HISTORY OF THE PONCE DE LEON HOTEL.

"So, one day, Jose' Cuervo and Captain Morgan got into a fight. Captain Morgan's daughter was dating Cuervo's daughter's nephew. It got messy. They got into it, and attacked one another for days.
George Washington was shooting cannons from the fort, which proved pretty useless (as we all know).
And then, Superman flew over and saved all the Jews. But not before Woodrow Wilson's great-grandfather picked out the room where his great-grandson would choose his cabinet someday.
Walt Disney jumped into the mess, and was quickly jumped on. He was then frozen. Cuervo came out victorious in the end, but decided that the whimpy Henry Flagler could buy it in exchange for a Starbucks."

The end.

NEVER BEFORE.

I just met a guy that I could spend the rest of my life with.
I spent twenty minutes with him, but I KNOW.
I don't know how I know. I just do.
I'm going crazy.

THE ADVERTISING SLOGAN GENERATOR.

Just a few AMAZING examples. Feel free to make your own.

I Want My Zazzle.

There's Only One Zazzle.

If You Can't Beat Zazzle, Join Zazzle.

Semper Zazzle.

He Who Thinks Zazzle Drinks Zazzle.

That's Handy, Harry! Stick It In The Zazzle.

I Can't Believe I Ate The Whole Zazzle.

Break Me Off a Piece of That Zazzle.

When It Absolutely, Positively Has To Be Zazzle Overnight.

I'm Not Gonna Pay A Lot For This Zazzle.

Zazzle Is Job 1.

Zazzle Unscripted.

The Ultimate Zazzle Machine.

You Can't Top a Zazzle.

My Zazzle to Yours.

Zazzle, Take Me Away.

Who Would You Have A Zazzle With?

Zazzle, the Other White Meat.

The Incredible, Edible Zazzle.

Because I'm Worth Zazzle.

Crunch All You Want. We'll Make Zazzle.

You Deserve A Zazzle Today.

Your Flexible Zazzle.

Bread Wi' Zazzle Taken Out.

Zazzle - It Does a Body Good.

KEY. BORED.

I'm not lonely- just alone. Confined to the internal space that runs the inner-workings of thought and the psychosis I call Kelley.
It feels wonderful to be trapped within myself. I've spent so much of these last two weeks outwardly focused, attempting to exaggerate the extrovert within, that I haven't stopped to look at me, what I need, what I'm feeling.
Numb. Physically kinetic, but definitely numb.
I would like nothing better than to go walk the beach at this moment, just talking aloud to no one in particular. I suppose this holds the same sort of appeal, yet keeps me locked up in one space for any given amount of time.
Hmm.

QUARTERS, ANYONE?

It's laundry time. Whoa.
It's laundry time. Oh.
It's laundry, laundry, laundry time.
Very best time of day.

WHY PRIVATE COLLEGE ROCKS.

SUNDAY BRUNCH??!!???! WHAT??!!!

What kind of sissy school serves "Sunday Brunch?"
Oh, yeah. That's right- my sissy school.
Freaks.

OH, THE CRAP YOU CAN THINK!

One fish.
Two fish.
Red fish.
Some other cut-out-of-the-picture-fish.

What can I say- I never read Dr. Seuss.
Dumb kid.


(But, at least I'm thinking...Right, Elis?)

COME ON, RIDE THE TRAIN. TROLLEY. WHATEVER.

It's Art Walk night, be-otches.
Be there, or be a geometric object.
Ha!
I am so infinitely clever!


Please, O Higher Being, save me from myself. Pleeeease.

A DAY AT DISNEY.

(In Pictures. Crappy Pictures.)

Early in the morning? Yeah.


It's Belle! And the Beast! Mother of God, that's AMAZING!


Fireworks? At noon? I'm confused.


Believe it or not, this is Father John Patrick Mulcahy from M*A*S*H. Seriously.


Topiary? Or monster?


It's still the scariest part of the park.


SCARY.


Yet another pair of Stolen Disney 3-D Glasses.


I'm a Space Cadet.


And I'm under attack.


Cute alien; Crappy attraction.


Big mouthed freak...


...I mean...Uh, the hippo is cool. Really cool. And hot.

All in a day's work. A pretty freaking amazing day's work. Of not-work.

I'M POST #500, BE-OTCH.

Nice to meet you.

HOUSE, SEASON ONE. ON DVD. NOW.

IT'S MOTHER-FREAKING HOUSE. BUY IT.
OR HUGH LAURIE WILL KICK YOUR WHIMPY ASS.

WE'RE NOT GONNA PAY RENT.

The new RENT trailer just made me shiver in unexplained giddiness.
I CANNOT WAIT FOR THIS MOVIE TO ARRIVE.

TODAY?

Today is sort-of-orientation, with ID's and schedules and such. Tommorrow is Advisor day, and I am just much too excited to even attempt to describe that to anyone.
I'm rambling, primarially because I have absolutely no clue what's going on. But I'll figure something out.
Email me, call me, let me know that you're still alive, O Great Internet Consumers.

WELCOME TO LIFE.

I hope you enjoy it.

MOVEMENT.

Elis leaves for school later on this afternoon, and whereas my heart aches knowing that our friendship will certainly never be the same, I smirk knowing that it has learned to endure through great tribulation, and will stand the test of time once again.

I realize that Friday marks a great step in my development as a human being- reaching outward, attempting to span the gap between adolescence and maturity (in societal standards, mind you). It's perhaps ironic that my first night in a new habitat falls exactly three months after casting aside those hideous robes they called "Graduation attire," relishing in the knowledge that I would finally possess one of the most powerful items in my fledgling existence:
A diploma? Yes. But also the knowledge that I had earned said scrap of paper.
At this stage, anything is tangible.
Anything is possible.

(I certainly have more thoughts on the subject, whatever the subject may be. I do not, however, have the great luxury of time on my side. What with 400 albums waiting to become mere duplicates in a great and time-spanning collection. It's more time consuming than she thought, than even I thought, it would be. But, it is what it is. Within the given time constraints, I will be packed and ready. Even if it means taking more than humanly necessary and discarding random articles of gear along the way. How complicated this moving process is!)

FREAKING SICK.

(With the addition of "freaking" because it has much more emphasis than a simple "I'm sick.")
(And because I'm not just sick. I'm FREAKING sick.)

HOLLA.

Don't be hatin'.

THE NEWEST IN A LONG LINE OF TIME-CONSUMING CONVENIENCES.

I have to admit, I am a fan of this handy little Microsoft Word-to-Blogger add-in.
It doesn’t suck.
[Editor's Note: Of course, if we want to make these entries look extra-special, you still have to log in and edit. But I'm not complaining.]

THOUGHT.

I can't wait until I grow up so that I can enjoy what I love.
That shouldn't make sense to you, but it makes perfect nonsense to me.
Trust me. It works.

DORM ROOM.

(With helpful captions for my roommate.)

THOUGHTS ON MY CD COLLECTION:

1. I have a LOT of CDs.
2. I don't know who two of these bands are. Whatever.
3. I have a FREAKING LOT of CDs.

PETER JENNINGS (1938-2005)

You never brought me bad news that I couldn't handle. You were an idol of mine. By far, my favorite anchor on any television set.
You will be thoroughly missed.

DELLINGER.

I have always been just a little bit jealous of you.

Perhaps that's not the greatest foundation for friendship. It certainly can't help- nor could resentment, secrets, poisonous anger, or brooding guilt. It ripped us apart pretty quickly, and I think we knew it.

I'm sorry that I made your senior year a living hell.
You deserved a best friend; so did I.

You are an amazing human being. I have always known that, but I made a mistake in letting it consume me, allowing myself to feel like I wanted to prove to you that I was smart, attractive, and as industrious an individual as I felt you are. I felt like the little kid who would always be just a bit too immature to stand beside someone who knew they were going to do something great.
I got clingy- I wanted every moment to be about me, I wanted to play dress-up, historian, activist, gossip, and I wanted to do all of it with you.
I suffocated you, I think. I was afraid to get left behind, as I'm afraid will happen in the coming weeks. I truly don't want that to happen, nor do I want it to be the sentiment that filters through me as I start the new life that college offers me.

But I want my best friend to be a part of that life. I need that.

You found an amazing man to share time with. I just wanted to be the girl that got to sit alongside and gossip, to experience with you the fact that you had, at long last, met someone that was destined to become a great, mighty force in your life. I got jealous- and you knew that. But I was never jealous of the fact that you found Matt: I was jealous that I couldn't share my closest companion with him, that she had to simply be taken from me. I felt abandoned. And I missed you.
I worked harder than ever to become friends with Matt. I figured that I could at least share time with the two of you, even if you seemed to want to have nothing to do with me outside of his presence.

Yet, I was never disappointed in you, just saddened that you refused my confidence. It was suddenly as though we had never met. We had never shared stupid chattering giggles, we had never made fun of Deborah Casillo, never watched I-Robot with PJ. I felt like an absolute failure. I had driven away the one person who seemed to understand me, who would indulge the fact that my showtune obsession was beyond intolerable, and who would be there to back me up when big Italian kids called me names. You had ripped yourself out of my life, and it broke my heart.

But I still didn't understand what I had done. Was it all about Matt? Had we simply grown apart? Was I turning into the kind of person I didn't want to become, and driving you away in the process? I never knew if our friendship was going to be Jekyll or Hyde, and I wasn't sure I could tell the difference anymore. I couldn't take it. I don't know how many times I went to Matt (and other assorted communal friends), asking desperately and wildly if you had mentioned some careless action or misjudged moment of mine that had left you so relentlessly disgusted with me. It was always to no avail.

And so, I went on a vendetta- if my senior year was going to be an emotional failure, why not at least make something of myself?
An ass, perhaps?
I worked so hard to prove that I could hold my own, that I could be as wonderfully intelligent, gifted, passionate, and successful as you. And I pushed you out of the way many times to do so. I knew you were hurt, but so was I. It's not an excuse, it's not justification, it's simply the truth. I wasn't going to be trampled on without a fight.

I didn't want to admit that it was over for you and I. The dearest friend I'd ever had, gone, and without excuse? I couldn't accept that. And I don't know how many calls or emails or frantic IMs I sent out in the past two months, just praying that this was all a joke, that you were in the Peace Corp and had been wisked away for urgent duty the day after Graduation. You disappeared from my life, the summer before I had to start a new one, and I hated you for it.

I think I had finally come to terms with it when I posted that entry. Maybe not, but it was an outward sign that I had to, that I desperately needed to change how hurt I felt. I didn't ever expect it to evoke a makeshift confessional out of both our Blogs, but it did.

(So much for acceptance of the situation, huh?)

I have four million moments I wish I could re-live with you from this year. Prom. Graduation. Senior Lunches. Regular lunches. Moments that were false and distorted because we let them become that way. I hate that I will remember this year for that, but grateful that I may get to try to restore some of the communion we shared.

You are my best friend. The dearest, truest friend I have ever had. I miss you.
I don't know what else I can say.
Wait- yes, I do.

I love you. And I'm sorry.

LITTLE KNOWN FACTS.

I think I've played through Songs For A New World at least six times today. That has to be a record.

I can't wait until Post Secret updates each Sunday. I'm a freak. And it's complete schadenfreude in the worst way.

Speaking of days of the week, Tuesday is House Day. It always will be, at least, until the DVD is released (in three weeks).

There was a security guard staring at me in the mall last week and I turned on my cell phone's ring so that I could pretend to answer a call and walk away. He creeped me out. And my ringtone is Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now." He obviously wasn't a Freddy Mercury fan.

My curtain (for the time being) is made up of old Prom/Homecoming dresses. I still think they look better hanging in the air than on me.

I've spent more time typing this past week than I have spent speaking to members of my own family.

I can't wait to leave for school. My parents think that I will miss them, and whereas they are correct, it is only in the most minor of degrees.

I still feel like a 40-year-old virgin. And now, they're making a movie about it.

I worry that I won't have to courage to go back onstage this Fall. I think I've forgotten how to act.

Mad Caps is the most addictive game. Ever. For me. It makes me think of Wonka Bottlecaps. Which I haven't had in for-reaking-ever.

[I realized that Elise and I weren't friends anymore when she emailed me from Russia last Summer. But I tried to pretend that I didn't know. She gave me a deck of cards for my eighteenth birthday. And I miss hanging out with Matt.]
BRILLIANT, LIFE-AFFIRMING UPDATE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT: We're friends again. Which is good.

I almost drove 300 miles through California to see James Barbour perform.

My nails look a lot better with pink nail polish than any other color. I always hated pink, but it's kind of punk-rock now. If boys can do it, so can I.

Roommates scare me. I'm kind of worried that I'll clash with mine, but I'm more afraid that she'll think I'm a loser.

I am a loser. And I'm okay with that.

I haven't said an honest prayer for months. I haven't even been conscious while I'm in Mass. I hate that. Really.

Gospel music fascinates me. The harmonies make me tense with excitement, and I wish with ever fiber of my being that I could be in a giant Gospel chorus that produces an unbelievable sound.

I have too much stuff.

My life is lived from one infatuation to another. For example, I am currently in love with Hugh Laurie.

I have never taken the recommended dosage of medication. Someday, I'll overdose on Aleve.

I've always thought I was a bit too strong for hating. I think I still am. And that's a song lyric.

Sometimes I wish I was a drunken party chick.

Flagler College was an extremely rash decision. I drove by, peeked at the Ponce de Leon Hotel, and sent in my application the next day. I still wonder if I made the right decision. And I should know in a month.

I feel as close to my best friend from kindergarten as I did then.

I have not been able to fall asleep for the last five years without thinking about one person. And I cannot stand them.

Today, a nice guy in the Navy said that I was cute.

I was ready to buy a wig two weeks ago after my Fantastic Sams Disaster. It would have been wavy, short-ish, and brunette. My hair has been varying shades of red, orange, blonde, and brown for about four years. I don't know what it used to look like.

I prepared a speech for the Cappie Awards Ceremony in May. I never used it. They threw me onstage, and all I could see was Backel staring back at me, beaming with pride. It made me sick to my stomach.

I hate people. And I want them to like me.

Children scare me because I am impatient and lack understanding. I would be an uncaring, bitter parent. I'm afraid to hurt someone who would be so dependent upon me.

I haven't had a pizza in at least a few months. The first thing I'll be ordering from my dorm room will be a giant cheese pie.

Florida heat is unbearable. Ridiculous.

I can't shop at a store until I've looked at their sale rack. It's the first (and in most cases, only) place I shop.

Craig Ferguson is my favorite late night host ever, with Conan O'Brien slipping to a disappointing second. Conan had the almighty Walker: Texas Ranger Lever to fall back upon, not to mention Irish good looks. However, Craig has the best monologue night after night, and he's old, Scottish, and gorgeous. (God, I fall for old guys quicker than I could tumble down a staircase.)

I'm still not tired.

A HEARTY "UGG."

I would say that it's time to retire my weighty mind to a soft, comfortable bed, but that seems to be far too much to ask at this point.
A little nap, perhaps?

IT'S UPGRADE TIME.

So...
What do you think?

YOU THINK YOU KNOW MY iPOD?

iTUNES SURVEY

How many total songs? 4,244 Songs
How long is your playlist (hours/days)? 11.7 Days, 14.59 GB

Sort by Song Title
First Three:
-'Til Him
3:42
Matthew Broderick, Nathan Lane & Ensemble
The Producers

-'Tis A Far, Far Better Thing I Do
1:26
Zanna, Don't! (A Musical Fairy Tale) Original Off-Broadway Cast

-"Chief Wiggum, P.I." Main Title
1:07
The Simpsons
Go Simpsonic With The Simpsons



Last Three:
-Zissou Society Blue Star Cadets / Ned's Theme Take 1
2:52
Mark Mothersbaugh
The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou Original Soundtrack

-Zip
4:01
Bebe Neuwirth
Pal Joey (The 1995 Original New York Cast Recording)

-Ziggy Stardust
3:14
David Bowie


Sort by time:
First Three:
-Lucky
0:01
Napoleon Dynamite

-Homestar- "Trash"
0:01
The Brothers Chaps
Homestar Runner

-I Can Play It Straight
0:01
Nathan Lane
The Birdcage


Last Three:
-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
26:22:51
J.K. Rowling

-Robin Williams Live on Broadway
1:39:10
Robin Williams
Live on Broadway

-Live in Rome 1987
1:38:33
U2


Sort by Album:
First track:
-Love Me Do
2:20
The Beatles
1

Last track:
-Swing Rave
1:53
Titus
Soundtrack


Top Ten Most Played:
1. 23 Times
Anything You Want, You Got It
3:29
Roy Orbison

2. 16 Times
Movin' Out
3:28
Billy Joel

3. 15 Times
Different Town
0:58
The Brothers Chaps
Homestar Runner

4. 15 Times
Not the Boy Next Door
2:23
Hugh Jackman
The Boy from Oz Original Broadway Cast Recording

5. 15 Times
Right Where You Should Be
4:34
James Barbour & Alice Ripley
Summer of '42 (DEMO)

6. 14 Times
Mr. Blue Sky
5:05
Electric Light Orchestra
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

7. 14 Times
Save The People
3:24
Stephen Schwartz
Godspell

8. 13 Times
Shiksa Goddess
3:58
The Last Five Years
The Last Five Years Original Cast Recording

9. 12 Times
"Can't Sneak Up On A Brother"
0:03
The Brothers Chaps
Homestar Runner

10. 12 Times
I Can Do Better Than That
5:11
The Last Five Years
The Last Five Years Original Cast Recording


Ten Most Recently Played:
1. Finale
3:04
Carolee Carmello, Kirk McDonald, Ensemble
Parade
7/23/2005 1:10 PM
(Omitting the entire album, which I played six times yesterday alone.)

2. The I Love You Song
5:57
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee Original Broadway Cast
The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee Original Broadway Cast Recording
7/22/2005 6:28 PM
(Pretty much the same situation here.)

3. Opening: The New World
5:07
Company
Songs For A New World
7/19/2005 1:02 PM
(And here.)

4. Put The Lime In The Coconut
2:22
Toxic Audio
Word Of Mouth
7/14/2005 12:04 PM

5. La Vie Boheme
8:00
RENT: Original Broadway Cast
RENT: Original Broadway Cast Recording (Disc 1)
7/5/2005 1:54 PM
(Yeah. I’m a show freak. Get over it.)

6. Billy
6:06
Bob Dylan
The Royal Tenenbaums Original Soundtrack
6/30/2005 9:26 PM

7. (I’m Pretty Sure) I'm Over You
2:53
Will Hoge
Blackbird On A Lonely Wire
6/30/2005 9:26 PM

8. Go Your Own Way
3:38
Fleetwood Mac
Greatest Hits
6/30/2005 8:49 PM

9. Anything You Want, You Got It
3:29
Roy Orbison
6/30/2005 8:20 PM

10. A Kind Of Magic
4:24
Queen
The Platinum Collection - Greatest Hits 1 2 & 3 (CD 2)
6/30/2005 8:16 PM


Find "sex", how many songs show up?: 5

Find "death", how many songs show up?: 22

Find "love", how many songs show up?: 185

Find “music”, how many songs show up?: 271

CHERRY VANILLA DR. PEPPER, AND OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS.

I dearly miss having friends in my life.
Not just "friends," but genuine companions. I daresay I haven't had one for quite some time, if they were even truly the friends I thought they were.
My life, at its current state, warrants a genuine, lasting change. Movement. Of some sort- I have no idea what movement or actions to take, but I refuse to let this loneliness consume me the way it threatens to. Maybe it already has. But I certainly can't take a chance like that.
I am much to valuable to be trampled upon, and the people who have done so are merely wasting my time. I'm finished with it.
It's time to move out.

(But the drink is okay.)

A MESSAGE FOR J.K. ROWLING:

My ambitions are shattered; my hopes and dreams are eternally crushed.

You killed "that most important person" off, you spiteful, heartless, yet blatantly-trustworthy and talented author.

How I despise my existence.

This is worse than Sirius.
Seriously.

(Oh, you knew that was coming...Get over it.)

HALF-BLOOD-ED UPDATE: PART ONE.

I'm taking a sleep break at page 217. So far, it rocks my socks.

(Yo, Rowling- I need more Lupin. Hit me.)

I'M A LOSER, BABY.

And I'm heading out to get my copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

Boo-yah.

SNIP, SNIP.

Finally home from the great state of California, and all I have to show from it is an orange boa/scarf/Chinatown ripoff-thingy and a few added pounds.
(No, thank you, Ghirardelli.)
But, it was a glorious trip. I'd go back.
NOW.
I also managed to con myself into a haircut yesterday, and we all know what disasters can spring from hair mutilation. Well, mine looks worse, but only in the most minor of ways. The woman might as well have shaved my head. It would be symmetrical, and not so poofy. But poofy it is, and poofy it will remain for some time, or at least until God decides to strike me down for bad hair.
Just watch. It'll happen.

PAUSING FOR SUGGESTIONS.

I'm sure far more unusual than missing someone you despise is despising someone you miss. Like an infarction (Whatever the hell that happens to be; I feel no guilt in stealing it from the bloodthirsty writing staff on House, M.D.) in my capacity to care, there is one entity who continues to stand against my degregating pride, annoying me to no end, and surely forcing me back into whatever emotional confinement I thought I had broken free from. The pedestal I hold myself against in mentality and fervor is none other than a lopsided misogynist, an arse if ever I associated myself with such a word. I desperately desire the opportunity to thrash violently, back and forth in my antagonistic struggle against this hero, or my heroic struggle against he, the antagonist.
I'm not sure which is which.
Does it matter?
(Seemingly) Nothing triggered this bout into unknown exclamation and bitterness, but I can't help but think it's been looming near the surface, waiting for a moment of calm, complacent thought to leap up and attack viciously.
Enough of this. The unnamed soul should just go die, but not before I figure out whether or not he's the good guy and I'm pure evil, or vice versa.

FAMILY: AIN'T THAT A KICK IN THE HEAD?

It seems like only once in a while I find a member of my family I can really connect to, or who appears to find me slightly above average in the grand herd of Smiths. Ray is one of those individuals: he is, without fail, the uncle who seems to have always had an elevated affection for me and my progression, despite the fact that he rarely deems to show it outwardly. He is (so I have come to believe) genuinely concerned for my future, and for the person I am starting to become.
I need people like that around me. God, I do.
As we said our scattered goodbyes this evening, he grabbed onto my hand for just a few extended seconds. Nothing monumental, but we had already parted ways until our next meeting, and it seems as though he felt the need for one last lapse of contact.
One single gesture, a few seconds of my hand in his, and it was finished.
It was unbelievably encouraging, especially because I don't seem to get that same attention from any one of my extended family members. Not to mention the fact that he's always been the enlightened, exceedingly humorous one that seems to mesh well with my own temperament. Yet, we hardly ever speak, let alone see one another.
But he cares. And for me, that's enormous enough.
More updates to come, none (hopefully) as sentimental.

I LIKE BIG ROCKS, AND I CANNOT LIE.

Stupid Kelley decides to climb a stupid mountain without eating any stupid food and dressed in really stupid apparel.

DUST IN THE WIND. WOOSH.

Call it disrespectful, but the California coast kicks every other God-forsaken shoreline to the curb.
Today was the "Illegal Scattering Of Something Ashen" part of our SanFran vacation, and the eight hour trip was delightful in one of the most baffling of senses.
I'm struggling with the joy that select members of The Smith Family bring to any event, coinciding directly with the innate hell they supply almost simultaneously.
It's relatively lovely, I assure you.
[Editor's Note: They're so freaking adorable when there's alcohol involved.]
I don't know how often posting will come at this point, but I can assure you that there is much more fun to be had by folks that resemble the twenty of us.
And we are here solely to ruin their fun.

RICE-A-RONI MEETS ITS DOOM ONCE AND FOR ALL.

I head out tumultuously early for my flight this afternoon (Please, please try not to make any sense of that...), and the trek through Washington, D.C. and onto San Francisco should be a slight breeze.
The trip might not suck either, or so it is rumored.
[Editor's Note: Could there be a James Barbour meeting in Kelley's future? It's like a Tootsie Roll Pop: The world may never know...]
I'll be AudioBlogging-in occasionally (as SanFran is the Blogger World Domination Headquarters-Or-So-I-Think), not to mention ragging on any poor souls I happen to find along the way that do not meet up to Kelley Aquamarine Book Standards.
God, I love being a wiseass again.

MUMBLE, MUMBLE.

I'm tired, and it just-so-happens to be bedtime.
Any questions?

SURGERY SUCKS. DRUGS ROCK.

With an undelivered Pre-Op AudioBlogger post, my inability to get through on the line for the past two evenings, and the overall Post-Op drug mentality, I’ve been rather non-communicative with the rest of the universe. Not by choice, of course, but by circumstance and vicodin.
Honestly, I’m not complaining.
I’m having a little bit of difficulty focusing enough to finish typing, but I am certainly feeling--
That, right there, would be an example of how zoned out I happen to be. I am so very zoned out. Zoned out equals Kelley.
Surgery went well, everything went as planned, and I have everything to owe to an amazing surgical team and doctor. And Kobe’s White Sauce.
What can I say? I am zoned.

TONY, TONY, TONY.

Blair, that is.
(We're done with "Perry Season.")
There is absolutely nothing more magnificent than an hour of "Prime Minister's Questions" on C-Span. Nothing.
Try some.

GET FUZZY. OR ELSE.

"You tell that filthy weasel I'm gonna to break him like a wedding vow on The Jerry Springer Show!"
-Bucky Katt

BOXING, IN THE MOST LITERAL OF SENSES.

I'm tearing through our nearly-empty Maitland home with the utmost precision and accuracy, sweeping up boxes, donations, cell phones, and any other unfortunate human by-products that happen to be wrapped into my Whirlwind Of Packing Mayhem.
Hmm. Mayhem? Mayhew?
Same basic principle.
It will be hours (Light years, perhaps?) until we see the conclusion of said mayhem, or even a floor-like surface, but I will continue on with the valiant nature that so fits my--
Oh, whatever. That's all crap. I'm a gangster.
"Dawg."

TONY AWARDS 2005- A LOOK BACK.

-I had an entire two minutes of rapture as soon as The Great William Crystal rose up from the stage, supposedly assuming the role of host. When he played his Frogs cell phone gag, I heard (distinctly) Nathan sneer in sheer disgust. When Hugh Jackman answered on the other end, I realized that God was cruel, vicious, and only toying with my petty emotions.
-Nathan's little "buzz-cut" is annoying and disarmingly attractive, all at the same time. No, maybe that's still just Nathan. Hmm.
-None of the performances were "top-notch," excluding from that list the enchanting Light In The Piazza, 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (as if that show could pull off anything but pure genius), and even Lithgow and Butz's adorable off-stage chemistry that was only defeated by Dirty Rotten Scoundrels' atrociously ordinary libretto. Oh, and of course, La Cage looked as stunning as it always has. Thank you, Jerry Mitchell.
-I found Sara Ramirez rather ho-hum in her acceptance speech, but was absolutely amazed that she managed to pull through "Find Your Grail" despite her nearly debilitating illness at the time of performance (Over-exaggeration, you say? Have you ever tried to be a gorgeous, belting, bonafide Broadway Diva, Comic Actress, AND Tony Winner In Her Debut Tony Awards Ceremony Performance, not to mention ill? No. She wins serious Scene Points.).
-Most Poised Acceptance Speech Of The Evening: No contest: Doug Hughes (who, after seeing him at fifteen-billion ceremonies, I am beginning to fall head-over-heels in love with). Just take a look:
"Thank you. I've done a very great honor by this award, none greater than to have my name spoken in the same sentence of those masters: Joe Mantello, John Crowley and Scott Ellis. I'd like to thank my beautiful wife, Lynn, for the boundless supply of love, patience and belief she's lavished on her director/husband. I'd love to thank you, my mother and father, great actors, great parents. I know it must seem like a wild act of Oedipal revenge for the son of two actors to become a director, but I assure you that's not the case. What happened with Doubt is very, very simple. John Patrick Shanley wrote a play for our time and I was given the opportunity to work on it everyday in the company of geniuses. So if you will indulge me, I would like to live a fantasy and simply say, I love working in the world of the theater. Safe and dangerous, small and infinite, I am overjoyed to have a place in it. Thank you so very, very much."
(Believe me, it sounded much better live.)
IN CONCLUSION
-Hugh Jackman needs to get a life- one that does not involve hosting the Tony Awards. And, hopefully, the Wing has finally begun to understand that. As a performer, he's thoroughly enjoyable. But that stops very rapidly when he starts ruining classic showtunes. I love Hugh, but in the sense that he's just a little too gay to be a straight man. He played The Peter Allen, for Christ's sake.
Any questions?

HUH.

"When someone says, 'I Love You,' all it means is that you're a failure, but they have to put up with you anyway."

-Unknown

SHOWTUNE UPDATE: PART ONE.

The good graces that see fit to grant me monetary rewards as a result of high school graduation have allowed me to bring this little segment out for viewing purposes.
And so it goes...

Monty Python's Spamalot

Whereas the music is revoltingly begging to be adored, I have to say that I've grown fond of the brainless melodies and the captivating parody (Everyone says to look out for "The Song That Goes Like This" and "You Won't Succeed On Broadway," and they do so in the most rightful of manners.)
Sara Ramirez is vocally AND comically gorgeous (Both "Find Your Grail" and "Diva's Lament" showcase her powerhouse vocals and some of the nicer pieces of the score), as is (Who knew?!) David Hyde Pierce in his brief shining moments.
Hank Azaria: Are you even in this show? Despite his two-and-a-half minutes of appearance on the album, I'm sure that Azaria's Lancelot makes up in physicality whatever it lacks vocally (At least, I certainly hope it does. I shudder to think...).
Tim Curry is met with a score far below his range, which is sad for someone with so much talent and legend behind him. The loveably-quirky Christian Borle makes some very nice turns in his multiple onstage duties, despite the overly-campy "His Name Is Lancelot," which Borle still handles with grace and energetic ferocity. And after hearing his falsetto in the show's finale, I finally understand why he's Sutton Foster's boy-toy.
The strongest features of the album include the integration and re-affirmation of decades of old Python musical material. Most of it is well executed and abundantly scored for the Broadway stage. The attempt to tie in Broadway's own over-indulgent nature is a fitting choice for the low-brow Python humor, and it comes across relatively nicely on the album itself.
I am almost positive that the show stands fully alone by itself in performance. It appears to be a production where the visual antics can be imagined by sound alone, but would prove to be nothing in comparison to what Mike Nichols and his creative team have staged. It simply has to be seen, especially when we miss out on witnessing The Black Knight and The Knights Who Say "Ni" on the cast recording.
(Oh, well. I just have to wait until November when Azaria returns to the show after his June 6th leave of absence. We wouldn't want to miss another Birdcage-worthy homosexual performance from Hank, now, would we?)
This is certainly a must-have album for the musical theatre geek, the secret, "Lumberjack"-adoring Python fan, or simply those who can genuinely appreciate the value and divine nature of a Forbidden Broadway-esque bashing.
I know I can.

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT: ON ITS WAY.

Done.
Over.
Finished.
Final.
Ended.
Stopped.
A mere sprinkling of my high-school life as it is at this moment.

YOU NEVER CALL, BABY, WHEN YOU SAY YOU WILL...

It's hardly late enough to deem myself 'exhausted,' but I may decide to do so anyway.
The eternal summer of graduation has hardly begun to sink in, and, dare I say it, I wish to find my way back into the hallways of ritualized servitude.
Oh, to be a geek.
Sunday allowed for a sleek visit to the Enzian, one of my most favored cinema locations. And, I must say, Enron: The Smartest Guys In The Room lacked in the emotional dynamite its reviews ensured me of, yet was thrilling nonetheless. In total and complete honesty, the Lou Pai sequence with gratuitous stripper footage was only rivaled by Jeff Skilling's retort to a Harvard professor inquiring if he was "smart":
"I'm f---ing smart."
Sheer brilliance.

AN ARGUMENT IN FAVOR OF PARENTS.

Mine, in particular.
A laptop for college (and general misbehaving) was my gift to end all gifts, on top of the promise of a new coat of paint and a de-accident-ification of my darling little automobile.
Life is beyond amazing.
Further impressive is my newfangled ability to "borrow" internet access via the pre-installed WiFi card deep within my darling little cadeau.
Which I happen to be doing right at this second...

C'EST FINI.

It is astoundingly nice to be done with high school.
Completed.
Finished.
Grad-u-at-ed.
I managed to crawl into the house somewhere around 6:10 AM, slept for a few meager hours, and am now celebrating my first--genuinely--free day as a human being/adult/college-bound graduate.
It feels kind of nice.
And I am so bloody exhausted.

JUST A REMINDER...

...Call time for the Gala is 4:30 PM for all of my Lyman kiddies.
Here's to no sleep and prom attire!

OH, EM, GEE.

I literally just walked in the door after the 12:00 AM showing of "Star Wars: Episode III."
It was fan-diggity-tastic, if I do say so.
And I do.
It totally made up for the last two crappy episodes I was forced to sit through. Seriously.
I still adore Yoda, Ewan, and (what the hey) Frank Oz for continuing to voice Yoda.
That's about it, but trust me: It's worth forking over cash to watch.

"EXCEEDINGLY BORING," SAYS GOD.

I made the mistake of asking how my life was going.
Stupid Kelley.
My day is perfectly wasteful as far as content goes- needless attendance in classes I am completely finished in. A joyful thought? Indeed. But one that makes me wish I was at home in a down comforter.
Ahh...

IN OTHER NEWS...

I like to consider (to at least some degree) that I stand separate from my own existence: you know, the foolish notion that I have a fate only so far as that I can control said fate and dictate its movement (incessantly negating even the notion of fate by my obvious fault in logic).
I suppose I'll never let go of that nagging resolution, and rightfully so. But, in some deep-rooted portion of my mentality, I acknowledge that there is certainly something dictating the way I live; not dictating, however, so much as allowing me to move in the directions I choose, as long as I follow the general course of action required to get me wherever it is I need to go.
As a theatrically-oriented person, it makes all the more sense: we stand as actors, taking cues and directions from The Great Script Of Life, which requires that we go through proverbial piles of crap to get to the denouement. And, ultimately, we should be better off for it.
If we're not, my theory is completely and entirely wrong, and I should not be allowed my own Blogging capability.
That being said, I sit to ponder where it is my life will end up in the next few years. School is one rather obvious direction, but mentally and physically, I'm beginning to question whether or not my past experiences will provide me with any tangible guidepath to begin upon, or whether or not I'll have to begin my own quests over again.
Quests?
What quests?
I feel as though I'm the most boring human being on the planet. And I probably am.
As Oscar Wilde has forced me to say before, "my first impressions of people are invariably right."

PUTTING THE WORDS IN MY MOUTH.

Five monologues to be recalled and recited at the whim of Mrs. Backel.
Freaking halarious.
And nearly impossible.
But I shall try...

WHILE YOU WERE REVEALING...

Bill Pullman in NBC's "Revelations" = Seriously Hot Old Man Factor.

I AM THE MASTER BUBBLER.

At this moment in time, my life feels like nothing more than an Exam: the ten-minute breaks wedged between one-hundred multiple choice questions and four essays with six sections apiece.
Thank God, they give us a granola bar.
I'll feel blessed as soon as this drastically tiring week has passed, but even moreso once I have the energy to wake myself back up and enjoy it.
Two more weeks.
Not enough time, if you ask me.