Thursday, July 29, 2004

Well, the guy who does HIV testing at the community center calls me "sweetie." He is also the perfect example of a guy who could play the guitar on a park bench and you could just sink your head into his lap while he strums the guitar and thinks about how beautiful life is...

...until we get ticketed for loitering, that is, but that's all we got. I think I'll make him wear green. He'd look good in green... and white pants.

Of course, this fantasizing is all I have, because he's past twenty and the rules of the agency he hails from preclude him from coming into any contact with the nubile young girls of the community center beyond scraping the roof of their mouths to test for HIV.

But he does call me sweetie.

And that gets him extra points.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Oog. Stomach cramps.

I'm sure there are many well-meaning guys out there who want to know what it's like to feel these, so: stab yourself in the stomach with a coat hanger and then turn it counterclockwise, all the way around, and then yank it out along with one of your internal organs for bonus points. Continue until all organs are gone by process of musical chairs.

Come to think of it, if that would work, perhaps I can reverse my stomach cramps by stabbing myself with a coat hanger and turning it CLOCKWISE. ...And try not to lose any internal organs. ...And try to avoid bleeding out of two places for the rest of the day.

Sometimes, my brilliant ideas are just ahead of their time...

Sunday, July 25, 2004

It isn't that I have a thing for druggies, it's that druggies hang around me, which I have absolutely no problem with. I've noticed for a long time that unpopular people like to hang around me, because they think I'm the real deal. That's a big honor for me, because with my natural charm (hough hough hough! No, let me be arrogant, this is my chance to shine), I can always curry favor with the popular people; but then it all just feels so fake. People who are downtrodden--particularly those who haven't let it gone to their heads--tend to be a lot more upfront about things. People who've lost everything, or felt like it, are much more likely to value what they have. And if I can be their inside woman in the realm of the Popular People, I'm glad to do it.

If I could do anything in the world right now, I'd like to kiss Bruce and make all those boils go away and all the effects of the drugs on his body to reverse themselves, and to give him a bright new liver. But I can't, but at least I can be his friend. And yes, I'm being high-and-mighty; but it's not that hard, you can do it too.

The problem is that we don't understand why people turn to drugs. I'm seventeen and have never had a whiff of the happy sauce (and dear Lordy I'm glad; more a matter of luck than perseverence, and one of the few reasons I'm glad I grew up in Hicksburg) , but when I friends turn to drugs it's always for the same reasons; they feel hopeless and detached from the world. Everyone feels hopeless and detached from the world from time to time; either we hide it and become accountants toiling away at Path-E-Tech or we express it by going downtown to buy some special stuff. The problem is, neither extreme works. It's only a matter of communication to get these feelings expressed, and the people who turn to drugs are the ones who feel that they don't get that communication.

So.... communicate! Let your voice be heard. There's room for everybody in this big ol' Internet of ours. Come one! Come all! Let the voices of the people rise up and reclaim the means of disseminating information from The Man up in his big skyscraper eating donuts every afternoon at three and wondering why nobody loves him. Let's return each and every human being to his or her proper place as equals in our great big global brain (and if you think Leticia's off her rocker on the global brain thing, substitute Dr. King's "table of brotherhood," or that one Hindu concept of our spirits starting and ending from the same great amorphous mass and I always thought that was really cool and they kind of stole it for Transformers, which I also thought was pretty neat). Because _nobody,_ and I mean _nobody_ will do drugs if they get to have their proper place in humanity. Nobody.

...Unless they're really silly, but that just can't be helped. Later!

Saturday, July 24, 2004

I want you all to know that Cheryl's okay; she's safe, and she gave me a call. I can't say any more--the situation is so complicated that I would risk describing her identifiably to tell you how it all went down--but everything's cool in the Cheryl department, so if you've been worried about her, fear no more. You can now sleep at night.

Today I asked Sephy out on a date. Of course he said no, but he was nice about it and made me feel loved. I'd ask boys on dates more often if they were all so nice. (Actually, I hang out with a lot of nice boys, and I realized there was another nice boy that I might want to take a shot at but I thought one asking-out per evening was enough.) But that's not why I'm posting (or, as they say, going postal), it is because of another touching story at the community center.

I knew a boy.. we'll call him Bruce. I hadn't seen him in a long time. He seemed really nice to me, always enthusiastic, saying "wwraaawwr!" as he hugged me to indicate my sexiness. So, when I heard bad things about him--nothing in particular, just that he was a jerk that you should stay away from--I tried not to listen, because I always want to give people a second chance.

(Leticia Broadcasting Service announcement: You should always give somebody a second chance, but not if it puts you in danger. If you hear that somebody is dangerous, you would do well to believe them and not get too close, even if later you find out it was all hooey and a rumor. Better safe than sorry.)

That's all I saw of him for two years, until he comes back with his face looking exhausted from what looked like drug abuse; like his face had taken too much from the inside, and that it was about to fall off and explode. His eyes drooped and he hunched over. He looked like he escaped a train wreck. But somehow... I trusted him that he had got better from whatever had happened. When I saw him before, he was energetic, fresh-faced and, if you are to believe the rumors, an asshole. Now he was humble... pitifully humble, but not the kind of pity where you get angry at somebody for making you feel the pity. Real pity, just like true love, or a lifetime warranty.

He grabs my shoulder and says, "Leticia, right? I haven't seen you in so long..." He hugs me and doesn't want to let go. "Listen, Leticia... I did some bad things... and I've changed, and now I'm back." I didn't know what to say. I know it sounds like he was making excuses to drag me into his bed and fuck me until I was exiled to another slice of the fourth dimension, but he wasn't. He... good God...

"Leticia," he said, as I put my coat on at the end of the evening, "if you see me doing bad things... tell me." I didn't know what to say. I didn't see him do any bad things... but his face and his demeanor told me that he had been doing bad things ever since I knew him for the first time, and now he's finally aware of the consequences. I wanted to tell him that I'd tell him, but... what do you say? "And... be safe. You're so lovely. I want you to be safe." That I could respond to. "I will," I said, with a smile. "Count on it."

Kiss me.

Friday, July 23, 2004

I haven't seen Cheryl (the drugged-out girl) in a while. I'm worried about her...

Well, I've beaten the main story mode of Puyo Pop Fever (on hard mode, since that's how I usually play Puyo) and I hate to say it, but... it just isn't any fun. They made Puyo waaay too complicated when the series' charm (and its strong point) is in its simplicity. I can barely recognize the game anymore. Everything just feels way out of control. Blobs come down in sets of three or four sometimes, and there's a fever meter that increases whenever you offset an opponent's attack, and when it fills, you go to the special "Fever Mode" where it sets up combos for you and, if you're lucky and get the right colors, you might actually be able to attack with them. It's just wacky and unnecessary. The biggest frustration for me is the elimination of the "grace period" where an opponents block Puyo would take a few turns to drop; now, if you cannot make a match within one turn, all the blocks come tumbling down, and any chain you were building is screwed since they've also dramatically increased the number of blocks that fall. Now, whoever gets the first 3-degree chain wins the match, and that's just plain broken, especially with all the variables added by the three-blob and four-blob puzzle pieces. I just don't know what Sonic Team was thinking--oh wait! It wasn't Sonic Team, they farmed out the development to some company called "Digi-mix" that I've never heard of, just like how Sonic Team's other mediocre Puyo game (Puyo Pop on GBA) was farmed out to "Caret House." You know, when the box says "From the Creator of Sonic The Hedgehog," I would like it to be, you know, from the creator of Sonic The Hedgehog.

(The first bad omen, by the way, is that you can't change the controls beyond A-rotate right, B-rotate left and reverse. This is okay, but it made me sad since Dr. Robotnik's Mean Bean Machine on Sonic Mega Collection was a dream to play with A-left and X-right, because of the shape of the GameCube buttons. Using the huge A button and the tiny B button to rotate each direction is very awkward. How come no developers [I'm lookin' at you, Mega Man Anniversary Collection] seem to know how to take advantage of the oblong GameCube buttons?)

Compile (original creators of Puyo, went belly-up in 2001), you will be sorely missed. Somehow I thought Sonic Team and Puyo would be two great tastes that would go great together, but... they just don't. It breaks my heart to do this but... you get 4/10 and a slap on the wrist, and I'm going to put my arms around my copy of Puyo Puyo 2 and bawl.

Graphics - Beautiful, good presentation, wacky, funky feel. 7
Sound - Who hired those English voice actors? They're... actually quite good, but the stuff they're instructed to say is unbearable. Music is good and catchy, so I'll even them out. 5
(just a hunch, but that score might go up if I put the Japanese voices on instead)
Gameplay - The original Puyo concept is wonderful, but you'll be hard-pressed to find it beneath the avalanche of additional variables that are too much for my feeble human mind. 6
Lasting Value - I'll get back to you on this, but my crystal ball predicts a 2 from extreme frustration. 2

Pros: Lightning-fast, addictive gameplay, based upon the long-standing and venerable Puyo series.
Cons: Few extra features; story, 2-player and endless (survival) are it, and by golly, that's all there was on the original Puyo Puyo (a.k.a Dr. Robotnik's Mean Bean Machine, Kirby's Avalanche) all the way back in 1991. Confidential to Digi-mix: Puyo Puyo 4 on Dreamcast had 4-player, puzzle, and time attack modes; and if we want to talk about remakes of ellegantly simple games, Super Smash Bros. had extra modes coming out of its ears. Hell, Puyo Puyo Box had an RPG mode. Get with it.

Final Score: 4/10

Thursday, July 22, 2004

I'm horny! Gosh, there wouldn't be much better than having a guy right now... given, of course, a guy that I trust and we have been through the required 1+ year of friendship and 2+ years of dating. Today it's really hot out in Poseidontown, and everybody's got their shirts off... I was burning up, because I am wearing my long jeans, because my legs are in a state of extreme lesbitude, and I am not of the homosexual fortitude (translation: confidence in my gender identity... hence why gay guys are the manliest men around, and gay women the womanliest women) necessary to go outside baring my hairy legs. So, instead of braving the odd looks, I burn up in the heat. Priorities, huh?

Anyway, the advantage of extremely hot weather in Poseidontown is that today is the day that all the men go out without their shirts and daaaaamn.... adorable! I never thought men could be so... pretty. Hunh...

So the reason why I got my legs in such a homosexual state is because I've been neglecting everything else thanks to homework... which I turned in today, every tiny little paragraph of it. Hurrah! I'm free for the weekend! And besides, I got Puyo Pop Fever, which is almost as good as a boy and you know it. In fact, there's probably a factory somewhere where they take pretty naked boys, tan them on a spit for a while, and then smash them into Puyo Pop discs. I'm going to think about that for a while... (runs off)

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

Hi! I'm sorry that things have been a bit empty in the House of Leticia as of late. I've been very busy with homework. Do not fear, soon I will have my papers in and I can do important things again.

In other news, Sephiroth encouraged me to "walk around topless sometime." Dear, you have no idea...

(didn't he say he was gay? I'm starting to wonder about that kid...)


..By the way, I fiddled with his chain wallet as a means of expressing affection. His chain wallet. Strange. I wonder if one might get any sensual pleasure out of that. I suppose it is attached to you... and comes out of your midsection... and represents masculine power.... and could concievably be stroked in a girly and adorable fashion....

And yet, it is cold and lifeless. Nothing like its parallel that I hope I have made painfully obvious.

Let me think... I've spoken many a time on the subject of the female body, but not on the penis. How do I feel about the penis? Well... I find it kind of amusing, almost as though men cannot contain all their masculinity so it sort of slips downward into their safekeeping pouch, where they can use it to pleasure women and have pissing contests. (...) It is.... kind of creepy, in that it's like the one body part that doesn't seem to have any compositional value, other than as kind of a center point for the rest of the anatomy to revolve around. And... it's ability to, um, transform is actually kind of beautiful. Like those chronically overused time-lapse photos of flowers blooming, it's like... the physical expression of eroticism. It's the chemical reaction to a man being aroused, so it... makes me happy.

A lot of feminist authors write about phallic symbolism... and they're onto something, as "gladiator" literally means penetrator and men have always have had aggressive social classes and women have always been relegated to kitchen duty. Well, I say... attack the problem, not the person, or the penis, for that matter, because it isn't, you know, it's fault! it's just hanging there, innocently, because every guy has one, and every guy is entitled to the responsibility of one. A penis has a lot of power right there... it can make babies, it can please women, it can hurt women, it can allure women, it can be (unfortunately) the focus of a relationship.... so much symbolism right there, and sometimes I feel sorry for the boys for having to carry all that emotional baggage between their legs. Oh well... all you tough men can handle it, right?

The reason I'm babbling on the subject is because I've been recently thinking about the penis, Sephiroth's, in particular, and I realized that I've never given them all that much thought before. They're... _there._ Only recently have I realized.... they're actually quite beautiful, with all that masculine stature and snakelike allure... the way it winds down between the testicles, like something out of Gothic arcitecture. Just think, all the secrets to life are held right in there, and someday, I just... might... get my tongue on one...

And that scares me. Where did all this come from? Wait, don't I like girls? Well, I thought I did, until now...



(By the way... if Sephiroth says one more time that he is no good with vaginas, then I am sending out a personal vagina trainer, paying her expenses, and not quitting until he is the best vagina maestro in all of Poseidontown. And then.... he'll have nowhere to run. Bwa ha ha!)

(He's said before that I'm very pretty, and he's very affectionate toward his gal pals... yet I am beyond his reach, since he really does want to be with a man. See? He's like me, only male. Crikey.)

Saturday, July 17, 2004

I always thought it was stupid how all my friends would complain that the only boys they like are gay, that the only ones with sensitivity and/or fashion sense seem to bat for the other team. I mean, what does that mean for heterosexuality? I, for one, want a boy who is inclined to spread whipped cream on my pussy. So here is where my story begins...

We'll call him Sephiroth. Sephy is the definition of the prettyboy. He has long hair. He has a cute body. He is the only boy whose clothes I want to see in tatters on the floor of my room between a stack of comic books and a GameCube controller. He is gentle. He is eloquent. He is my type.

And he is gay.

Phooey! Curse you, God, and your unfathomable reasons for making straight women attracted to gay men and straight men attracted to lesbians. Wait a minute... (pauses and flexes her muscles inward with intense fury) Quiet! I'm growing out my armpit hair! After this, all I'll need to do is get a mohawk and plaid shorts in order to get a train of guys to watch my every move.

This, by the way, is the biggest lesson against homophobia: guys, you really ought to listen to gay men more. _They_ know where its at. Let some of that gay-ness rub off on you. We dig that. Trust me.

Also, wear a kilt, because we (I) dig that.


(Sephiroth once said, "You know, gender doesn't really matter to me so as long as you have the equipment. I'm no good with vaginas." Har har! Fuck you.)

(And I mean that in the kindest, gentlest manner, by which I mean that you need to rip my clothes off, right now, in the car, and play that one song from Jet Set Radio Future while you do it. Get down on the floor! [Say what?] I say get down on the floor? [Say what?] I say get down! I wanna see something I've never seen before...)

Friday, July 16, 2004

I saw Spider-Man 2! It's the bestest movie in the whole wide world. I laughed and I cried.
What I meant by the first Spider-Man seeming somewhat contrived is that in order to fit all that material in that one movie, they had to make it so concise that it was almost painful; I didn't get to see as much of the characters acting normal as I wanted. Don't worry though--this movie starts with a hilarious look at a day in the life of Spidey, and the characters are in full force from then on, with all the introductions out of the way.
I'm at the community center (don't tell anybody!) and it turns out that
a) The Girl, who shall henceforth be referred to as Cheryl, is NOT HERE! But do not fear, fair denizens of Leticialand, you're still going to get your daily dose of delicious drama from the demented damsel of doom (me): it turns out, according to her friend that
Take a deep breath...
Not good enough...
Now stretch...
(and for those at you at home who can't stretch that high, just do it at chest level)
Fucker. Do you have any IDEA what you've done to me? You gave me a headache all fucking weekend! Of COURSE I like you! Now, let's run off to Alaska on the condition that you pose on a giant salad platter for me.
(Somebody named McKenzie is in the Spider-Man credits, so upon seeing the name I raised my fist in solidarity. Go McKenzies! First, Spider-Man, tomorrow, the world!)

Hey! Just so you know, I did talk to that girl in math class, and she is very nice; I didn't even need to sound desperate (I think weeeeee're... comrades!) in order to make a friend. Tres excellent. People are nicer than I thought. I'm so paranoid all the time...

Today I will see Spider-Man 2. I enjoyed the first movie, and yet, it was one of those movies where there's so much money riding on it that it has to be good; but never great. It also had the Standard Big-Budget Movie Problem of having every line sound like it was revised thirty thousand times, until all the dialogue sounds contrived and distilled into its most basic parts.

I get to see the lovely drugged-out woman again today, I hope. That will be interesting. She probably still likes me... I hope... I just don't know how to act around her... wah!

Somebody told me I ought to call her. One problem: she has no number. Other problem leading to the first one: she has no home. Hence, the drugs. She says she has a friend's house to stay at right now, but for the time being, she's on the streets. You know, I'd like to invite her to stay at my house, but realistically... I don't want my stuff taken. No matter how much she likes me, drug addiction is strong, and I'm afraid she'd steal something precious to me... which is really embarrassing because I'm putting my possessions before her. I...

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

There was a woman in my math class with beautiful, fiery hair. She smiled at me warmly as she passed me the attendance sheet. I kept looking at her beads, her toe ring, her sarong... I'm positive she'd be my friend! But this time, I was serious. I was going to be assertive. Yes, it would be stupid to imply that a smile in mid-attendance-sheet-passing was an invintation to friendship, but I was desperate so it didn't matter. My charm would get me by. I can't go another week at this college without any friends, anyway.
She starts to leave. I hurry, pack up my stuff, and run outside all passionate and girly-like, waiting to invoke her friendship upon feeling a new wave of honesty surging through me.
And she's not there.
I run around for a bit. I must look silly. But she's just gone. She's a ninja. For once in my life I decide to do something bold (I mean, really bold, not like writing about yourself on the Internet) and the other party escapes into the night. Curses!

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Augh! I couldn't get to sleep last night, so I stayed up late playing Jet Set Radio Future, and today I had to do a math test. Crap crap crap.

On my way back home, I picked up some comic books. One is called Confidential Confessions, vol. 1, and it had a very powerful story of two girls contemplating suicide. It's the real deal; the girls practice cutting each other and planning each others funerals and going through all the things that depressed girls do... and the author doesn't hold back about where those things lead. It's a sad and beautiful story, and I recommend it to anybody who breathes. If you are a teenager reading this blog, you have to read Confidential Confessions vol. 1. You can find it here at Tokyopop or here at Amazon.

I've got to go to bed. Bye bye!

Monday, July 12, 2004

Y’all deserve an explanation.

I met this girl, you see? Now, you’re goig to think this is stupid, but know, it’s real. It was one other day in which I was moping about how everybody talks straight through me and the whole world seems so two-dimensional and how I just want to go home and play Sonic Heroes until I die... and then I met her.

She’s stumpy at about five foot six and has scraggly pink hair. Her boy shirts belie her beauty and her cargo pants make her look very tough. She approached me and, dear Lord, talked right at me. I swear. One person in Leticia’s life speaks on the same frequency as she does. As you might have guessed, I fell in love.

Oh, but not real love. Don’t take it too seriously, it was more of a, dear God let’s run off to a cottage in Alaska and make lots of babies kind of love. I suppose real love is the kind where you don’t want to run off to Alaska, you want to savor every moment at home cuddling and watching a movie that neither of you care about because it was just an excuse to cuddle and distract him enough to get some prime seduction in.

One problem, with the initials NA. She’s a recovering drug addict. One more thing (and dear God she’s going to kill me if she ever reads this): she seems incapable of reading people. I find this right fascinating. She has no concept of tact, nor of figuring out what other people are feeling. Wouldn’t we be a great pair? Woman who deconstructs her friends to death meets woman who takes your expression at face value. We could have lots of babies.

More than that though, and this is where it gets weird... she offered to have sex with me. No, no, no! Let me type that again. The wench devilishly tricked me into wanting to have sex with her. Yes! That’s the idea. I did not have sexual attraction to that woman. What? Depends on your definition of "is." I’m going now...

(Leticia trots off before Suzy yanks her back on stage)

Seriously though, it was terrifying because I really did want to get in her pants, and I felt really bad about it because I never feel that, being generally a sexless person who feels strong attraction to nobody but her vibrator. I was ready to throw my clothes off and have a go regardless of circumstance. (I really do like boys!) But moreover...

Okay, here’s how it happened. We started talking, and suddenly, I started animating. This also never happens. We loved talking to each other. We lit up. Remember how I said the world felt flat and two-dimensional? She seemed to emanate past what I saw of her, like she existed in all three dimensions, or maybe four dimensions. "I really like you!" I said, breathlessly, giving her a hug. "We should do something sometime."

And then...


A good fifteen seconds of it. "Like what?" she asked me, with a wicked grin. No! I meant, like a movie! I didn’t know what to say, since what I was thinking was, you know, it would be great to be friends, we could go for walks in the park and eat ice cream and please, please, don’t let my libido take over because I could easily ruin a really great relationship.

So eventually I did the standard Leticia Maneuver (laugh and say, "I’m so nervous!") and she told me, straight up, that she knew what I was thinking, and that she was thinking the same thing, but if we’re afraid to say it, maybe we ought to take it slow.

There you go, folks. One three-month relationship condensed into half a minute. Jesus.

I collected my bearings, told her that she was very honest and that was a good thing, and I got the hell out of there. No, I just went to talk to a counselor for a good long while before going back into the heat of passion. No, no, no! I was just terrified by what had happened and afraid to look at her again, lest I be sucked into her dark world of drugs and sex.

So we exchanged phone numbers and I did tell her, honestly, that I wanted to be friends and that when I said that we should do something sometime, I didn’t mean sex. We parted ways and all was good, until...

She didn’t call.

To all of those attracted to womenfolk who are reading this... while you do not call, the other party is tearing her fucking hair out. Call within the next few days if you intend to see your woman friend with all her hair intact.

Anyway, this woman was blunt. She told random passersby of her status as a sexual being and how she is lonely, but isn’t really interested in a relationship, but is, in a lonely, cautious sort of way. And... she wanted me, really badly, which is where y’alls come in.

What the hell do I do? After thinking it over, I have realized, sadly... I like her for who she is, but I’m not attracted to her body. I’d rather us dance and play and cuddle and share our lives rather than hook up, because... and this hurts to say... it would be a lie to her, a chance to get in bed with somebody, anybody, whose company I enjoy. I really need somebody with whom I can get into a stable relationship.

But dear lordy, I didn’t expect this to bore into my brain all weekend the way it did. The whole time, my brain hurt with the passion of a thousand suns thinking about this woman and how badly she needed me and how badly I needed not to need her... but that would be a lie too, because she’s the only woman I’ve ever met who seems on my level... I’d like to meet a boy like that.

Where do I meet boys, anyway? Is there a Manfolk Emporium somewhere that I don’t know about? ("How much is that boy-thing in the window?") I would rather sit at home and mail-order them from the factory, but it seems Leticia will have to pull herself up from underneath her pile of schoolbooks to be with those of the male persuasion.

Anyway, I have to get to dinner... but I needed this out of my head. I feel like I just adopted a druggie, which is a really condescending way to put it, but I do... I’m not sure how much I can do for her. (Moral of the story: all I can do is be her friend; learn this well.) Let’s see how it all works out, on the next chapter of As the Blog Refreshes. Stay tuned!

Sunday, July 11, 2004

Political pornography:

Nader debates Dean.

Get me my vibrator.

Friday, July 09, 2004

I always considered the sticker at Subway saying "Try our Atkins-Friendly Double Chocolate Cookies--Only 7 Net Carbs!" to be evidence that humanity must end its trek through the stars, but my brother pounted out a further tragedy in the fine print: "eating too many may cause stomach discomfort." Ya think?

It's sort of cruel to convince people that it won't hurt if they eat cookies on their diet--it must be something that compels overeaters to, you know, overeat. But it's sort of funny how well America is taking the bait. If you're not pleased with what's healthy and what's not, we redefine "healthy" so that it applies to things like steak and double chocolate cookies.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this ever, but anything that says "lowfat" at the supermarket is, by definition, not healthy. The more pictures of hard-bodied women sprinting long distances are on the box, the less healthy it is. If you do not believe me, take a look at the ingredients list, which generally is so long that it takes up the entire flap and is full of enough bizarre-sounding chemicals to power the Starship Enterprise. Here's Dr. Leticia's unliscenced, unsolicited advice: things like bread, fruit, and vegetables have always been good for humans and will always taste good to humans. That's why we have stuck around for so long. There's no real reason to buy Heart-Healthy Snickerdoodles (Only 26 ml of arsenic!) when you can go to a farmer's market and buy stuff that is actually, you know, good.

Tune in next time for more self-righteous ranting.


(By the way, a lot of these companies stand behind "science" as proof that their Load-of-Crap-in-a-Minnit products are good for you; a lot goes into convincing you that these foods are unusual because they're on the cutting edge. Because of this, you might actually want to talk to a scientist about nutrition before you believe them. It's kind of like how it takes a scientist to know that genetically modified crops will not, in fact, save the world, in fact genetic engineering tends to produce crops that are _less_ resilient than the ones that nature has perfected over thousands of years. Instead, the companies put out genetically modified crops, patent them, and then charge royalties from any poor sap whose crop is contaminated by it. Now that we can patent genetic data, the whole world is in the command of ruthless free-market capitalism. Bwa ha ha! It's the wave of the future!)

(You know, if we all die out, it won't be because of an intervening god; we'll all die as a defense mechanism on the part of nature.)
I have to apologize to y'all. After making that post about Dante, I faintly remembered making a post about Dante with the exact same premise a few months before.

Hunh. Must be losing my edge.

(Sonic Mega Collection has put serious nostalgic lumps in my throat.)

Thursday, July 08, 2004

Hey! Look at this! The whole WMD thing was all the CIA's fault! Wait, I thought it was the CIA's fault for not realizing there were WMD. Or maybe it's their fault for not believing it hard enough, so no WMD appeared when our tanks rolled in. After all, we know where they are... Tikrid and Baghdad... north, east, oh it's too painful.

The story keeps changing and I'm all out of blue pills. I'm lost in wingnut-land. Just remember, four legs good, two legs bad...

(for the record, the CIA was the organization that knew that the evidence for WMD was dubious at best. Dick Cheney was so displeased with this that he set up his own intelligence unit that would bypass the CIA. Fat lot of good that did you, huh? Thousands dead and a war we can't get ourselves out of. Yep, liberators, all right...)
Hello, gentle readers! Today I went over to Dante's to relieve him of his copy of Sonic Mega Collection (all the old Sonic games... AGAIN! Did you know there are five different versions of Sonic 1 on five different systems, with a sixth on the way?), and since I was all giddy over Ken Lay being sent to his executive slammer, I expected to something all happy and girly-like, like a peck on the cheek as he handed over my retro Sonic compilation. Instead...


I felt NOTHING towards Dante.

Holy crap.

You know... I don't like that. I like to be fanatical over SOMETHING besides the really cute teller who handed me the money that I bought Sonic from Dante with. If I can yearn for Dante's assuredly adorable behind, at least I can live for SOMETHING, right?

But no, I am free now. FREE! I shall meet another boy. And that other boy shall be the cute teller, who is (I'm sure) reading this, and needs to meet me at my house, which is directly beneath the Leticia Signal that is now in the air. Ka-pow! To the Leticia-cave! (And wear some short tights and slide down a pole, if you would.)

That's all for tonight. I have math homework to do. And, if you are currently developing a videogame, do NOT, repeat NOT give it a free-roaming environment. Ripping off GTA is not innovation. I hear Spider-Man 2 does it well, but for the rest of y'all... no free-roaming environments, career modes, cel-shading, or Full Reactive Eyes Environments unless you REALLY, REALLY need them. Pac-Man didn't need them, neither do you. Nleagh.

(Pac-Man is also over twenty years old, but you know... it's still fun. And model. Model.)

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Aggghh! I've been doing homework all day. History and math.

I like math, but lately it's been very hard to pay attention in class. I keep nearly falling asleep. Whenever the instructor turns around, I take the opportunity to rest my eyes. Back in high school, I could draw fairies and shirk my attention-paying responsibilities (once I fell asleep--don't tell anybody), but now I've entered the Big and Scary Adult World, and that is no longer possible. I also need to learn to stop slouching. Stop slouching, Leticia.

There's a girl in my math class (girl in my math class--you can stop reading here) who wears a pink hoody with kitten ears. She's very adorable and I do think we are comrades in the fight for female sexual liberation, but of course, I cannot exactly walk up to her and say, "Hey! I think we're comrades! Let's head down to the Ice Cream Emporium and talk about how silly boys are." At least, not without a poofy, ruffly dress and the ability to turn my eyelids upside-down all happy-like.

No, lately I've been miserable. Too much homework. I will, I swear, find time to make some friends. Right now I'm making fast friends with Polly Nomial. She's a confusing felow, but has so many interesting attributes to her personality (but her friends call her "square;" har har!).

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

So two days ago I did something dumb. Hear me out. I bawled in front of my mom and then poured my heart out about why I hate my existence.

You see, it all started when we were trying to decide what to do about my new writing teacher, who shall henceforth be referred to as Dr. Eggman. Dr. Eggman seems to feel an all-consuming need to control his students’ emotional lives, which is probably why he is not married (or at least why I would put forty bucks on it). Enter: Leticia’s mutant power.
I have an acute sense of human nature, and I can instantly size up any adult and know exactly what it is that they are thinking. This frustrated the hell out of my elementary-school teachers who could get my contempt but not my obedience when they mistreated me. I instantly knew everything that was wrong with them that make them yell at a six-year-old. I was invincible.

So when I arrived in my new writing class featuring Dr. Eggman, I got very bad vibes about him. Specific class rules include no pouting and no contacting the teacher to ask about assignments. He talks about how this is "my class" in passing, such as how bus drivers who always talk about "my bus" and Presidents who always talk about "my budget" are generally to be avoided. It means they have a large emotional investment in what they consider to be their possession. It also sets up an adversarial relationship between them and who they serve.

The flip side to my ability to size people up is that I am very emotionally vulnerable; I just know how to strike back. Any teacher that gives me personal grief for my test scores is going to bear the brunt of my ability to manipulate people’s emotions. So I fear being in a class in which the teacher seems to curse the students for making him get out of bed in the morning; if I catalogue all his emotional problems in the back of my mind during class (as I am wont to do), it is tantamount to me kicking his ass in an extended round of emotional ju-jitsu (otherwise known as guilt-trip-fu). This will guarantee a D grade.

So, the only option is to withdraw back inside my emotional shell and lay low for the rest of the class. This isn’t a problem, as I am very experienced in it; the problem is that my emotional self will suffer, and my writing will suffer even more. I shall not be able to turn on my computer without the sight of Dr. Eggman breathing down my creative neck. This calls for desperate measures... like buying one of those Dilbert boss dolls to yell at (fun!).
But, that’s not what this post is about. This post is about the fact that I told my mom all the things that I have told only thousands of people through my blog. Very personal stuff, such as that I fit in nowhere and have been drifting aimlessly throughout school and am very glad that I am finally learning things that I care about, but good God, I hate buying college education by the pound.

There was a Whose Line sketch in which the actors were on an out-of-control walkway and had to say their lines while aimlessly careening past each other. That’s what interaction is like at the community college; now that I know everybody, I can say hi to people as I pass them by, but interaction is limited to "hey-how’d-that-big-project-go-well-I-gotta-get-to-class-so-BYEEEEE" as the unstoppable force of the Schedule sweeps us away to classes unknown.

More than that, though; I told my mom about the one Digimon episode (emotional revelation hence, and a certain friend of mine with really sexy hair better not be reading): In season four, our heroes, the DigiDestined, are trapped in the Digital World and are fighting to save it with their newfound power to transform into Digimon. The loner of the group is JP. He is somewhat arrogant as he costantly advances on the only girl in the DigiDestined, but only to compensate for the fact that he never fit in, and has trouble keeping up even with a group as tight-knit as the DigiDestined. However, he does have a penchant for magic tricks and the group appreciates the entertainment.

In the episode in question, JP is forcibly split off from the group by an evil Digimon posing as JP’s "dark side." Dark JP tells Our Hero JP that the DigiDestined don’t actually like him at all, he has nothing to bring to the group, that the only reason they let him tag along is because they take pity on him. The real JP tearfully rejects that notion, screaming that he really is their friend and that his dark self is just telling a pack of lies. Dark JP reminds him of a story:

Back on Earth, JP’s hobby was to do magic tricks as the master magician, Howdy Doodat. He could split hankerchiefs and then reform them in an instant, make milk dissappear from a newspaper, and all that other stuff. Dark JP reminds JP of how he would use his magic tricks to impress people in the class and to make them like him. But at the end of the day, it was raining, and JP had no umbrella; and even as all the other kids paired up and began to share their umbrellas with each other, nobody was willing to offer to share one with him.

Dark JP told JP that this was the story of his life; he impresses people with magic tricks and candy bars but deep down inside, he’s just a weak-willed loner that people only keep around for kicks. As JP transforms into a Digimon in order to defeat his dark self, Dark JP conjures up a stadium crowd full of illusory copies of the other DigiDestined, who mock JP’s attempts at fighting. It’s over, Dark JP told him, give into the dark forces and turn against your friends. They never liked you anyway.

Then JP learns not to believe him and he kicks Dark JP’s ass and then the other DigiDestined come and rescue him, proving that they did care about him after all. He tells them that he’s sorry he’s been so awkward and they say that it’s all okay, what matters is that he’s part of the team. It’s all so very happy and lovely and warm in here.

So I didn’t think very much of the episode until I sat at the bus stop the next day and randomly started bawling. That episode articulated so much about how I feel about myself; I have a great stage persona and everybody seems to like me, but everybody’s afraid to get close to me and that’s why nobody will share their umbrella with me. I told this to my mom and she told me not to worry; people _are_ afraid of me, I just need to open up a little more and stop being such a show-off. Thanks a fucking lot, mom.

So I just spent yesterday popping ibuprofens and playing Mega Man, not because I was sick (although my head and stomach were each reeling), but I couldn’t believe what my mom had told me. It was like I had reached a plateau. I really am a loser, and I ought to accept it and act like one.

But no, do not worry, I am better today and I have recognized that my mom didn’t really mean to say I’m a freak (although she didn’t do a very good job), she just told me to trust myself and then my true self will show through more than my forced-exhuberance self that I constantly project. So I will trust myself. After all, you all know what I’m thinking, and you’re not afraid of me... right?


(If anybody knows where I can find season four, or any season of Digimon, contact me. I will impress you with magic tricks and candy bars.)

Monday, July 05, 2004

I'm sick as a dog. Um, a dog that's really sick. (Who invented that phrase, anyway?) So, no posting, to avoid accidentally transmitting my vomit across the Internet, which would be a disasterBLEARGH--


(Suzy pulls the plug on the interweb. "Go back to your room, dearest.")

Saturday, July 03, 2004

"America has sown the seeds for civil war in Iraq," by Sami Ramadani, at the Guardian.
Check this out.

A woman interviews booth babes at E3. Words such as "whore" and "slut" are nowhere to be found.

Model. So to speak.
Hey! Guess what country is sovreign once more! Whoops, only the US can impose martial law. And the US hand-picked Iraqi government is thinking of imposing martial law. And the US troops can kill with impunity.

Does anybody else smell a rat?

(...why do they hate America? I'll tell you why...)
What do I really care about?

Brielle told me that it doesn't matter what I write about, so as long as I care about it. So... what do I care about?

- I care about sunshine and love and all sorts of happy stuff, because I like being saccharin-sweet like that.

- I care about darkness and brooding and sadness, because I find myself there fairly often, especially by way of moping in my room on a Thursday evening.

- I care about writing, because now that I've been writing a lot my life finally feels like it has some purpose besideds cheering up my friends when they're down (incidentally, I'm very good at it; FedEx yourself to Poseidontown if you're ever in the dumps).

- I care about my drawing, because if I can think it, I can draw it, and I do a good lot of thinking

- I care about my videogames, because they give me something to do when I'm really, really bored

- I care about my friends, for without them, I would be merely a Leticia falling in the forest with nobody around to hear me. (Also, having friends allows me to participate in the universe as a whole, where I will return to when I die.)

- I care about my blog, because no matter how much it creeps me out, it's beautiful to have people know and care what I think about

- I care about my thoughts, because without them, I couldn't run

- I care about the world, since we have it on loan from God

- I care about God since he has one wacky sense of humor

- I care about my family, since they're all a little bit like me and that creeps me out to no end; but it's my best way to learn about myself, and they're a group of people that I've gotten very close to no matter how many times they complain about what I wear

- I care about that little flower that's growing outside, since every tiny organism is its own flourishing ecosystem on a smaller scale, and we betray our own existence when we destroy them

- I care about life, since it was a one-in-ten-thousand-billion-kajillion chance of occuring, and you should never underestimate the power of primordial soup

- I care about that there monolith that made us really smart, because it gave us the ability to produce bombs and clearcuts and a ruined lower class.... okay, I take that back. Those monoliths shoulda kept to themselves.

- Actually, I do care about human sentience, because it'll allow us to move on in the universe. I have a deep suspicion that we're merely a dry-run of the whole carbon unit thing, so we better do a good job of it and not blow ourselves up.

- I care about my friends, because they're all really pretty.

- I care about you, since we're pretty much the same person with a few tiny differences (we all share 98% of our genetic data with monkeys, do the math) so it would be a betrayal of myself not to treat you as such

- I care about the world, since we're all just neurons in one big global brain, and I'm going to be the best neuron I can possibly be.

Bye bye.

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