03/09/2004 - 2:25 a.m. | even my titles are getting verbose

Apparently, I have punk cred right on sight now. This has always been my dream. In labpsych today, my partner out of nowhere gave me (and only me) a flyer for her band's concert this Friday night. Nobody else is even close to punk as me, man! Not even Ugly Owen Wilson. Woooo - I win! I might actually go, too. I mean, their name's good. Shakin' Babies. Guess what I learned about in painful detail again today? THE EYES. No, I am so serious. I think it should work like this: I myself will give one lecture on the structure and function of the eyes, and this will prove that I never need to learn of it again. And then some rat handling and brain prodding. It's amazing the things I just do without even noticing. Yeah, I'll haul some big fuckin' rats around. That's just fine. On the way home, I sang a song about nearly being hit by a bus to the tune of "Camptown Races." Then I spotted the trolls in their Nissan AND beat them home. Score one for us winners.

I very, very slowly beat a path through studying for the evening's abpsych test, but I have way too much faith in myself. Kay was like, "Do you want to compare notes?" And I was like, "Notes?" Perhaps she meant the mildly retarded Powerpoint slides the TA puts up, and I sort of saunter through. Funny how things get just a little too good. I flew through the test in under half an hour, for I know the secret of psych tests now. Not one person knows how to write them very well, so they start making you think and second-guess and all that bullshit. Instead, I just fly through it as though I know precisely what I am doing. A positive attitude can never hurt. Unless you learn you were wrong later and then become severely depressed.

I like how those envelopes the USPS use to send t-shirts or whatever feel. Sort of soft. Also, the next time around, I would like to get blue enhancing toric lenses. I want them to be striking but not fake-looking. Kyle brought me a shamrock shake that he found he did not particularly enjoy. That brings me up to 3. This should last me until next year, I would think. Meanwhile, I'll just stick my pubes in this one. I tried very hard to clean up my room (even though I have a significantly more difficult test on Wednesday that I should be reading for) and instead started sticking 43's boxes together. And broke my lamp. Pop art, motherfucker. The lamp sort of works, but I have to hold the light part onto the base part, and when the sparks fly, it scares me a little. But, I shall be revamping, I think, so I'm gonna need to know everyone's favorite Avril poster, so I know what to narrow it down to. You won't respond, though, will you, shitdick? Naw. I am always feeling so, so tired.

I certainly meant to do some stuff, but I got sucked into a couple movies instead. The first was actually pretty good. It's this Japanese movie called Battle Royale about how the government of a nation in turmoil forces this class of 42 kids onto this island where they have to kill each other until there is only one survivor. And each one is given a different weapon, like grenades and a potlid and whatever. I dunno - there is something very appealing about watching these cute schoolgirls in their little outfits take each other out in various ridiculous ways. So strange that it's good. The at-times bizarre translations didn't hurt either. The sequel is supposed to be pretty good, too, so I hope we can watch that soon. We also watched Street Fighter: The Movie, which sucked a tremendous amount of balls but in the nearly-tolerable, funny sort of way. I mean, I don't think you could even like it if you liked the game, because it was nothing like that either. The movies main assets were (and don't this sound trite?) Kylie Minogue and Ming-Wa. Aren't I such a dude? Mmm-hmm. I have decided that my superceding project from now on will be production of an underground, "official" Street Fighter movie, written and directed by me, starring whoever the hell I can get. It will based off the wealth of information found in the instruction book as well as this cretin who wrote about the endings to the game: "A helicopter comes down, and the President came to meet him. They do the Russian polka." OR: "Sits down and eats salad." Should be Oscar worthy. The way Gladiator was, I mean.

Speaking of which, someone sent me an e-mail about my Osca replica: "OMG!!!! I have been searching my whole life for a ultra realistic oscar statue. Just last Sunday I was watching the oscars and was dreaming of someday how I could hold one of those statues in my hands...And now after seeing this wonderful artwork...my dreams could come true.. :) I just cant imagine how long it must have taken you to design this wonderful item out of paper and pipecleaners. And the winner is not Sean Penn ...ITS ME!!!!!! Up on the center of my mantel will this peice be displayed.." A good sign is that I can't tell if they are being sarcastic.