Sunday, May 30, 2004

Nintendo president Satoru Iwata has made some pretty silly statements lately, what with "Nintendo’s next system won’t be all THAT powerful" and "We like to make games that you can pick up and play." (Not actual quotes, but close.) But, as he stares down the world’s biggest corporate giants, I think he’s right on the money.

Sony is the first name in entertainment. They’re calling their next system, the Game Boy competitor PlayStation Portable, the "Walkman of the future," and they mean it. If there’s anybody that can convince you that this next product is something you absolutely need to have in your pocket to survive the twenty-first century, it’s Sony.

Microsoft is the first name in software. Everybody knows that Windows is terrible, unreliable, and bloated, and that Word contains the viral paper-clip that must melt on a hot grill, slowly and painfully, until there’s nothing left of him but a pair of eyeballs and a thin, freeform saucer, but everyone uses them anyway. In order to buy a computer these days, you have to buy Windows. Microsoft loses money on every one of its subsidiaries but Windows, and they can afford to dump endless amounts of cash into establishing a brand name. If there’s anybody who can take a piece of hardware and pull it through the long haul, it’s Microsoft.

So what is Nintendo to do? They can’t try and make the latest and greatest cinematic movie game with lots of migs and megs and memories or they’ll get their asses kicked by Sony. They can’t try to make the most powerful system in the world with 100,000 horsepower and a heart of gold, or they’ll get their asses kicked by Microsoft. They have two strengths to utilize: their franchises, and their knowledge of gameplay.

Stay tuned for part two, in which Leticia has her chemistry homework done and can afford to write these musings.
I watched the worst movie in the history in the universe. So bad I will not even mention it by name, except that it starts with a T and ends in a Fifth Element. Ummm... I am going to have nightmares in which I am heroically bedded by Bruce Willis EVERY DAMN NIGHT in the midst of explosions and world-saving.

You know, this is an old rant, but I'm REALLY, REALLY SICK of the action-hero woman, NO MATTER HOW POWERFUL OR ASS-KICKINLY AWESOME SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN, becomes POWERLESS whenever it becomes the Hero's job to Make Her Feel Love. As soon as she is threatened by the villian, her job as a warrior ends, and her job as a woman begins: be passive and take the missionary position while the man does the real work. I could barf.

So, this, in particular, is why I want to see my Lesbian Prostitute Takes Over The World Movie, ONLY for the sweet revenge. She will be soulless and evil and kill every man in sight and then turn the human race back into cute little monkeys and rule over them as their lord and savior. She will wear poofy baby blue and carry a whip.

(sigh) Oh, but you KNOW she would get lonely at the top. Yeah, sure, I'd let her decide she needs a man, but then she just (Leticia's horrible fantasies deleted) and then licks her lips and burps.

...So, I am going to be scrubbing my brain for the next few days. The problem with movies that pile on the visual appeal and lack substance (AI, Looney Tunes) is that they get STUCK IN MY BRAIN for half a week as I try to figure out if ANY of that has ANY redeeming value. Of course it doesn't, I was just giving my subconscious the benefit of the doubt. It's more like the flashier bits of the movie flash before my eyes and I say "oooh, pretty" before the bus driver waves his hand in my face and says, "ma'am?" "Ma'am?"

For the record, boys, my dream boy is NOT Bruce Willis. My dream boy is in fact Bruce Willis run through a meat grinder (KIDDING! That would be my, um, mistress, but male. My mister. That's it. Come here, mister.). No, no, no. EVERY boy has the image of the Perfect Boyfriend locked inside themselves, somewhere, and he would in fact have broad shoulders and poofy hair and he would thump his hands on the table a lot and he could (more fantasies deleted) but most importantly, he knows exactly when to hold me and stroke my hair and tells me that everything's okay, but he ALSO knows when I'm in The Mood (the OTHER mood) and need him to go off to his room to play Super Ultra Fighters DX P20 for the next five hours. Some girls need some fucking SPACE, you know?


(whooo... phaaaa... whooo... phaaaa...)

More importantly, though, the Iraq war has made me really contemplative about how depraved humans really are, and suffice to say if Hollywood movies are really our power fantasies than we are 100% fucked. Doomed. We're ALL going to hell in a Mercedes and nobody cares about the bikers we're going to run over to do it. Oh, and we'll kill some aliens, just for good measure.

...Yeah, that's what the ideal man does. The ideal man kills aliens and runs from cops and says clever catchphrases. The ideal woman knows kung-fu and oral sex, in that order.

I am going to knit and read Gloria Stienem while listening to Ani Difraco now, thank you very much.


(No, I don't like Ani Difranco much at all. Slam poetry feels like Chinese water torture to me, but that's another rant.)

Friday, May 28, 2004

"It’s been raining a lot and the topsoil is loose."

Y’see, Bush fell off his bike while riding around by his ranch in Texas, and now, lo and behold, he STILL has government apologists denying he did anything wrong. "You know this president. He likes to go all-out. Suffice it to say he wasn't whistling show tunes," said White House spokesman Trent Duffy. (That’s right! Commander-in-chief! Awwr wrraawwwrr!...)

Now, everybody falls off their bike once in a while. It’s part of the game. I just find it amusing how, for absolutely every occasion, Bush is sure to "prove" that he never, ever did anything wrong. Ever.

(It also needs to be said that "it’s been raining a lot" is the most ridiculous lie the Bushmen ever told. Why would you lie about the weather? Take it like a man!)

Next up:

BUSH FORGETS TO PICK UP LAUNDRY: "Someone left the radio on loud and it was his favorite song."

BUSH FORGETS TO TURN IN HOMEWORK: "The dog was very hungry and the homework was bacon-flavored."

BUSH DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT THERE $1 TRILLION: "Well, anybody could lose a trillion dollars! It’s not like the President of the United States should keep a lid on these deficit things or nothin’..."


Thursday, May 27, 2004

There’s a girl in my science class who, out of the blue, asked me who I was. This might not seem so strange to you foreigners, who understand the concept of politeness and hospitality to a fault, but here in America, we have a different way of doing this.

A Quick Guide for Foreigners by Leticia McKenzie

1. Your neighbors are spying on you. Do not approach them.
2. You must park your car within at least half a foot of where you are walking.
3. Do not, under any circumstances, say "excuse me."

So I was pretty surprised when this soft-spoken lady decided to breach the American Rules and ask me not only my name, but who I was. I, Leticia McKenzie, besides being a bi-pedal carbon-based life form (I hope) (Scratch that, I hope I’m an alien, I don’t want the humans’ blood on my hands), am here because of XYZ circumstances, am taking XYZ classes, and want to grow up to be XYZ (actual things changed to protect the hopefully innocent, like me). I told her about my school, about what I liked about this school, and what I was drawing, and why I liked drawing that, and golly-gee look-at-the-time-I’ve-been-bearing-my-soul-to-a-complete-stranger-for-a-full-five-minutes-so-I-better-get-out-of-here-and-stick-a-few-more-flag-lapels-on-my-BMW-to-make-sure-I’m-American...

But no, she blessed me warmly with her presence, and I was confident that I had bared my soul to somebody who wouldn’t, you know, sell pictures of my bare soul over the Internet. However, my perspective for her changed for the.... you decide (we distort!) when THIS happened:

Well there was a boy asking about science blah blibbity blah blah ANYWAY the scene climaxed when his obnoxious girlfriend (of which there are many at this college) told the Soft-Spoken Lady That Leticia Wants To Turn Into A Popsicle And Rest Her On Her Tongue Forever And Ever, "don’t worry, he just doesn’t want to be spanked." To which the SSLTLWTTIAPARHOHTFAF replied, under her breath, wait for it, here we go: "I’ll have to use my hand; I forgot my belt."

"I forgot my belt."

"I-I-I ffforgot my belt, belt-belt." (techno-scratching)

Do you know what this MEANS? If not, I will fill you in. She is somebody who goes around stealing people’s souls with her soft-spoken nature and enticing smile. She then takes the souls back to her apartment and makes fruit smoothies out of them. I have proof.



(Anybody who said she is not harboring souls down in her apartment is a LIAR! Don’t you understand?! The coalition must act NOW! We’ll be out of her apartment in six months, tops!)
(Think of the children!)
(And MY soul which is about to be--ACK!)
Slurp.... mmmmmm....
I have sensitive skin, so lately there’s been a rash on each of my feet around where my toes are, simply from wearing my socks and shoes too much. (This may come as something of a shock, but I’m very self-conscious at home, compared to my immodesty and self-ignorance when I’m anywhere else.) So, after I’ve taken them off, it’s very, very difficult to resist the urge to scratch between my toes with my fingernails. This is the most beauitful feeling in the world for about five seconds, at which point the scorching pain sets in for another twelve hours. Oh well, it was worth it.

Actually, it rarely is, so the other day, on a whim, I put my foot under steaming hot water and it... was... gorgeous. Beautiful. The end of the world was at hand. I felt like I was going to evaporate. Poof! I could not see, I could not think, I was just immersed in this world of my foot and hot water. I felt like I would cry.

Actually, I almost did, because it hurt so bad I turned it off after about three seconds. And then... the itching went away.

Excellent. I might just try boiling my whole body in a giant pot of water, with carrots and spices and a burly cook with a shaved head to keep me company. Trust me. It’ll work.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004

So I was sitting here, trying to get myself to write, when (most unfortunately) I remembered when an old political science teacher of mine a while back showed the class slides of deformed babies in Vietnam. Being the thin-skinned, weak-stomached person I am, this has been a repressed memory for a while. It was a graphic picture of (WARNING: graphic description, highlight to view) a baby with a ceond head coming out of its crotch. I couldn't even imagine how that could happen (of course, when you're born, one minute difference in your DNA can really fuck you up), and then what you would need to fix it... dear god, could a baby TALK with that mouth? What would happen when he grew up? How could a body divide its systems between two seperate heads? How could you grow up? Would your second head atrophy? Or perhaps you would just die painfully at two years old because no person in the world can possibly grow up that way?

So I wrote this. As I say in it, this does not just bother me because I have a weak stomach, or a strong conscience, this bothers me because I am a human being and I have a line drawn between "collateral damage" and cruelty. Read.


How could anybody in the world be so cruel? I would hope that, in this day and age, everybody can agree on one thing, and that is that baby deformations are bad, that people going hungry is bad, that preventable deaths are bad, and that the world’s richest nation has a moral obligation to do something about it.

I would also hope that, in this day and age, humans could cognate the fact that food is cheaper than bombs, and as much as you want to argue that bombs can potentially save lives, food could save a lot more lives at no cost. It is the United States military’s obligation to protect the American people, but not to go around trying to fix other people’s problems with guns; that can only make things worse. Civil war should not be a surprising outcome of the Iraq invasion.

Rather, we knew all along that Saddam was a brutal dictator, that his interrogators raped and tortured suspects, that he gassed legions of Kurds out of his political reason, and it took no distortion of the facts to say this. We did not need to justify invading Iraq with phony stories of weapons of mass destruction. If Bush had said from the outset that this was a humanitarian intervention, I might be more willing to support him.

What he would need to back his war up, though, is a reason why replacing him will get us any farther than where we started. No matter how evil Saddam is, there are a thousand people in line to take his place. Did we have a plan to rebuild Iraq, give it a functioning economy, and establish democracy (as was the goal of this war according to the conservative pundits)? Either no, or not a good enough one to work. Instead, we have sold Iraq’s public assets to American companies and given the Iraqis a hand-picked US-friendly government with troops gunning down civilians with impunity. Criminal justice allows for no due process or even a guarantee that you won’t be murdered. As soon as the Iraqis find a spiritual leader in al-Sadr, America promises to capture or kill him. We have established no middle ground.

So this shouldn't just bother me, the Bleedin’ Heart Liberal, and my hippie friends out in Poseidontown who wear tie-dye and are allergic to deoderant. This should bother everybody with a conscience. It should also bother everybody with a conscience that war is destroying the environment, that depleted uranium litters every battlefield it is used in and causes birth defects for generations, that the United States has military installations in 140 of the world’s 180 nation-states and, as the Iraq war has shown, acts without any consideration for the world’s peacekeeping bodies. If the United States is the world’s policeman, it is one crooked cop, with us, the civilians, paying the price.

I do not doubt Saddam Hussein deserved to be captured. I am very glad that he is in US custody, and as Bush eloquently (serious) put it, “is about to face the justice he denied millions.” Let that be the standard the US sets. No more “at least we’re not as bad as al-Qaeda” apologizing. We need to be, as Gandhi might put it, the change we want to see in the world. We need to be the preeminent force of peacemaking and democracy on planet Earth. We are Americans, and it is not only our birthright to lead the world, it is our responsibility.


(And by lead I mean, by example.)
I had a dream I was so sleepy while at school that my backpack got stolen.

Then my alarm went off, much too early, and I'm very sleepy...

Should I go to school, or not?

Tuesday, May 25, 2004

After reading this post at Kitten Blue, I felt motivated enough to comment:

Today I bought my first thong. It's another milestone for me, I've always been a avid lover of big pants, but there's always been something very naughty about thongs to me, and the fact you need confidence (and a half-decent butt) to wear one says a lot. Well, finally, I feel good enough about my butt to wear one. Go me.

Girls, boys are the most easily amused creatures on Earth. They DO NOT GIVE A FLYING FUCK whether or not one boob is bigger than the other or if your butt cheeks do not meet ISO 9000 standards. There are the horniest creatures God ever made, and it's a wonder that they don't go for lamp-posts if you put them in tank-tops. It doesn't sound like it's true, but it is: a winning personality is what keeps a boy coming back for more, and sex-wise, being confident in your body matters a lot more than what your body actually looks like. Boys think EVERY female-looking body is the most beautiful thing in the world. I could fluff some bread-dough and pour flour on it, and then give it frosting for lips and stick a bikini on it (as well as some dime-store googly eyes) and set it out in the street and pretty soon, there will be a horde of Boy-os Sapiens asking for her phone number. It's that simple.

It's not your body, it's your confidence in your body.

(Trust me. Leticia knows EVERYTHING about boys.)


(This fluffy bread-dough woman will have to be dumped in the Three-Eyed Fish River so that she may mutate into a fifty-foot tall monster and start smashing the city and eating all the horny boys, because I find the irony of men being eaten by bread dough amusing. Then she must suck all the life-force out of them and hand it to me in little glowing orbs, so that I may regain my succubus energy---SHIT! I let a secret slip. You did not hear that. Ignore that. And leave your doors unlocked at night, so that I may--MMFFFFFF)

(Suzy: Sorry. Technical difficulties.)

(Test signal. EEEEEEEEEEEEE)
Reader Saltation suggests another possible US name for Harvest Moon for Girls: "Harvest Moon: The Lunar Cycle."

Some videogame intellectuals are pondering the viability (which I hope is nil) of videogames offered on a level-by-level basis, to be released, say, once a month. With a system requiring you to pay more to buy a whole game, this will benefit both the company and the company. That said, I want to become an advertising consultant for some maker of super-gory videogames so that I can trick them into running an ad with some evil demon with an axe staring the viewer down, with the caption: "Once a month... the blood will run."

Come ON! I'd PAY to see the look on the (male) executives' faces when they've realized they've been had. Sure, sure, Andy Sully will write articles about how Leticia McKenzie recieved favoritism based on gender, and that this is a case study on gender-based affirmative action in the workplace, and women can't be trusted to handle videogames... but I'll have had my moment, and that will make it all worth it.

Okay! Now on to something serious. How did everybody else react to the brave fifteen-year-old on TERA (who, I hope, is reading this now, so that I do not have to feel guilty about talking "behind her back")? It gave me a flurry of mixed emotions and showed up in my dreams. This is not only somebody who has bested me at my own game, but somebody who is two years younger than me, and prettier. So... I don't know what to do. I KNOW I have friends who feel the same way I do, but I can't exactly bring it up in conversation (so.. how about that nakedness?). Whatever, I will deal. Trust me. It will all work out. Somebody one of us will slip and say, "would you like some cream with your toplessness?" and we will laugh and cry and talk about when we were five years old and when we slipped out of the house buck naked to see somebody.

Okay, speaking of awkward, girly stories, I have invited two friends of mine to an authentic Girly Sleepover. I am HOPING, with this particular configuration of people, that we can talk long into the night, and, you know, BOND. I love to bond. I am a certified Bonding Machine. I am going to die if I cannot bare my soul just ONCE in this whole, pathetic semester. Do you know how it FEELS to go to a community college where you interact mostly with the coffee shop baristas and spaced-out professors who wish they could have landed a job at Poseidontown U?

No, I'm just ranting. And no, do not worry about me. I worry about myself enough as it is. Toodles.


(Okay, now you've got me talking, and by you I mean me. When I started to ask her if she wanted to come over, I stammered up a storm and she had to smile and say "Spit it out!" for me to recall the concept of the English language, and you know, I before E and all that. I asked her, and she wondered if, you know... THE OTHER GIRL that I asked to come over is all right. You see, she fell in with the wrong crowd... and, lo and behold, does drugs. She also skips school and got expelled. It probably doesn't help that she has crazy parents who tell her that it is sinful for her to be gay [how'd you guess...]... so I do try to be that one, grounding influence in her life, especially because she is really sweet to me and that gives me an in. But really... I want to find out who she is underneath all that crap, because I know she's a really great person, it's just hard for me not to explode in anger over the people who gave her that crap in the first place. Okay I'm done now. Bye bye)

Monday, May 24, 2004

Tips for dealing with shy people:

#1. We cannot spit it out. No matter how much you want us to, we cannot speak out of the blue. Prompt us, or make us feel comfortable. Empower us, because we cannot do it ourselves, or else we wouldn’t be shy.

#2. We are survivors. No man, or woman, is an island, but if you have trouble communicating with people you’re not going to make it very far in life. Any shy person who hasn’t killed themselves is doing pretty good. Honor that in your mind (but not outwardly, which brings me to)

#3. Do not romanticize shyness. Oh, it’s terrible not being able to ask somebody to pass the ketchup. No matter how adorable you think it is, it’s a pain in the ass to giggle uncontrollably when you’re trying to get a point across. Not fun.

#4. That said, let us go at our own pace. Invite us to come out of our shells, to speak freely and openly, and to forget about the little voice that constantly tells us that we’re freaks and nobody likes us. However, do not force us into anything, that will only hurt our chances of coming out. Take it slow, and remember (this really gets me hot): “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

#5. We like things. Much as you think there might just be an echo chamber between our ears, there are actually neurons flowing in them thar craniums. Ask us about what goes on in there, even if its just a dumb question like “what music do you like?” because it’s wonderful (for me, anyway) to turn that inner conversation outward and not to have to listen to That Stupid Voice for about five minutes.

#6. Invite us to stuff. Yeah, we act all creepy when we shuffle around and mumble, but there are real people behind that fake shyness act. We are lots of fun when we come out of our shells, trust me.

Finally, #7. Do not judge us. Anyone could be beneath that shell. What it takes is empowerment to go beyond our fear of talking, to anybody, ever. If we do awaken so, do not be afraid of what or who we become, because it was (hopefully) who we were all along.

Today's score:

1 person seen wearing a sweatshirt with zippers going diagonally through it, looking like rips, to show the cleavage and belly (one zipper went across her breasts, but she had it zipped).

1 person sitting behind Leticia in chemistry class, wearing a tube top and a great big frown. I wanted to say "Smile! You're wearing a tube top!" but that is profoundly tactless.

1 cute boy sitting next to Leticia on the bus, mid-20's, listening to music while bobbing his head and drawing giant robots. Awww.

1 forty-year-old woman wearing a "Support the Troops" T-shirt with the collar cut into a V-neck with scissors. Surreal.

(For the record; I support the troops, not the war.)

1 sick Leticia McKenzie, going through tissues like Bush scandals. 1 Leticia wishing she hadn’t posted that thing about masturbation, but oh well, she can’t take it down.

1 half-naked 15-year-old walking down the street and smiling. 1 Leticia McKenzie turning her head and blushing. 1 guardian angel asking if that was inappropriate, given that such a reaction is probably. what she wants to justify her exhibitionism. 1 Leticia McKenzie telling 1 guardian angel that neither are one to talk.

73 individual women passed, all trying to be mostly naked through their clothing; 1 nudist named Leticia being the only woman dressed modestly in all of Poseidontown; 0 middle ground.


I bet there’s a story in this.

Sunday, May 23, 2004

Sorry, folks, yesterday I rediscovered MegaZeux and played with it for nearly the whole day. It's a game design engine that you can do almost anything with... so I made about the first five minutes of what _I_ think is the bestest RPG ever. Too bad it's only five minutes long and so far has no battles. But! I'm working on it. Expect Leticia's Great Big MegaZeux Adventure to take the IGDA awards by storm.

So yeah... I've been lonely this weekend. I hate weekends, they give me too much time to think and to do dumb stuff like play around with MegaZeux all day. Yearning to buy a new game... probably should do some homework instead...

I think too much. I may have told you about this problem, but I do. But today, this weekend, it's like a constant buzzing that I can't get out of my head. It's an extra layer that prevents my brain from doing anything. I expected to get on the computer and write on my blog and expect a latent flood of emotion to come pouring out upon this text box... but no such torrent has come, and so I am going to go and clean my room.

But! Time for a Masturbation Update, just to pay honor to my stock-in-trade. Last night it was VERY pleasant when I was a tall, plump woman with auburn hair in my mid-twenties, baking a cake for my dear husband. Of course, happy fairies came to play in my kitchen and help me cook and tell me how to improve my cake, before one of them gave me a big, magical shove and sent me swirling into the center of my cake batter (...), my eyeballs being the last thing assimilated into the mixture. As it happened, my dearest husband swaggered into the room, pleased to see his wife as a cake for him. He was (wait for it)... Jayne, from Firefly, the aggressive muscle-man guy that gets on everybody's nerves.

The next time I masturbated, I was a popular videogame character who shall remain nameless for her image concerns (but yes, she is human). The nameless, faceless tech employees hustled me naked into a room and took pictures of me for reference, and then laid me face down on a table and whacked at me constantly with a meat tenderizing mallet. I took it with pretty good humor; at least I was getting attention. My body sufficiently bruised and tender, they picked me up and threw me in the Fruit Snack Machine so that I would become tiny and sugary and marketable. The last thing I remember was my big, evil CEO without a face who opened up my bag and admired by tiny, innocent beauty before throwing me in his mouth and chewing on me to savor... every... moment of my rapidly dissolving body.

I hope you enjoyed that. It takes a lot of strength (or stupidity) to write these, so enjoy them while you can.

Thursday, May 20, 2004

TERA has posted something for us teenagers in its Articles section. Way to go, Adelle!

(I would be interested to know how many teenage readers my site has... I hope y'all find my site edifying. I may call myself a woman, but I'm really not that mature...)

...Now that you've all gone and seen her photos and article, I must say it filled me with mixed emotions... if I lived in that kind of community, I would be topless a lot of the time as well. But, you know, I'd have to talk it over with my family (never), I'd have to find a friend who would go with me (never), I'd have to find a place to do it that my family would approve of (never)...

Sad sad sad. At least I can take my clothes off in my room while listening to Jet Set Radio music...

(okay, the REAL reason that picture gave me mixed emotions is because it reminded me of my own affected exhuberance about that age. However, that is MY issue, not hers, so she does not take my blame. She is an inspiration as well as somebody for me to shake my fist at in a jealous rage.)

Oh and yay for Canada. Absolutely yay for Canada. It is cool in so many ways. I have no idea why the U.S. hasn't declared it Canadastan and alleged that it is stockpiling boobies of mass destruction.
While I'm on it, Things That Annoy Me (Or, here are a few of my least favorite things...)

- Any permutation of the phrase, "bling bling."
- People who spit on the sidewalk. Guys, this is NOT sexy. Spitting snot is about the least sexy thing you have EVER invented, next to leaving the toilet seat up and throwing up on my bedsheets.
- While we're on the subject of "bling bling," I hate any glorification of ghetto life perpetuated by rich white record label owners. Not to mention the fact that rappers today seem to rap about how great they are and how they'll shoot you if you mess with them, which seems pretty far both from the "voice of the people" they're supposed to be and from African-American ideals.
- They, of course, no more represent African-Americans than Ken Lay represents white people (although he is a bit eerily familiar), so here I will put any permutation of the phrase "their kind."
- Running into a stray spike and losing all your rings
- Cream The Rabbit, from Sonic Advance 2. Not only is she devoid of an edge or a hang-up in her character, but she is the most broken character in any Sonic game, ever. She's fast, she can fly, she can Spin Attack, she has an invincible 360 degree Chao attack... You want to know (spoliers, highlight to view) how I beat the final boss with her? I stood in one place and pushed B twenty-four times. Not much of a challenge, huh?
- The fact that 90% of American movies really, really suck and are the same formulas repeated over and over, and everybody knows it but nobody wants to admit it
- Anyone who blames videogames for the world's troubles, and does not concordently offer a long-term solution.
- Anyone who says they're not going to vote, because their vote doesn't matter anymore. So, what, you'd LIKE to go back to monarchy? If everybody votes, we can at least put up a fight before Bush takes over the country and renames it "Georgetannia" (all in the interest of fighting terror, of coures).
- Anyone who blames pornography for all of men's troubles, and does not concordently offer a long-term solution.
- Anyone who blames anybody but men for all of men's troubles.
- Anyone who blames anybody but women for all of women's troubles.
- Exceptions are for when women cause men trouble, and VICE VERSA
- That is, everyone should take responsibility
- I'm saying this because there's a new strain of thought that men are only agressive little meanie-heads because that's what Popular Culture raises them to be, and so we need to rework, fundamentally, the way boys are raised to make them, well, more like women. First of all, most men are NOT aggressive little meanie-heads, but when men ARE aggressive little meanie-heads, they need to learn that it's their own damn fault and they cannot blame it on pornography or outside influence (I'm looking at you, Jayson Blair). (No, he didn't mention pornography, but he's an expert on the it's-not-my-fault game.)
- Besides, we don't want men to be more like women; why would they want our mood swings and PMSings and our myriad emotional attachments? Nuh-uh. It takes two genders to run a society, people.
- That said, we should all learn to be a LITTLE bit more like the other sex, because it's good experience to have. This is why women always like sensitive men and men always like strong women. By the way, ladies, that's just ONE of the good reasons to assert yourself when you talk. Let's show the world what we're made of!
- And men, do learn to be nice to the people who provide your sex, 'kay?
- The fact that TV is mostly terrible, and the way it's set up ensures that it will only get worse (Angel... cancelled.. why?)
- The fact that PBS cannot get itself out of its own mating-penguins demographic (PBS's mission needs to be to perpetuate culture that it would help the society to perpetuate; that means creative new TV shows with art to them, and not just those that appeal to old people. I love the fact that we have public broadcasting, but unless it can appeal to a wide variety of people, its mission will be lost, especially to Republican legislators who want its funding cut). Perhaps Arty Cop Shows would be a good place to start, along with Cowboy Bebop.
- The fact that comic book companies are afraid to branch out beyond crime-fighters in spandex... and I love crime-fighters in spandex
- The ads that target lonely people. I know, this is just about every ad, but when you are a lonely person, you start to notice this thing. Just about every ad for lip gloss or shampoo or glass cleaner or toilet paper starts and ends with the concept that it will allow you to feel an emotional or sexual connection to other people more often. Take a look around.
- The fact that we, by and large, are living in a bad science fiction novel, and I am taking steps to prove this. For instance, we have polluted the sky to the point where you cannot see the stars. That's just where I'm starting...
- And, on your way to work, you see one thousand different messages for why you should buy ten thousand things you don't need. Oh, and the fact that we think of a hamburger and fries as a staple meal in America. Then, everybody gets fat and dies, and the Republican (compassionate conservaties!) legislators balk at the idea of introducing a bill to fight obesity, because appearantly, it's the people's own damn fault they got fat and died. There's truth to that, but when every billboard you see says that you should Eat More Shit and Be More Happy there's gotta be a line to be drawn.
- That said, every movie we see DOES seem to say "Kill More Aliens, Subjugate More Women" but a cultural endowment is probably a better way to solve that than by regulating movie plots. Can you imagine submitting your movie scripts to the government for approval?
- ...Or maybe we should just break up the big movie monopolies, so that more people would have access to the means of production. Anything that would result in, let me emphasize, BETTER MOVIES than the crap we get here in America (and, by extension, Earth, since America seems to make the world's popular movies, since we're so damn good at the same running-from-an-explosion sequence thirty billion times over).
- By "the crap we get here in America" I am specifically excluding the big-budget productions here that are actually good (Matrix, Lord of the Rings, etc.). I am talking every Julia Roberts film you ever saw. Think about what would happen if that money went to films that everybody knew wouldn't be piss-poor from day one?
- Or, for that matter, feeding the world, which would take an estimated $300 billion?
- As opposed to fighting a war in Iraq, which has cost us a good $200 billion?
- The fact that I'm very convinced the world is coming to an end. (Of course, student hippie types like me thought that during Vietnam; but I don't think humanity can take a second Vietnam)
- The fact that, when a group gets so big, they lose all sense of conscience. I sit here and wonder how the Bush Administration could be so callous, but I'm not sitting on top of the world, looking down at my underlings as if they were ants. Maybe that change in perspective makes people more willing to be eeeeeevil, besides the fact that Bush has a throng of aides and apologists who will say, on a drop of a hat, that everything the President does is brilliant and moral even if they have to stoop to we're-not-as-bad-as-al-Qaeda levels to do it.
- The Atkins diet. Only in America can we convince ourselves that steaks are actually good and bread is actually bad. (Dr. Atkins died from congestive heart failure some time ago, if you're wondering.)
- Oogh. The fact that I must go do chemistry homework now.
Public service announcement:

As I'm sure you are all aware, the Latin phrase "vice versa" is commonly used in colloquial English. So commonly used, in fact, that people have taken to calling it "vice-a versa," which absolutely makes my ears bleed. So, for the sake of my ears, please don't use a fancy word unless you know how to pronounce it.

(That, and do NOT amalgate two words that mean the same thing. "Guesstimate" is such a word. Whoever coined it needs to be shotblasted.)

(And then beatenhit over the head with a large sticklog.)

Yeah, I'm having a bad day. Oh, and remember to not split infinitives, and if I was a grammarian, I'd say to use the correct subjunctive mood.

(William Safire's "Fumblerules" is a book everybody should read so that they can speak English properly. William Safire is a world-class jerk but he can write about language.)

Wednesday, May 19, 2004

I know I said I probably wouldn't write like this any more, but I really am in the mood where I wish a skinny blonde boy woud break out a hacksaw and slice me into Leticia Snack Cakes to eat in between geometry classes. Just a thought.

LETICIA: "Can I have a hug?"

"...Sure. Thanks for asking."

(long hug, long pause.)

"I'm... I'm sorry I've been kind of a showboat today."

"No, no, it wasn't a problem. I can see it's important to you to, well, you know..."

(long pause)

"Well, goodbye. Nice seeing you."


That was the most pathetic exhange I have ever initiated. Lordy.

(Yeah, I WANTED to spill the beans and say, "No, the only reason I've been talking so much today is not just because I like to hear myself talk, but because I'm so lonely that I take up everybody's time just to make myself feel wanted" but I'm sure she had a class to get to. Or something.)

Anyway, I have to do homework, but I'd much rather pass out on the couch and twiddle my thumbs and think about videogames while staring at the ceiling, but then I'd wake up tomorrow morning and realize that things haven't improved at all. Oh well, that's life...


(I woke up this morning to find that my entire identity is now staked on me eventually buying a copy of Harvest Moon for Girls. One of them. Probably both. Otherwise, how will I enact my farm-girl fantasies? You know, as opposed to the fantasies I had when I lived in Hicksburg where I lived in the city. Grass is always greener...)

(And in case you're wondering why I don't just buy a copy of Harvest Moon proper; my gender identity is not NEARLY secure enough to play a game in which you must choose a bride and be man of the house. Not even close.)
The "next version" of Harvest Moon I was talking about is the Harvest Moon for Girls editions that are supposed to come out this year, but only in Japan so far. Confidential to Nintendo: you have quite a following among girl gamers. If you are to secure a niche, which you absolutely need to do to take on the world's largest corporations (think Apple), putting out a pink GameCube and Harvest Moon for Girls would be a nice start.

(However, Metroid and Zelda have always been good.)

..I wonder if changing the name of Harvest Moon for Girls would help it sell. Like, make it something that only girls would recognize as being for them, and boys would see as simply being the next Harvest Moon. I suggest "Harvest Moon: Time of the Month." What do you think?

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

No, sorry, I was just being cantankerous. I'm gotten three ("a cavalcade," right) such E-mails, and there only because you're concerned about me. Aww. Thanks.

I saw a girl on the bus on the way back from writing class playing Harvest Moon. I asked about it, and she told me it was a wonderful game where you play on a farm and grow cattle and livestock and you get a horse and grow plants and mine and there's a town and you live a life and it's completely non-violent (her words)... I was amazed because the way she talked to me so politely and confidently, she didn't seem like a "gamer girl" (yes, I stereotype I regret), but she loves Harvest Moon because it gives her a chance to build something rather than tear somebody down.

I started thinking about that once, about how most videogames are about tearing people down, even if they aren't particularly violent; why is there no Sonic Builds Schoolhouses in Palestine game? But really, the best-selling computer game of all time is The Sims, replacing previous record-holder Myst, and the best-selling videogame of all time is none other than the original Pokémon. Pokémon has fighting that emphasizes sportsmanship and honor, while Myst is mainly exploration and puzzle-solving and The Sims allows you to raise a family from your Godlike perspective as player. None of them are about crushing your opponent.

When you hear Congressman Oftheweek (D-Making Excuses) talk about the evils of videogames, you'd think that they start and end at Grand Theft Auto. Videogames are playpens for teenagers to act out their most violent fantasies, they say. I'd make a cheap shot by asking about why we're not afraid to send them off to kill and to die in the Middle East at the drop of the hat, but I won't (okay, I will), because instead I'd like to ask why the Harvest Moons of the videogame industry are the ones that consistently sell the best. Does anybody play Pac-Man (the most successful arcade game of all time, huzzah!) because their really want to act out their worst fantasies upon fruity-colored semi-elliptical ghost thingies? Of course not; it provides a fleeting sense of thrill and a compact, succinct intellectual challenge for a quarter. Videogames are merely an extension of the kinds of games humans have been playing for centuries. (Wasn't there an ultra-violent chess game for Super NES that met dismal sales? Allow me to use it to make a point...)

The way Douglas Rushkoff wrote about tabletop RPG's (Dungeons and Dragons, et cetera), it's not so much that teenagers need occult symbolism to lift them past their mundane existence, it's that a game that you make up as you go offers a unique storytelling challenge. Every teenager who plays a Dungeons and Dragons game is adding one more node to a worldwide, organic network of stories and dramas and settings that the real world cannot match. In the realm of the fantastic, anything is possible, and these teenagers have found a way to siphon that creative energy into a tabletop game they can play over a pizza down in the basement. That's GENIUS. (I do, by the way, try to convince Dante that he ought to sharpen his storytelling skills so that he can use them to get into college; he makes up these fascinatingly intricate sagas for his own RPG's, and anybody with that kind of talent needs to be in an Elite Fiction Society ASAP.)

While I'm at it, I'm'a dust off my rake and place a pre-order on the next Harvest Moon. Much fun to be had on the bus with cute girls with better things to do than vanquish the same evil demon for the forty thousandth time.


(Yes, most tabletop RPG's involve vanquishing evil demons, but whatever floats your boat, y'know? There's art and creative potential in even the goriest of videogames; the point is that the game comes first and the gore, second. My point wasn't that violent games are bad, I've been known to take out my frustrations on Dead or Alive, but that videogames, by and large, are not a violent culture. There's room for everybody here, and most importantly, there's room for the creative potential inherent in human spirit.)

(My mom says the meaning of life is to create, for we were created from nothing and must continue on as our Creator would have wished. Hmmm...)
Why am I getting a cavalcade of E-mail about my "sex goddess" comment? I thought you all knew this about me. Oh well, I guess I can't pretend to bare my soul anymore.

Monday, May 17, 2004

Somebody posted one of those pictures right in the center of the city of Poseidontown.

Now, I really need to come clean here. I was mad and said a dumb thing, that "Americans need to be reminded that this is what happens in war." If we are a society that fights wars only out of necessity, than we should conduct those wars in a manner conductive to humanity, which is what the Geneva Convention proposes. We should not fight for glory; we should know that war is detrimental to both sides and needs to be avoided whenever possible.

But more importantly... I avoided seeing any of those photos, because I have a weak stomach and am sensitive to images, but also because I felt that I would become so full of blind rage that I would lose my head (something I have yet to do, and something I hope never happens). Keep in mind that these photos are going to be across al-Qaeda recruiting pamphlets everywhere in the world, as a symbol of the blind hatred that Americans have towards Muslims (not true... but its easy to construe our intentions in Iraq that way).

So now I'm just on the verge of barfing, completely befuddled as to how someone could be so devoid of humanity to do these things. I'm not blaming any particular side; the beheading of an American soldier was more gruesome, if you want to play the we're-not-quite-as-bad-as-al-Qaeda game, but it still makes me wonder where anybody gets the capacity for such cruelty.

So, it's a selfish thing for me to say, but that image will haunt me for the rest of my life, just like the images in Vietnam haunted that generation, and so will every war before we can fially come together and abolish war forever. War is a last resort, people, and if the U.S. government weren't so keen on playing Top Gun in the Middle East then we could establish a worldwide police force and no longer have any need for war. It's too bad when, weith a little organization, we could have everybody in the world, united, with one discourse moving humanity forward onto greater things. Instead, there's something so alluring about calling yourself a war president that you need to slaughter innocents to achieve it.

I have to remind myself that not every human is like this, after all, the photos were leaked by conscentious soldiers disgusted by what they were seeing. I just can't get that image out of my head of the soldier at the back of the photograph, smiling and admiring his handiwork. He looked exactly like Saddam Hussein. We've become the beast we were fighting. Lord knows what can pull us back.

Sunday, May 16, 2004

I'm somebody who likes to run away. That is, I do not want to stop and think about anything.

So, the real reason I've been cleaning my room so furiously in the past few days (I can see the floor--huzzah!) is because I hate weekends. I have too much time to think. So, I work and give myself a little less time.

But now I have to do homework, which requires thought, especially because it requires thinnking about molecular models which are far beyond my comprehension at this point. Phooey.

You know, the most painful thing is, I really tried hard for y'all to see me as a sex goddess, because that's all I ever wanted from life. So when I was told, by numerous readers (thank y'all) that I didn't need to try and please them, that I made them happy just by being me, it made me want to cry because all those embarrassing things I squeezed out of the keyboard and posted for all the world to see JUST TO PROVE THAT I'M REALLY THE SEX GODDESS I SAY I AM were now utterly MEANINGLESS, just a case file on what a dork I am.

So, I want to cry, but I can't yet get all of these things to the forefront of my brain, because I built an identity for the past four years around being a sexpot, an unhealthy identity that I would do well to get away from. So I clean, clean, clean, masturbate, clean, and hope I can forget about it all.


You still love me, right?


(Yes, you have noticed the running theme of me treating my blog readers as one collective boyfriend. I've explained this before: I have no boyfriend, and being the marvelous sex goddess I am [kicks self] I need to have SOME outlet for my sexuality, as I so yearned throughout my teenhood, so I tried to substitute the Internet for one. I am one sad stupid sorry slut. The end.)

(No need to send "no you're not" E-mails. I know I'm not. I just need to say it in order to get it out of my brain.)

(Which is why I have the Internet, right?)

..Okay, a few things to add after thinking it over. The Geneva Convention does outline rules for a war; among them, no taking of hostages, an occupying force must act as caretaker of the occupied country's assets (and not sell them off to war profiteers), and no interrogating detainees beyond getting their name, rank, and station. Of course, the U.S. has ripped the Geneva Convention to shreds during the war in Iraq, and must be held accountable; but my last post made it sound like EVERY war breaks these rules, which they don't.

Saturday, May 15, 2004

From Belle du Jour:

The papers are full of disturbing images, the sort that lead one to think about politics, war, and the politics of war, and how these acts have always happened except we could never see them before. How righteous indignation and backlash sometimes seem products of ignorance, because who could not have guessed this would happen? Did we really need pictures in order to know? Are we truly angry at governments for doing what we knew they would do?

The sad truth is, the whole war was justified as a humanitarian intervention. The people who started this war believed--or told us to believe--that we would be greeted as liberators and the operation would be quick and easy and we would move on to other fronts in the War on Terror. You know and I know that war is terrible and savage, and should thus be a last resort; but many Americans (hey, wait, you hail from Britain, you guys already know all this; have you gotten rid of Blair yet?) still need reminders of what happens when human beings devolve into monsters by their circumstances.

When I look at the Iraqis who say they don't hate Americans, they just need to defend their homeland from those who would occupy it, and then I look at the Americans who say they don't hate Iraqis, they just need to defend themselves from those who would attack them, I have to wonder who started this mess, and the truth is, we did. We all did. In a democracy, we are all soveriegn, we are all leaders, and leaders take the blame.

If we are to go to war, then we need to see, every day, every gruesome detail of what's going on down there, because our elected officials voted for the war and by proxy it is our fault; but if it is a just war, that's all okay, because we know the cost would be worth it. If we cannot stomach what is happening down there, perhaps we should reexamine our priorities.

(and Belle is correct; prisoner abuse is nothing new. If we don't know about it, though, we cannot do anything about it; and this being a democracy, it is our duty to do something about it. Like, for instance, vote. For instance, if you have not registered to vote [and by "register to vote" I assure you I do not mean "vote for Kerry;" vote for Bush if you want, what's important to me is that everyone's voice is heard in this election], you can do so here.)


Vietnam, by the way, had its public support largely brought down by pictures coming back from Vietnam; very specific pictures that are too horrifying to mention here (Vietnam is over, but we _shoulda_ learned our lesson). When Americans saw the coffins of fallen soldiers being shipped back to the US, public support waned; so the Bush administration, ever prepared for battle as usual, banned taking pictures of coffins (even though some beautiful, patriotic coffin pictures slipped under the radar; who'da thunk). When Bush visited Iraq to share a plastic turkey with the soldiers, members of the press were with him in the plane; but officials covered the windows as the plane flew over Iraq. This administration is determined to hide from us the true horrors of what is happening down there.

But if it's a just war, who cares about its horrors? We toppled the government, right? We got Saddam, right?


Remember, as far as war goes, we've won. As far as peace goes, we're getting our asses kicked.

Friday, May 14, 2004

The disadvantage of finally getting around to clean my room is that my room has so much dust that I get mad sniffles, and my mom decided to hide the broom (or something; how can a broom go missing?), so now I'm sick and I have to spend lots of time just lying down in my room, with the sniffles, with all the dust around me, which gives me more sniffles.

Ooogh. C'est la vie.

You may have noticed the war turning ever southward, given that this war was unwinnable from the beginning. What were the victory conditions? Usually, to win a war, you must topple the government and capture or kill the leader; done. Now we're fighting a war to get the people of Iraq to like us, which is just damn silly. What have we done for them, other than seize their assets and sell them to the highest bidder? (Not even the _highest_ bidder, even; thank you Halliburton. Is it just a coincidence that the Vice President gets checks from you?) So as long as we promise to capture or kill every militant dissidant who comes are way, we're quelching the very rebellious spirit that America is founded on. If we do achieve Bush's grand vision of an Iraq cleansed of America-haters, it will be a hollow shell of its former self.

But daaaaaamn, it's got oil. Besides, we need to kick some ass to prove we can. (Y'know, if this war was because Saddam was so evil, why didn't we stop at Saddam? What's the deal with forcibly installing a U.S.-friendly government and then refusing to hold elections? My brain hurts...)

So, this brings me to


Okay! Now, the focus of the Iraq campaign needs to turn from combat to reconstruction. After all, we broke it, we bought it, right? So, we must offer incentives for Iraqis to create firms to handle reconstruction, or have them hired by U.S. firms. Now, these Iraqis will likely be viewed as sell-outs or collaborators to the infidels, so the focus of the troops should be to PROTECT THE IRAQIS from terrorist attacks. Oh, and hold elections already. The least you could do is bring Iraq into the eighteenth century.

What a stable Iraq needs are utilities and an economy; this way, Iraqis will have something to do, and the US troops can be there to protect them, which looks a hell of a lot better for a newspaper photo than the photos we've been seeing recently (allow me to join the "resign, Rumsfeld" choir). Seriously; this has become a political war rather than a military one, and we have to drop the nerves-of-steel act here and now. This war is for the Iraqi people, you said that yourself (by "you" I mean pretty much everybody in the administration, including Bush), and it's time to hand them the reins. (By "them," of course, I mean a sovereign Iraqi government by the people, of the people, and for the people, and not hand-picked U.S.-friendly politicans.)

If it sounds like a risky venture to try and get Iraq on its feet, it is; but we've got no other choice. You want to fight to the last Iraqi? I sure don't.

Oh, and the reason that Rumsfeld should resign is not (as some commentators have put it) so that he may be a sacrifical lamb to the media lynch mob (mixed metaphor, sorry), is because the Red Cross informed him of the prisoner abuse (as well as the startling statistic that 70-90% of the Iraqi detainees are there by mistake; hey, do you think they'll see a day in court?) TWO MONTHS before it hit the media, and somebody that callous and/or incompetent in such a prominent role is not just a windbag, he's a threat to public safety. If Iraq really is the "central front to the war on terror," then such a situation should not be handled lightly. And by "not lightly" I mean "not letting your underlings rape and murder at will."

You know, I hoped that one thing the pro- and anti-war crowds could agree on is that torture is bad. Rape rooms are bad. Saddam was bad. Saddam needed to go. I thought we should have held him at nuclear-weapon-point and forced him to hold elections (we ARE the world's most powerful nation, of course, and it's easy enough to enact change just by shifting our weight around; military blunders like Iraq erode our influence more than they make us look tough), but that's just me. I try not to get mad at the commentators who say "Bush needs to be a strong leader and strong leaders stand by their men" (yeah, but he's the leader of Iraq now too; and a strong leader makes sure that his secretaries aren't endangering the safety of the people or providing fodder for al-Qaeda recruiters) or, "torture is necessary to send a powerful message." By the way, torturing prisoners is going to make us less safe, just like the Iraq war in general has, but this is worse; if you think these images are making our blood curl, think about an Iraqi.

Wouldn't you want to take up arms against a nation that has done that to your brothers and sisters?

So would I.

Rumsfeld must go.


(No, I wouldn't, I'm Quaker; but the thought of it would be awfully enticing.)

Thursday, May 13, 2004

By the way, I finished Cyberia a long time ago... it's a great book, it's all about what we can learn from "bad" kids, and getting into the minds of bad kids is something I really enjoy, especially if I learn something. You can read it online here.

I also finished I Capture the Castle, and it is the bestest book in the whole wide world.

That is all.
(more added to this post)

Well, you all deserve an explanation for why I've been gone. I might elaborate, I might not, but I'm through with sex blogging. At first I thought I could liberate people, and I hope that I have, but now I just feel like I'm being sexually dysfunctional and inviting other people into my sexual dysfunction, which is not a good thing to do at seventeen (or any age). I'm going back to the way it used to be; my sexuality is mine, contained within MY cunt, and nobody has access to it without my permission.

That isn't to say I haven't loved you all or all the responses I've gotten; you are a marvelous bunch. I just can't take the thought of feeling the need to spill my sexual guts all over the Internet twice a day, and that's absolutely what I feel with this blog, so I'm oughta here. Maybe I'll be back, maybe not. Emphasis on the not. This used to be fun.

If you want to E-mail me, you may do so. I may be back to talk about politics or something, but don't count on it. Here are some parting shots:

-- You may have noticed that I erased a portion of a post quite deliberately. The reason it was snipped was not because I disapproved of anything or anybody, but because I wanted to protect this person's privacy, even though I used a pseudonym for them. I just want to set the record straight on that.

--Used Dreamcast: $20-30. Used copy of Jet Grind Radio: $5. No excuse. None.

Bye bye.


After getting an E-mail from Fran, I'll elaborate...

1) I am not selling my Dreamcast. What I meant was that there is no excuse not to BUY a Dreamcast, as well as the bestest game ever made, because they are both piss-cheap. (If you must know, my Dreamcast just broke, so it's not like anybody would buy it even if I did sell it; but you besta believe I put down the money for a new one within days.)

2) He mentioned that he never really got into all my dildo fantasies and whatnot; you don't understand ("you" being anybody this applies to), that's what HURTS the most. The fact that not only do I feel like I have an obligation to turn y'all on, if I FAIL in turning y'all on, I have NO PURPOSE in life. I have FAILED in justifying my existance as a woman. This is immature and will take some cooling off to overcome, but there you go.

3) Yes, I am just blowing off steam. I probably will come back; I'm just having another Leticia Moment. Not blogging has made my brain about to explode in ways I cannot explain. So... just a little cool-down period. If I say I'm gonna leave, then I'll leave, but now, I still need my practice as a writer and some of you still seem to need your daily dose of Leticia. So I'm sure I'll be back soon.

So it makes me kind of sad to write this; I thought I was about to be free from the shackles of blogging. But having a place to write down my thoughts--and people to read them--has made me immesurably more mature, so I probably can't stop, I'll just get sad all the time and return to it and then re-remember how much fun it was (as I am now... [sigh]). So... I love you guys, see you around.


Sunday, May 09, 2004

Big, enourmous, Death Egg-sized apologies to Kathryn Jane, whose blog you should be reading instead of mine.

Dear Sonic The Hedgehog,

You are an exceedingly wonderful hedgehog and I have enjoyed spending time with you. However, it is my understanding that you are a pixelated videogame character, and somehow, I think our relationship can’t last much longer. It is time for the two of us to go our separate ways.

I’m not sure what life brings for us. You are probably going to keep fighting Dr. Eggman, and I’m probably going to keep writing morose letters. But we are both compassionate, brilliant people, and I’m sure we will face all situations with compassion and/or brilliance, whichever is applicable. I do hope that one day you achieve your dreams of toppling his vast empire, as I am sure you hope that I achieve my dream of not being addicted to your games. So, it is with great sadness that I—didn’t I say this already?

You know what, Sonic? You never had any time for me. It was always, “Dr. Eggman this, Dr. Eggman that!” I’m beginning to think you like him more than me. I would be like, “Honey, would you mind going to bed early tonight?” and giggle my bestest girliest giggle, and all you would do is drop your jaw to the floor and then run as fast as you could, as far away as you could. Well then, forget it! We were doomed from the start, you and I. I mean, I’m sure I’ve only been chasing you around all day since I’ve managed to transubstantiate into the videogame world, and you have no idea who I am or why I’m here, but I am going to remain convinced that you are my boyfriend and that we must part ways bitterly, and I will let nobody convince me otherwise because that is the American way!

So go have your Dr. Eggman, creep! You liked him more than me, anyway! You had to fight him and you never wanted to “do battle” with ME. So I’m leaving you. Goodbye. You gone already? Sheesh. You’re like, totally going to stick around. Right?






Leticia readers will be happy to know that I am not, in fact,, the black sheep of the entire school. The popular girls, as it turns out, really like me. I just THOUGHT they hated me, because I'm liable to think everybody in the world is ignoring me because I'm just an immature twit. Hunh.

(that is, I am liable to think I am an immature twit, even though I am not. Do not worry.)

Today's topic is vaginas. How do you like yours? I like mine. It is soft and squishy and purring-ful. Everybody should love theirs. They're so cute and cuddly. Why else would men want their, um, apparatus in them so much? Because our genitals just rule. There's no way around that. They just do. They calm people and they produce babies and they make people happy. There you go.

I had a pretty prom dress. It was shiny and emerald and I wore high heels and I danced like an idiot.... and everybody else danced like an idiot, ESPECIALLY the popular girls, and I am going to call one of them so that we can hang out. Really. Hold on.


The one problem with prom was Leslie deciding to discuss the size of my vagina in the middle of prom, to a loud voice to anybody who happened to be passing by, but that's how it goes. Now I feel awful for EVER letting her see me in the all (I'm spe-shul!) but it ISN'T MY FAULT, I keep having to remind myself that my naked body is BEAUTIFUL, LOVELY AND LIFE-GIVING and that if it inspires SOMEBODY to be an asshole to me, even the person who I've yearned for the loving touch of since eighth grade, I take no responsibility. We're all naked under our clothes, anyway. (cries)

You know what? I am the most dysfunctional eleventh-grader ever. I'm going into my living room to play Sonic Mega Collection. Toodles.

Wednesday, May 05, 2004

Last night after doing chemistry homework, I briefly imagined some amazingly sexy chemistry fantasy involving me as Leticiaonium. Uhh... I cannot quite reconstruct what a sexy chemistry fantasy would look like, except for one involving me at the front of the class, naked, feeling the cold wooden table against my butt, while the students pump purple stuff through a straw up my vagina, turning me big and purple and fatter and fatter until I explode in purple Leticia guts.


That's not sexy at all! I think my imagination's broke...

(later: okay, I was just lulling in bed, half-awake, thinking about how sexy it would be if I were merely an L on the Periodic Table. Yes, that turned me on. Yes, I had been doing way too much chemistry homework.)

(I wonder if I would dissolve in a flask of green goo--)

Too much Sonic.

Yes, it's begun. It took me thirteen years, but I have finally gone Sonic crazy. Case in point: I am actually considering buying the first three Sonic games for GameCube, despite the fact that they are merely repackagings of games that I ALREADY OWN for other systems. But more importantly, Sonic is my new image of masculinity. I look to Sonic for comfort when times are sad. I want a boyfriend like Sonic: carefree, versatile, and whenever things go bad, he just runs. That's how he thinks, he just DOES. He's my exact opposite. I'd like a boy like that.


Okay! Now, with my latest Sonic poster up, I will be able to see Sonic on three of my four walls. Now I will never feel alone, because whenever I think I am stupid or ugly or slutty, I will just look up at Sonic and he will look back at me, smiling, and giving me the thumbs-up. He thinks I'm beautiful. Right, Sonic? (gives Sonic a hug.) He's such a wonderful boyfriend. And he never talks back; I push A, he jumps, no questions asked...

...but I do keep having to tell him not to get into fights with that Knuckles...

...who, I descerned today, would be a TERRIBLE boyfriend. Can you imagine trying to get a word in edgewise between him and his true love, the Master Emerald? (okay, for people who have no idea what I'm talking about: Sonic is carefree and saves the world with his super-cool hero attitude while running around like a crazy man, while his friendly rival, Knuckles, stands tall on the Angel Island and does his duty of guarding the precious Master Emerald. Knuckles doesn't know why he was given this job, or why he was the last of his race that inhabited Angel Island, but Sonic's carefree, stringy lalala attitude really tees him off when he's trying to be the noblest marsupial that ever lived.) Besides, Knuckles is shy, and he doesn't like girls. He only loves one thing. He's emeraldosexual.

Um, and while we're on the topic of the orientations of Sonic characters, Tails is too young to know, Amy is one serious closet case, Sonic loves everybody and therefore nobody (Tails manages to pierce Sonic's barriers of manliness but ONLY AS A FRIEND), Big is-- I don't even want to think about that, Gamma has a thing for hot melting metal fantasies, Tikal is a virgin for life, Cream and Charmy are too young to know, Rouge is straight (sorry girls), Vector is fabulously gay, Omega is the gayest robot that ever lived, and Espio is... um... not my new boyfriend. I seriously thought about that for a brief second, whether or not I would be compatible with Espio (the gruff ninja chameleon; think Solid Snake if he were small and purple). That would actually work out pretty well: his senses are so acute that he would be the most sensitivest boyfriend ever, and know how to please me from long distances using only thumbtacks and his fancy ninja throwing skills. I like the idea of being pinned to a wooden post by shuriken. Ooooh.

(SUZY: No no no no no no NO no no. Here's some advice, Leticia: do NOT fantasize about halfway human Day-Glo colored videogame animals. That's just weirder than weird.)

Um... right. Okay! Next time we'll find out who Leticia's His Dark Materials dæmon is. Is it a ferret... or a dragonfly? Or maybe a goat? Fiiiiind out next time!

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

Today I would like to talk about abortion again.

Now, my whole argument last time was based upon my statement that "sex is not a contract to carry a baby"... but then again, according to family law, sex IS a contract to raise a child; offering to, say, pay for an abortion being no excuse. So... maybe the man's right to refuse the mother's abortion IS a good idea, if only to even the scales. It's only fair.

That said, I'm glad you all were polite about this... I was expecting my mailbox to explode with "Insensitive bitch!" letters. Then again, women get called "insensitive bitch" a lot when doing good things... but I usually try not to take insults as compliments...

Okay! Now I want to talk about nudity again, because I don't talk about it enough in the real world, so I must compensate. Ummmm... f you've been browsing the Topfree Equal Rights Association's website, you've seen the naked photo section... [ 1 2 3 4 5 ] which is amazingly excellent. If you think you are too fat or too skinny or too small or too shy or too dainty or too manly or too WHATEVER, take a look at this page and amaze yourself with how humans are beautiful in so many different ways.... 'tis a shame most people stilll strive to be dolled-up stick figures.
Hi! I’m Leticia McKenzie and you are here to eat me. I am honored to be a part of your chocolate sundae, so lick the flavor off of my thighs and let’s begin.

First, you need to treat me with respect. I am a whore, and whores make the world go round. Deal? Secondly, I am not going to be around much longer if you slurp me up, so let me enjoy my last moments. It’s not all that bad to be a whore, really, it’s the only way I can be appreciated. When you live out in the middle of nowhere and all your friends think you’re just weird, it’s hard to find somebody to talk to, so it’s nice to have somebody who thinks I breathe the universe.

Oh, my legs are gone now. How do you like them? Yes, they served me well. They were pretty curcy and knobby. Errrr... I mean tough. Not knobby. That would be gross. I mean to say that I was flexible... until now, now that I’m just a torso lying on a bed of ice cream. Say...

What are you doing?! Don’t smother me in chocolate sauce. I’m gonna drown... oooh, lick my boobies. You know, I could have been a mother... wait! I don’t need to be here! There are plenty of people who appreciate me! I’m not cheap! I didn’t need to put myself in the shrinker ray and cover myself in sugar to have somebody like me! But now, my legs are gone and—ouch! There goes my chest. Oh well, this is my swan song, it’s not a bad way to go, really. I’m gonna die in peace. (chomp)

Hey! There are other people down here! Hey girls, how’s it going? He convinced you to let him eat you all too, huh? Oh well... at least we have each other in a nice bath of stomach acids. How are you, Cindy? Oh, you’re just a head now. That’s okay, you’re my favorite disembodied head in the whole wide world. Who’s up for volleyball? (fzzzhhttt) Ah, to feel the stomach acid between my toes... my feet are dissolving. Precious. I’m just going to be unrecognizable goop soon, and that will be sexy.


Very depressed.

Monday, May 03, 2004

(This is the result of a bad day, in case you were wondering)

I want to die and go to hell and meet all the cute girls and spank their asses and lick their vaginas and tell myself, "I'm not a loser, I have lots of lesbian friends. Maybe I'm not really attracted to women, but it's the best I can get." Then they stuff me into a soda machine and make me partially into salty plum soda, but at the last minute darling Betty shows up and saves the day, salvaging my head, shoulders and breasts to be used as a centerpiece for dinner parties. They unhinge my jaw and use me for a candy bowl. I might choke, but I'm just a head, what would I care? Besides, I get to look up all their skirts and see their cute behinds that I'm not really attracted to, but it's the best I can get...

And then all the boys from Heaven come down, with their broad shoulders and adorable dreadlocks, and none of them want to drink me, they want to drink beautiful blonde Heather Soda because she was pretty and popular and I'm just a lowly candy bowl, and in her fully liquid form she taunts, "Haaah! I'm lemon-lime tango and I'm much more tasty and salty then you are! Watch me knock this guy out!" And then the one guy starts to drink her, and says, "Whhoaooooaaaahh! That's the stuff!" and is so enthralled by it that he rips his pants off and masturbates, and when he needs somebody to lick it up, he grabs me head and wipes it off the floor with my tongue, and then he comes the rest of it into my mouth, and then he slaps me on the back of my head, hurling the come into the sink.

Then I meet a nice, sensitive boy and we sit under the apple tree and discuss politics while he rubs massage oil all over me but he won't kiss me when he learns that I have been appointed the Official Come-Licker of Hell, and doesn't want to get in my mouth, and so instead he fries me up and feeds me to the lesbians, which is when I finally realize I'm attracted to them, that is, until they start using my licked-clean bones for dildos. Actually, I enjoy that too, especially when they do it up the ass. Mmm.

And Betty eats me up slowly, taking extra-special care to eat her best friend as sultrily as possible, sucking on my eyeballs as if they were jawbreakers. That turns on tomboy Janisha so much that she activates the shrinker-ray in the heat of pleasure and turns Betty (and whatever parts of me are inside her) into a muffin and eats her up, feeding the wrapper to the dog.

Ahhh, that felt good. I'm'a take a bath now.
Takin' a Break.

Be back soon.

Saturday, May 01, 2004

I got a real kick out of posing naked in the mirror cutely, with my butt sticking out as though I were waiting for somebody to spank it. So when I masturbated today (in the hottest girliest fashion I could possibly imagine) I tried to come to the thought of my darling imaginary boyfriend (now a bit stumpier, with spiky blonde hair and a creepy grin) licking sugar off of me. Then he turned me into a sugar cookie, complimenting how sweet I was and how much sweeter I was now that I was a cookie, while I nudged my best friend (also imaginary... sigh), who was also a cookie, giggling about the situation we are in as she is about to be eaten by her boyfriend as well. But! It didn't work... until... I turned HIM into a cookie!

I have turned the tables! I have eaten the MAN in my fantasy!!

That makes me happier than if they released a limited-edition Golden Sonic statue that squirted blue ice cream all day long.



All you girls should try the posing cutely in the mirror naked thing. I have a poster of Sonic in my room, from Sonic Advance, and no matter what I'm doing, he is always smirking and giving me the thumbs-up. So... If I push my hair up and stroll towards him sultrily while I shashay my hips, no matter how stupid and ugly I think I am, Sonic knows I'm the cream of the crop. Right Sonic? (giggle)

Oh, Sonic can just Spin Dash right into me and send all my body parts flying throughout the Green Hill Zone. I'll get him back. Mua ha ha!


I Capture the Castle (later: that is, the novel by Dodie Smith). I meant to E-mail this to Brielle, but she reads this site, so why not share it with you all? I would like to imagine that I am Cassandra, the protagonist, the Every-woman we're all supposed to identify with; but no, I am Topaz. Do you want me to prove it? She is the sullen step-mother who marries Cassandra's depressed, boring father in hopes of rekindling the genius that once rested within him when he was the acclaimed novelist who wrote Jacob Wrestling (which, by the way, is the best fake novel name EVER). She...

- is determined to bring out the best in everyone around her
- doesn't pay much attention to herself, resulting in her plummeting self-image and somewhat ghostlike demeanor

So, I have been sawed in half, while half of me has been claimed by Joss Whedon, and the other half by Dodie Smith. This should turn me on, but it does not. Why? Well... Actually, it DOES turn me on. I'm going to run off now. (prances off to her room...)


I get lots of E-mails from men. I'm okay with this, it comes with the territory; but I get lonely sometimes. In fact, just last night I had a dream I was with a group of girls, but we were all speaking a foreign language, one which I wasn't proficient enough in to keep up with them. Then we had a jam session and started playing music on various instruments, but my drumset was strewn across the floor and I could not possibly keep up a coherent rhythm to o along with what they were playing, what with my mismatched percussion intruments. So? The moral of the story is, LETICIA FAILS TO COMMUNICATE WITH HER GIRLY FRIENDS. This is the long, tragic story of my life. In fact, I will complain about it right now! Wah wah! (Don't worry, I'm fully aware that high school is almost over, and this nightmare will fade away like a bad sitcom. But while I have the opportunity, I'd like to whine...)

But really, I have learned something this week, and that's to stay confident in your identity and never doubt yourself. I am a perfectly wonderful, beautiful woman, and nobody can take that away from me! Hyaaaaaaahhh!!!

Looking over my posts from this past week, I've realized... I've been really really depressed.

But I'm not any more. Yay!

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