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Sunday, August 29, 2004

I was thinking about death again, as I am wont to do.

If, as before, "me" as a concept is a collection of electrical signals, and thus an idea, and ideas never die...

...and when someone goes comatose, they don't remember anything when they wake up except for dreams; and thus, after they are knocked out, they feel that they woke up immediately after...

...and, when I die, my neurons go cold and their material disperses...

...and the only thing connecting "me" from five seconds ago to "me" now is my memory...

...when I die, will I immediately wake up again as somebody else, or will I just die and not think anything ever again? And, by some freakish chance, if I reincarnate as me with my personality and memory, will I feel like I just woke up from a slumber that began when I died, or will I feel like I just got my memory back after living thousands and thousands of lives, unaware of it?

Damn! I'm thinking about this too much. You know, Buddhists do have something going for them; your existence on Earth being one of many incarnations does make a bit more logical sense than this existence being a trial for spending eternity in Heaven or Hell. But, here's what I think... it makes me sad to imagine that pure data would ever really die. However, if time is merely a fourth dimension of space, then it has no significance and all data in the universe is available for anyone with a four-dimensional webcam (now available at Radio Shack)... perhaps I could be brought back by aliens who are so advanced, they consider reincarnation to be something they do on weekends just for kicks. I really, really hope that, when I reincarnate, I will have blue hair, and Rhyth's headset from Jet Set Radio. I also hope that I will wake up naked in a big steamy tube and the aliens will all say, "Look at Leticia! She is so beautiful, I could just eat her!" And then they do, but I give them bad digestion.

See? It works.
Hi! Ummm... I haven't been around lately because I'm just bored. I don't feel strongly about anything. I'm just floating arounnd in the Post-Final-Zone. I know that's a weak excuse, but, well...

My brother got this thing called Red vs. Blue. It's funny. It's kind of stupid. Slightly recommended.

I haven't been out of the house for a few days. What is there to do? I could take a walk, I suppose... okay... I'll take a walk... goodbye...

(I've also been playing too much Advance Wars; and those of you familiar with video games know that if you play one particular game too much, you start to see its machinations as you close your eyes. Yes, it's happened. Fuckin' creepy.)

Also, I've been reading The Great Unraveling, by Paul Krugman. Much fun. Krugman can explain everything in purely monitary terms, which is nice, because he's recognized that the world really does run on money and not on family values and baby-kissing. Also, he can show unequivocally that Bush's policies are bad for the nation, without himself getting worked up about it. He also delightfully compares Bush's friends to the revolutionaries in the French Revolution; a revolutionary power considers the current form of government (with international law and taxes on capital gains) to be invalid, and will stop at nothing to overthrow it. Also, he says you should not fear being called an "alarmist," because so far, Bush has proven the alarmists right every time.

I don't know all that much about economics, but being somebody who likes to think of everything in terms of numbers and symbols, it is excellent. While I was reading this book at the library, I came across my good friend Michelle, who writes slam poetry and is something of a Poseidontown celebrity. She seemed happy to see me and told me, morosely, that she was studying poetry and when I told her I was reading a book "about why the economy is in the crapper" (that was my best attempt at summarizing the book), she said "that's a good thing to read about..." I got home and wrote some morose diary entry about how I wish I could have her throw me, straight up, into her world of screams and shattered glass and fluffy clouds and stanzas and metaphors and coffee shops, to be able to see something through Michelle-colored glasses just for once... but oh well, I'm stuck with Leticia-colored glasses for now, I might as well make the best of them.

Although, there is something to be said for, you know, expanding the range of your glasses...

Okay I'm done. Bye!

Monday, August 23, 2004

Dear Kathryn Jane,

Please, please, please, please, please make me your adorable costar.

Please, please, please.

Leticia
You aren't going to believe this, but I couldn't get to sleep and woke up at three in the morning... except I wasn't Leticia, for about five minutes I was positive that I was an army of lawyers each one inch high, arranged sporadically inside an Advance Wars grid on top of my bed. Some lawyers, who shall henceforth be referred to as Leticialites, were larger than others, to represent their larger penetrative strength toward the enemy forces. However, being that there were no enemies, we all just stood around arguing about why we couldn't go to sleep.

I'm dead serious. Reading GTO before bed is bad for you.

(It took a good half-hour to reconstruct my bearings. I had to remind myself that I am not, in fact, an army of inch-high lawyers, I am, in fact, one small-town girl and her otherworldly guardian angel, who is kind of obtrusive but in a nice way. See? Perfectly normal.)

Sunday, August 22, 2004

Yes, I'm going to talk about Bill O'Reilly one more time, and if you have a problem with that, you can just shut up and go back to your liberal loon friends and call of Fidel Castro because, here on the O'Leticia Factor, we see through all the spin coming from both sides and, you know, I can't stress this enough, I came from the hard, hard city streets of downtown Hicksburg and I ate bugs and rainwater for nine months before making up to the top here at COW News and I can't stress enough that the government, you know, big government spending, I mean... SHUT UP!! YOU HAD YOUR THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES! Go back and sit over there, you had your thirty-five minutes... I'M WARNING YOU!! I'M A TRUTH-TALKING ANALYST AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO GO NONPARTISAN ON YOUR ASS!! ...

...

Sorry. What I was saying was, I can understand where a lot of Bill O'Reilly's appeal comes from (really, really scary stuff ahead)... You all know that I descibe myself as a space case and an idealist and kind of out there all the time, and while I'm proud of who I am and that all makes sense to me... if I wanted a boyfriend who would balance myself out, I'd want him to be really grounded, very focused... the opposite of our friend Bill but I'm getting to that. There's something very appealing in that no matter how wrong he is (as Steven Colbert put it in his hilarious parody of Bill), "I'm right, and you're wrong." He doesn't even need to SAY he's right, he just is, by virtue of just being him, and if you're not him, than you're wrong, because I'm a truth-talking independent and believe you me, I look at all the facts and listening to the arguments respectfully and SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!--and you can see why, God help me, I mean God really help me, I mean hail Mary full of grace and everything else twenty times and I'm going to bathe in holy water before I say this and draw a cross on my chest about twenty times using a Sharpie and widen the brim of my Quaker hat by about ten feet, I do find him insufferably attractive, because he HAS that oomph, he HAS that confidence, he exhudes the feeling of being completely grounded in reality because he just won't accept anything else. He IS a truth-talker, if you accept that the "truth" is that O'Reilly is right and everything else is wrong, and if all you've got against me is that I call a Peabody a Polk, you're sick.

(whooo) That's my thing on Bill O'Reilly. And if you'll excuse me, I'm about to bathe in the blood of a thousand virgins and MAYBE this will leave my head. And remember: "Well, I want to kill Michael Moore, is that right? All right? And I don't believe in capital punishment." Good night!

To be fair, his retort is that just after he said that he wanted to kill Moore, he said, "that's just a joke on Moore." Well, don't worry, Mr. Bill, I may want to hunt you down and slice out your heart and put your head on a stake and sell your scalp on eBay--but that's just a joke. Friends? Friends.
Hi hi! Hmmm...

Not much to write about today. Speaking of O'Reilly... I saw his debate with Al Franken and Molly Ivins, finally (you can see it here; it's over a year old though, so it's not exactly breaking news). Poor O'Reilly... I kinda feel sorry for him. He lives in a completely alternate universe of his own making, and he can talk about how he doesn't call names and how he elevates the discourse and then five minutes later be yelling "shut up," "this is way over your head...." On his show he calls people "loons" as if that discredits them from speaking.

Moreover, though, he loves to talk about himself and how methodical and free-thinking is... if he isn't an example of the horrors of newsmedia, I don't know what is. I love to speak and I sometimes dream of being in politics, but I do dread planning every line and speech so that I do not make the Dreaded Gaffe (gaffes, as we all know, are more important than positions; Gore talking about James Lee Witt and Dean saying "yarrrggh" seemed to dominate the press more than they should have...)... and every figure in public life that I've seen indeed live by the stage-managed talking points and the carefully considered one-liners, EXCEPT for O'Reilly who seems to be driven completely mad. Molly Ivins remained calm throughout the entire debate (if it had been just an O'Reilly/Ivins debate, Bill woulda handed himself his own ass on his own platter) while furiously writing things down, and you could tell that she had gotten the language of news down so well that she could handle the stress and expectations of public speaking with candor and taste. Bill, however, just seems to lose it, and that's why I feel sorry for him. He's been in this business since forever and it's just driven him crazy, and it seems like it's going to be along time before he is going to be able to reconcile with himself on how much he hates it.

Bush seems the same way... He's probably waiting until his four years end and he gets to go back to his drunken frat parties. I doubt he's really thinking about any of these issues... he has an army of aides and spokesman who will be happy to muddle the issue beyond recognition for the press. Poor guy, I kind of feel sorry for him too. It's like his connections got him straight from failing oil companies to the White House, and he has no flippin' idea what to do with it.

Back to the debate: Franken was hilarious, of course... he was just a bad match-up for O'Reilly, since we already have one showman and he would have been more properly beaten by somebody like Molly Ivins, who both tells it like it is AND knows not to take the bait (to combine two clichés into one unstoppable cliché force).

Saturday, August 21, 2004

Hi! I'm back from finals. Ooooogghhhh... my brainpower's all gone. Once I got all my sleep back, I just felt like I was floating. La la la.... I couldn't think. It was like I was high... on finals. However, seeing all my friends again made me really happy. Then I felt like I was walking on air. Note the difference.
Hm.

It seems that Bill O'Reilly is threatening Canada that if they don't return the two American deserters, "there will be a boycott of your country which will hurt your country enormously. France is now feeling that sting." When questioned, he said "...they've lost billions of dollars in France according to the Paris Business Review."

The problem is, well, there IS no such paper called the Paris Business Review. The closest match is the European Business Review, which has never mentioned an American boycott of France.

But, sadly, Bill O'Reilly's ego is so powerful that he can conjure up publications out of nothingness. Thankfully, this one is funny.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Final exams coming up.

Dead until further notice.

Monday, August 09, 2004

It's only with girls that I get that tingly feeling where I think I'm in love. So it happened today, when I was at the library and saw the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. She wore a green dress and pushed a stroller with two babies and her hair just seemed to swirl onward into the vast recesses of the universe and her face... she had walked straight out of a fairy manga. Dear lordy I wanted her. Not in my bed, just... at the center of my universe. I wanted to become her. I wanted to BE her.

This added another confusing piece to the who I like puzzle, as I only (usually) come to thinking about men. Oh, dear...

Hey, wait... on second thought, this works out quite well. If I am a woman, and I like myself, and I date a man, then I have the liking men covered and the liking women covered. Hmm... this could work out. Perhaps a relationship with myself wouldn't be so bad if it were a threesome involving myself, myself and somebody else. Granted, this somebody else would have to get along with both of me, but... that's just an extra way to screen my boyfriends. Are you up to it?

Then there's the girl from math class, discussed before, but henceforth shall be called... Rachel. She dresses so well that you just want to peel of each layer of her until you get to the center. She's... not just a person, she's a _presentation._ She's like a nice big burrito. I'll have to remember that.

(Leticia writes down, "dress like a nice big burrito")

Or... maybe not. Maybe I ought not to compare women I find attractive with burritos. Speaking of which... the hottest woman I ever saw was in my art class looked like a construction worker (or a female Super Mario... or maybe the personification of a gyro sandwich) and good God, I wanted to be the burrito she was ripping apart with her teeth. What is it with me and the human/food thing? Will I, by any chance, wake up tomorrow to find myself turned into a gyro sandwich? Will the slices of meat consist of every boy I've ever respected? Will I excrete sour cream upon this realization? Has this blog post gone way too far? Stay tuned!

Friday, August 06, 2004

I saw him again and... nothing. Now I don't feel much at all. Hunh. I wonder what kept me up until 1am then? Just the prospect?

We'll see....

(Oh, and I'll probably see the Tall Guy w/Sideburns Who Really Needs to Play the Guitar while I Fall Asleep in his Lap today. Here's hoping...)

Tuesday, August 03, 2004



For some reason, I find that image of Sonic to be quite sexy.
I didn't think about it much today. I don't like being in love... if I am, anyway. Yesterday I couldn't go to sleep, so I had to play Advance Wars for a while... which didn't help, so I read Great Teacher Onizuka vol. 1. Ha! That comic book is very excellent. Since I've read so many manga series lately, I will run them down for you:

Marmalade Boy: Delightful romantic comedy. Wonderful nightstand stuff. Writer is experienced and full of heart.
Pita-ten: Silly and deranged (good), but sort of drags on. Hmmm...
Confidential Confessions: This is the stuff. Good to read when you're sad. I restate that every teenager who reads this blog needs to read vol. 1.
Naruto: Amusing, but I've only read vol. 1...
Yu-Gi-Oh!: Amazing. The perfect blend of fantasy and reality create the ultimate power fantasy for us shy people. If Dark Yugi were here right now, I'd tell him to say "let's play a game" and then rip my clothes off.
Great Teacher Onizuka: A little trip through everything that is horrible and everything that is wonderful about us human beings. I've only read vol. 1, but even so... it's the kind of book that will disgust you and yet you can't put it down. The main character is a sleazeball, but he's a _lovable_ sleazeball... and you get the idea that life is about to give him the ass-kicking he so richly deserves. Great stuff.

(One of the things I like the most about GTO vol. 1 is how upfront it is about sexuality... it's everything you hate about the human condition from the inside out. No holding back. It's something our culture--and the Japanese, too, I imagine--have needed for a hundred years.)

..Now I'll go read some more comic books and find assorted things to entertain myself with. Later!

Monday, August 02, 2004

Bad news, y'all.

I'm in love. Well, I think I am. It's that feeling where you don't like somebody on a personal level, but on a deeper level, something on a stomach level, you think about him until your head hurts on the bus, and your stomach is in one thousand knots and you go home, crash as soon as you get there because it's too hard to think about your math homework, and then you dream that you are trying to solve a math equation except you are convinced that you cannot solve for a variable unless you know whether or not you are in love with this man.

You meaning me, this is all true. Dead serious.

This is bad. I thought I was a stronger woman than this. Oh, well. I suppose I'm going to have to deal with it creatively, such as bashing his head in next time I see him for compromising my stomach's integrity. In the meantime, I'm going to wish I were in love with that guy from the community center instead, because he has the sideburns and the tallness and the guitar-playing ability, and all this guy has is... contagious friendliness and a tendency to creep me way the hell out. Before, that is, I go home on the bus, and realize... you know... my heart does yearn for him, even if my brain would rather die...

So, I don't like it, so I'm going to pretend I'm not in love for the next several days. Care to join me? We'll do lots of Not In Love things, like watching cheesy action movies and moping in our respective rooms, alone. Bring chips, and maybe some Cheez-Wiz. I know, I'm vegan, but I'll just have the Cheez-Wiz around as a prop to remind myself that I'm not in love. And a lava lamp. That sounds very not in love. And some Sonic games, some decisively unromantic ones like... Sonic Spinball. Good. I feel less in love already. I'm sure you'll all come over to help, right? We'll play stupid girly games just to make sure we're not in love.

Leticia

Oh She Who Is Not In Love

(You know... I would like to be in love with somebody who can play the guitar, and has long blonde hair that flows in the wind and I can lay down in his lap while he sings me to sleep, late at night, in the park, with the cool breeze fluttering my beautiful white slip, which for some reason I am wearing in the park, at night. Unfortunately, he will subsequently turn out to be gay. You win some, you lose some. Yeah, I'm trying to look for some enlightening I Capture the Castle moral in this, when I'm not busy denying that this whole thing ever happened.)

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Comments ho! I got bored and added Blogger's new comments. What fun!

Now, all you people who think I am dead wrong and I ought to be masturbating instead to Master Chief wearing pink armor being eaten by a giant Venus fly trap (??? I do not know where that came from) can hereby voice their opinions on this here LeticiaNet, the Global Brain known as people bitching about various comments (or, as a certain MSNBC reporter likes to call it, "a riff on whatever you were riffing on)." So! All y'alls, be sure to leave your comments at the door. Mistress Leticia's into that kind of thing.

I'm... hyperactive. I did four hours of math work yesterday. You know why? Here's how it goes...

One day in math class at Poseidontown High, our teacher, henceforth to be known as Professor X, noticed that I was out of it. As you have doubtlessly guessed, this was one year ago and I was thinking about Dante. Dante... do I really want to have sex with him? Of COURSE this was my first question, beyond the question of whether or not I even wanted emotional intimacy. Beat it, yo.

Anyway, Prof. X noticed that I was more intent on solving the great mysteries that lie beyond Dante's zipper than (y+2)^2=49... so he stopped me after class and told me...

Professor X: Listen, Leticia, you seem out of it today. You haven't done one problem.
Leticia: I have too done one goatee! ..I mean arm hair! ...I mean problem!
Professor X: Let me give you another pearl of wisdom from my childhood in Humble Beginnings Land. You see, when you focus on just one point, everything else in the universe seems to slip away. It all recedes into the back of your mind and you can focus on your one point. Now, here's what's really special...
Leticia: ...
Professor X: Leticia?
Leticia: ...
Professor X: LETICIA!
Leticia: Oh no! Not the phone ringing! I mean... what?
Professor X: (sigh) What I'm trying to say is that if you focus on your math homework, your brain will figure out what to do with the rest of your problems on its own. Just focus on math for a bit. I call it... Math Meditation.
Leticia: Math Meditation.
Professor X: Very good. Now get that assignment done or you're getting a D!
Leticia: (gulp) Yes sir!

And so, I learned the magical process known as math meditation through this highly dramatized but essentially accurate dialogue, and Leticia was never the same. And by the way, y equals five; and because I figured that out, I am thirty seconds closer to having Dante. I mean somebody else! Don't scare me like that, subconscious. Seriously.

Leticia

(Gandhi said that his only problem with modern machinery was that it was taking the means of production out of the hands of the many and putting it into the hands of the few. This is why he advocated everyone on Earth owning a spinning wheel; the spinning wheel became a symbol of revolution in India. To sit at the spinning wheel and concentrate on making clothes for your family, while letting the rest of your mind wander elsewhere, was itself an act of revolution. When the author Lewis Fischer learned of this in an interview with Gandhi, he asked if interupting his spinning for an interview has delayed India's independence from Britain. Gandhi laughed and said "yes, you have delayed independence by six yards.")
My new addiction: I Love Bees.

You see, about a month ago some prominent members of the gaming community recieved packages containing jars of honey from a place called "Margaret's Honey." Inside each jar of honey was a letter, and together, all the letters spelled out I LOVE BEES. Being good gamers, they went and visited ilovebees.com, and here's where our story begins...

ilovebees.com is the website of Margaret's Honey, run by Margaret's niece, Dana. But that's not what you'll notice first; what you'll notice first is the giant, menacing countdown informing you that this system has been invaded by the "System Peril Distributive Reflex," and that you have until August 24 until "wide awake and physical." What does that mean?

Our obedient gamers went to work on the website, piecing together clues. Strewn throughout the website were distorted images, bits of disjointed computer code, and cries for help beginning "mayday, mayday, mayday." By piecing together the distortions of the images, our heroes found a story; a beautiful story, good God, and a scary one, about the Widow who has to bring back her Queen so that she can reclaim her rightful place as ruler. Piece together the random bits of computer code, and you have a sequence of events running parrallel to the Widow's actions in the story. Finally, piece together the "mayday" cries for help and you have excerpts from Robinson Crusoe, The Tempest, Moby Dick, and other stories, as well as military training manuals, the excerpts specifically relating to SHIPWRECKS. Oh dear.

It all came to a head when Bungie began advertising Halo 2 in movie theaters; at the end of the trailer, the usual Xbox logo and Xbox.com address were displayed, except the web address briefly changed from "xbox.com" to...



Something big is going down, my friends. Something big.

The I Love Bees website is here, and the wiki set up to gather clues is here. If you think you have a few new bearings on this mystery, feel free to join in the treasure hunt. Me, I'm right fascinated with the whole business, and it's right pathetic. I know full well that Bungie is dangling a carrot in front of my face, leading me closer and closer to the inevitable purchase of Halo 2. Damn your genius, Bungie! And damn your really good writers. That creepy story is irreproducible.

Leticia

(By the way, prominently in the computer code is the number 343. Do you know what that means?)

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