, since no one wants to bother an angsty youth...
Ugg...
I think I need a catch phrase...Nothing corny, mind you, but something ironic and stupid enough to make stupid of all the ironies in my life...
I hate the fact that there are people who feel exactly the way I do...Not that I don't enjoy company, but something within me yearns for the glimmer of belief that houses the possibility that says, "Kel, you're unique! No one thinks exactly the same as you do, nor does anyone worship the things you do, sing the songs you sing, want to be the person you crave, or any other such random thing...Because you're you!"
It's like a Purple Dinosaur Syndrome...PDS...That makes sense...Anyway, it's this downplay of communal society that's led us to these non-realistic teaching tools of individuality and mono-unity...
It's like saying "Every Punk Is Special". It simply doesn't make sense.
Everyone's the same. Me too. It's not like a condition that we merely grow out of. Every non-conformist thinker is like every other one in existence. I'm the same as someone else. Not that I plague the world with Kelleys, but to say "You are special, individual, and/or unique" simply provides the basis for a non-existent false reality to settle in my feeble little mind, as are all other minds surrounding mine.
But don't forget--You're special.
I don't know...
I don't even really feel like updating this thing...I mean, it's "fun", but I enjoy writing about nothingness so much more than divulging my own life...It's that whole, "You don't know me" stamina that keeps me going, keeps me in that angsty youth persona that works out pretty well, since no one wants to bother an angsty youth...
Ugg...
I think I need a catch phrase...Nothing corny, mind you, but something ironic and stupid enough to make stupid of all the ironies in my life...
I hate the fact that there are people who feel exactly the way I do...Not that I don't enjoy company, but something within me yearns for the glimmer of belief that houses the possibility that says, "Kel, you're unique! No one thinks exactly the same as you do, nor does anyone worship the things you do, sing the songs you sing, want to be the person you crave, or any other such random thing...Because you're you!"
It's like a Purple Dinosaur Syndrome...PDS...That makes sense...Anyway, it's this downplay of communal society that's led us to these non-realistic teaching tools of individuality and mono-unity...
It's like saying "Every Punk Is Special". It simply doesn't make sense.
Everyone's the same. Me too. It's not like a condition that we merely grow out of. Every non-conformist thinker is like every other one in existence. I'm the same as someone else. Not that I plague the world with Kelleys, but to say "You are special, individual, and/or unique" simply provides the basis for a non-existent false reality to settle in my feeble little mind, as are all other minds surrounding mine.
But don't forget--You're special.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
MAYBE I SHOULD JOIN MENSA INSTEAD...
I had to drop my Honors Physics to a Big Bad Standard level so as to get all the classes I need for graduation and/or my own sanity...
What a world, what a world, what a cruel, cruel world...
We had a racoon eat all of our cat food last night...No, silly, not the cat food that I eat, the cat food for my three cats...Two cats and a dog...Something like that. But besides that, I think it's a true lesson in compassion and care for all our furry bretheren...I mean, as far as I'm concerned, I don't really feel the need to lock all our doors, scream "BLOODY MURDER!", and sing Kumbya-ya-ya-ya in a neatly piled circle of bodies...The rest of my family does, of course, but I choose to be exempt from that massive brain hemmorage of a collective...
Ooh. Descriptive...
I've been thinking recently about guys and how I relate in their coenciding existance...I don't really want a guy. I don't really need a guy. But I'm bored...Of course, I don't want an idiot, either...Which means that I need to buy a dolphin or a small yet to scale version of Steven Hawkings...But I think the dolphin would work out a little better...Who wants to argue with a guy so smart he could break down your genetic make-up, and find ten-millio-second ways to call you a llama or other repressive foreign creatures in no less than sixty languages...
I'm not even going to validate my response with some sort of justification.
I'm just going to sit here, letting you vainly twiddle your thumbs or other non-opposable fingers...
La, la, la...
I had to drop my Honors Physics to a Big Bad Standard level so as to get all the classes I need for graduation and/or my own sanity...
What a world, what a world, what a cruel, cruel world...
We had a racoon eat all of our cat food last night...No, silly, not the cat food that I eat, the cat food for my three cats...Two cats and a dog...Something like that. But besides that, I think it's a true lesson in compassion and care for all our furry bretheren...I mean, as far as I'm concerned, I don't really feel the need to lock all our doors, scream "BLOODY MURDER!", and sing Kumbya-ya-ya-ya in a neatly piled circle of bodies...The rest of my family does, of course, but I choose to be exempt from that massive brain hemmorage of a collective...
Ooh. Descriptive...
I've been thinking recently about guys and how I relate in their coenciding existance...I don't really want a guy. I don't really need a guy. But I'm bored...Of course, I don't want an idiot, either...Which means that I need to buy a dolphin or a small yet to scale version of Steven Hawkings...But I think the dolphin would work out a little better...Who wants to argue with a guy so smart he could break down your genetic make-up, and find ten-millio-second ways to call you a llama or other repressive foreign creatures in no less than sixty languages...
I'm not even going to validate my response with some sort of justification.
I'm just going to sit here, letting you vainly twiddle your thumbs or other non-opposable fingers...
La, la, la...
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
WORK, THIS BLOG SAYS, WORK!
Saddly, my blog doesn't seem to respond to pressure well...I can't get the archive thingy to work, which isn't that much out of the ordinary...But what are you going to do...
I'm supposed to be seeing a movie with K-Max at 2 (Or something like that...), killing my immune system at 8, and changing my school schedule at 1...
Sounds like a fun day!
Saddly, my blog doesn't seem to respond to pressure well...I can't get the archive thingy to work, which isn't that much out of the ordinary...But what are you going to do...
I'm supposed to be seeing a movie with K-Max at 2 (Or something like that...), killing my immune system at 8, and changing my school schedule at 1...
Sounds like a fun day!
APPARENTLY, I SHOULD BE SWIMMING WITH THE FISHES, ACCORDING TO MY COUSIN VINNY...
Heh...I've always wanted to say that...
One of the "Spectacular Seven" from this weekend, Vinny, emailed me a little while ago, commenting on how lucky I was to "not be dead" after my eight o' clock flight out of Houston on Sunday night...Ironically enough, I thought so too...
I'm so misconstrewed with the whole thought of four months until I'll be able to put what I learned into action...I mean, it's all well and good to learn the dances and songs and contorted catch phrases, but isn't it all about the end result? The grande finale? The waterpark?
Okay, that made no sense...Or did it?
I don't know anymore...
At one point in my life, just a little over a year ago, I was told that I should start working on a stand-up comedy routine, because by the time I had reached my comedic peak, my family and surrounding peers will have given me enough material to last me well beyond the grave...
The only problem: I'm not funny.
Not that it's a general shock, but it's just something I've never really thought of. To be funny, you have to have timing. You have to be intellectual. You have to be cruel...
To be kind, in the right measure...Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign...Cruel to be---
Well...Um...I think you get the point.
And it's not as if I don't want to be funny...God, I would give anything for a cool stage name and a relatively amusing nationwide slapstick tour, along with a few million dollars (For gas and tolls...), but I, for some reason, just don't see it happening...
Sigh.
Well, next week starts off my "Winter Park 'Muffy-and-Buffy' Leadership Training", and it all concludes Friday with a healthy round of...
JOB SHADOWING...Dun, dun, dun!
I'm actually kind of excited, seeing as my top three choices are as follows:
1- Theatrical Arts (OR, How To Sleep With Someone To Get A Job)
2- Newspaper Writing/Staffing (OR, How To Completely Blackmail Someone With Your Literary Abilities)
3- Non-Profit Organizations (I don't have a spiffy alternate name for this one...)
As far as I know, I should be getting my first choice, but then again, you never know how these things come into play...
Maybe I should have shadowed a comedian...
Heh...I've always wanted to say that...
One of the "Spectacular Seven" from this weekend, Vinny, emailed me a little while ago, commenting on how lucky I was to "not be dead" after my eight o' clock flight out of Houston on Sunday night...Ironically enough, I thought so too...
I'm so misconstrewed with the whole thought of four months until I'll be able to put what I learned into action...I mean, it's all well and good to learn the dances and songs and contorted catch phrases, but isn't it all about the end result? The grande finale? The waterpark?
Okay, that made no sense...Or did it?
I don't know anymore...
At one point in my life, just a little over a year ago, I was told that I should start working on a stand-up comedy routine, because by the time I had reached my comedic peak, my family and surrounding peers will have given me enough material to last me well beyond the grave...
The only problem: I'm not funny.
Not that it's a general shock, but it's just something I've never really thought of. To be funny, you have to have timing. You have to be intellectual. You have to be cruel...
To be kind, in the right measure...Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign...Cruel to be---
Well...Um...I think you get the point.
And it's not as if I don't want to be funny...God, I would give anything for a cool stage name and a relatively amusing nationwide slapstick tour, along with a few million dollars (For gas and tolls...), but I, for some reason, just don't see it happening...
Sigh.
Well, next week starts off my "Winter Park 'Muffy-and-Buffy' Leadership Training", and it all concludes Friday with a healthy round of...
JOB SHADOWING...Dun, dun, dun!
I'm actually kind of excited, seeing as my top three choices are as follows:
1- Theatrical Arts (OR, How To Sleep With Someone To Get A Job)
2- Newspaper Writing/Staffing (OR, How To Completely Blackmail Someone With Your Literary Abilities)
3- Non-Profit Organizations (I don't have a spiffy alternate name for this one...)
As far as I know, I should be getting my first choice, but then again, you never know how these things come into play...
Maybe I should have shadowed a comedian...
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Monday, July 14, 2003
CURSE MY INSOLENT THOUGHT!
Agg! I vowed not to talk about what I accomplished this weekend, yet I've found such ironic situations and thoughts, that I'm bursting at the seams to tell someone who will eventually know what I know as a result of sight...
NCYC, that is...
Ugg...No one in the world could possibly understand what that meant. Or means...Even I'm not sure...
All I know is that as much as I was mystified by Chris Spaz-a-razza's help, he was making stuff up...
Oh! You don't know about him either!
Allow me to explain:
I met a few fantasmically amazing people this weekend while we were in the lovely/dry/boring/nice city of Houston, Texas for the NCYC Animators program...
-Maureen Dowd (I think that's her last name...): Director of NCYC, quick typer, fast thinker, and woman-that-loves-her-chicken-fried-steak-and-chocolate-mousse...
-Chris Spaz-a-razza (I know that's not his last name...): Actor, singer, dancer, piano player, and most importantly, Phil from the production of Hercules that I saw on the Disney cruise ship three/four years ago (And sat through Unbreakable next to in the movie theatre onboard, never realizing that we would again meet, not to mention that he was Catholic...)
-John (I don't even know his last name...): Liturgical director, driver's-permit-stealer, all around funny man, and "a Sagitarius who likes long walks on the beach"...
Out of these three, I can't decide who the most insane was, but Chris was definately the loudest (As any of my six "Special Speaking Friends" can attest to as we listened to him bellow through the walls...). Of course, there were quite a few more people that made up the four days, but those were the three I, personally, saw the most of...
I think I'll try and write a bit more a little later on, as in after my computer stops making funky noises and beeps that sound like "Kill Me Now, Kelley!"...
*Beep...*
Agg! I vowed not to talk about what I accomplished this weekend, yet I've found such ironic situations and thoughts, that I'm bursting at the seams to tell someone who will eventually know what I know as a result of sight...
NCYC, that is...
Ugg...No one in the world could possibly understand what that meant. Or means...Even I'm not sure...
All I know is that as much as I was mystified by Chris Spaz-a-razza's help, he was making stuff up...
Oh! You don't know about him either!
Allow me to explain:
I met a few fantasmically amazing people this weekend while we were in the lovely/dry/boring/nice city of Houston, Texas for the NCYC Animators program...
-Maureen Dowd (I think that's her last name...): Director of NCYC, quick typer, fast thinker, and woman-that-loves-her-chicken-fried-steak-and-chocolate-mousse...
-Chris Spaz-a-razza (I know that's not his last name...): Actor, singer, dancer, piano player, and most importantly, Phil from the production of Hercules that I saw on the Disney cruise ship three/four years ago (And sat through Unbreakable next to in the movie theatre onboard, never realizing that we would again meet, not to mention that he was Catholic...)
-John (I don't even know his last name...): Liturgical director, driver's-permit-stealer, all around funny man, and "a Sagitarius who likes long walks on the beach"...
Out of these three, I can't decide who the most insane was, but Chris was definately the loudest (As any of my six "Special Speaking Friends" can attest to as we listened to him bellow through the walls...). Of course, there were quite a few more people that made up the four days, but those were the three I, personally, saw the most of...
I think I'll try and write a bit more a little later on, as in after my computer stops making funky noises and beeps that sound like "Kill Me Now, Kelley!"...
*Beep...*
Sunday, July 06, 2003
HE'S DEAD, BUT OH, SO COOL
Forgot to mention that I met a Jack Lemmon look-alike riding the monorail at Disney last weekend...His name was Stanley, and he let me ride in the front of the train...And that, my friends, was uber cool, seeing as he was a dead-on (Ouch!) Lemmon with brown hair...And gorgeous...But that's not the point...He was very nice...
Cool, and Lemmon-y Fresh!
Forgot to mention that I met a Jack Lemmon look-alike riding the monorail at Disney last weekend...His name was Stanley, and he let me ride in the front of the train...And that, my friends, was uber cool, seeing as he was a dead-on (Ouch!) Lemmon with brown hair...And gorgeous...But that's not the point...He was very nice...
Cool, and Lemmon-y Fresh!
SHE'S HERE, AND NOW, SHE'S GONE...
Off I go, into the wild blue yonder...And yes, I penned that phrase, not some old song thingy...
Me.
All me...
I just have to figure out how to sneak my phone out before my family realizes it's not there...Heh...Odd, if you consider how much I dislike it...
Maybe it's like Fr. Jer--Derk, that is...You hate it to an insane degree, yet it keeps you connected to your livlihood...
Sucks to be Kelley or in a Kelley-like state...
I need to go eat a Chik-Fil-A biscut before I leave...Yummy, and oddly un-nutritious!
But I will be thinking of everything and nothing in the next week...It may very well be the last time I speak through this blog, seeing as the very likely possibility that I join a bear-loving-woodsey-cult is fast approaching...Or I could be bitten to death by worms and/or fun-loving-carnivorous bugs...The choices are endless!
In fact, I think I should create some sort of submission page to see which would be the most interesting way for Kelley to perish in the next week...You've got two locations to choose from (Dayspring and a hotel in Houston, both of which probably smell like cheese...), and a variety of incidents to imagine!
Have fun! And let me know how I'm supposed to go before I do so...
Off I go, into the wild blue yonder...And yes, I penned that phrase, not some old song thingy...
Me.
All me...
I just have to figure out how to sneak my phone out before my family realizes it's not there...Heh...Odd, if you consider how much I dislike it...
Maybe it's like Fr. Jer--Derk, that is...You hate it to an insane degree, yet it keeps you connected to your livlihood...
Sucks to be Kelley or in a Kelley-like state...
I need to go eat a Chik-Fil-A biscut before I leave...Yummy, and oddly un-nutritious!
But I will be thinking of everything and nothing in the next week...It may very well be the last time I speak through this blog, seeing as the very likely possibility that I join a bear-loving-woodsey-cult is fast approaching...Or I could be bitten to death by worms and/or fun-loving-carnivorous bugs...The choices are endless!
In fact, I think I should create some sort of submission page to see which would be the most interesting way for Kelley to perish in the next week...You've got two locations to choose from (Dayspring and a hotel in Houston, both of which probably smell like cheese...), and a variety of incidents to imagine!
Have fun! And let me know how I'm supposed to go before I do so...
PERHAPS NOT THE BRIGHTEST WAY TO SPEND THE MOMENTS UP UNTIL YOUR TWO WEEKS OF CATHOLIC HELL...
But who can possibly pull themselves away from a coma-driven cutie like Peter Gallagher in While You Were Sleeping...He's so gorgeous when he's dumb...And the guy who ends up winning the girl in the end is rather adorable, as well...
Ahh...One something in the morning, and instead of writing an essay that was due a week ago, I'm blabbing on about some teenage-angst-ish movie that considering the heavy emphasis on love, has absolutely nothing to do with my rather non-forlorn life...
I'm just anxious, I suppose...I mean, I have the leadership retreat starting on...Tomorrow...And then, Thursday, I fly out to Houston for the NCYC thingy...
It's scary...
My summer is almost complete, and I've yet to:
A: Be kissed.
B: Learn to surf.
C: Write my Plyler essay.
D: Hang out with Elise...Or Dexter...Or Elise...
E: Figure out why Nathan would want to move on to syndication...I mean, "Charlie Lawrence"? P-ul-eeze...
F: Sell sodas at SAK.
-And most importantly...
G: Adequately stalk Rene' Ruiz.
Alright...I think someone may have realized that I'm indeed on the computer early on a Sunday morning, in which case I will now duck to avoid the nifty little lazer light that's aiming for my skull...
Ta-ta!
But who can possibly pull themselves away from a coma-driven cutie like Peter Gallagher in While You Were Sleeping...He's so gorgeous when he's dumb...And the guy who ends up winning the girl in the end is rather adorable, as well...
Ahh...One something in the morning, and instead of writing an essay that was due a week ago, I'm blabbing on about some teenage-angst-ish movie that considering the heavy emphasis on love, has absolutely nothing to do with my rather non-forlorn life...
I'm just anxious, I suppose...I mean, I have the leadership retreat starting on...Tomorrow...And then, Thursday, I fly out to Houston for the NCYC thingy...
It's scary...
My summer is almost complete, and I've yet to:
A: Be kissed.
B: Learn to surf.
C: Write my Plyler essay.
D: Hang out with Elise...Or Dexter...Or Elise...
E: Figure out why Nathan would want to move on to syndication...I mean, "Charlie Lawrence"? P-ul-eeze...
F: Sell sodas at SAK.
-And most importantly...
G: Adequately stalk Rene' Ruiz.
Alright...I think someone may have realized that I'm indeed on the computer early on a Sunday morning, in which case I will now duck to avoid the nifty little lazer light that's aiming for my skull...
Ta-ta!
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