Thursday, September 30, 2004

Blecchhh!! Well, I've almost made it through my first week of college. I don't like it! So many expectations! How will I ever finish all my homework?! (By the way, as a high school student, my homework load is pretty modest... but still! Going to university to finish high school puts a lot of pressure on me.)

I feel like I'm just shivereing in a corner somewhere, and from that corner I'm projecting myself physically, and at some point, my physical apparition is going to have to drag myself out of that corner and back into wherever I am.

So! Guess what I did?! Well... you won't get this, but I imagined Dr. Eggman turning me into one of his robots. Isn't that sick?! Well, that's what he does... and I giggled and pleaded for mercy at the same time. You know, I should never let myself think like this. But... it's... so... good...

I need to lighten up. I've been so gloomy in the past week... I've been sick, I can't sleep...

Monday, September 27, 2004

The debates are this Thursday. I love debates! Last time around, Gore made a complete idiot of Bush, and yet... the conventional wisdom is that Bush won, because no matter how well Gore put his arguments, Bush would be totally unfazed. In fact, he was in a totally different world... fuzzy math... la la la...

So it must suck to be Kerry right now, because anything he does will result in the newscasters saying, "well, you understand that Kerry's shirt may have been as many as two degrees unbuttoned, and you know that just spells FLIP FLOPPER" or, "Bush showed great strength and courage in the face of unimaginable odds: facing a presidential opponent who can put two words together."

So, I guess Kerry has to find a way to get Bush's goose. Make him rant. Make him babble. Sit back. Smile. Get under his skin. It's our best shot.

Sunday, September 26, 2004

I had a dream a long time ago that I was trying to join the X-Men, but I spaced out and could never make it to any of the meetings.

I went back and visited my hippie school the other day, and realized, had I been Captain Flightsuit and stayed the course over there instead of jumping ship to the community college, I would most certainly be part of the school's ruling cabal; the intellecual, popular girls (you better believe it; I love that school, even if the classes were a joke). So, I had made my choice; sever my ties to the ruling class of the hippie school, and seek out world unknown elsewhere.

I start school very soon. I don't like it. Actually, I like having school because it gives me something to do; but I hate summer ending because it makes me think of all the things I didn't do, like, you know, anything. SOMETHING. In fact, it's getting harder and harder for me to wake up, and harder and harder for me to go to sleep. Today's record: asleep at 5am, up at 2pm. Too bad I have to shift gears to a school schedule in, oh, five hours.

So It's not surprising that I dreamt of wanting to be in the X-Men; I had, soon after, decided it was a reflection of me badly trying to get the attention of the popular girls and let them know that I am ruling class material. As of now, I am a freelance superhero, alone in the world.

I have a writing group that I go to very regularly and I love it because I get to write nonsense; unfortunately, my friends forgot to tell me when the group began, and I missed most of it, so I wrote a bunch of nonsense about how alone I felt. (Really, this kills me; I'm incredibly thin-skinned, and being fresh out of adolescence never helps.) But, unfortunately, I also wrote about how I wasn't from this world, how I felt that I was trying my hardest to project myself into this world and it doesn't work; and what I want, more than anything, is to have somebody else visit my world and maybe I will see theirs.

_That's_ what gets me. There's nobody, except for maybe my mom, for which I can tell them things through hand gestures or let them know what I'm thinking. Day in, day out, it's Mayor Leticia, always putting on the best face for the world around her. And I can tell you that I'm sick of it; but I'm so stuck in it that I don't know what else to do.

And _that's_ why I wanted to join the X-Men, have a name and a purpose, or at least be a part of something. I'm just sick of talking to myself. There's a whole world inside me and nobody gets to see it, well... ever.

So I'm not all that sad (anymore, that is; you can tell by my ability to write all this) I just don't know where to go with myself. I always called myself a late bloomer; where do I find, well, my X-Men? When I was a kid (this is what gets to me) I was very well-behaved and obedient and I surrounded myself with good people, but... for all of that, I never had a club, never had a stock-in-trade, never had a passion or an interest or a love. I suppose that's what gets to me the most; an overwhelming feeling of nothingness. Passionlessness.

When I'm sad, I often bask in that sadness, never let it go, because it means I'm feeling something and every time my gut churns one full circle it reminds me that I'm human. That's why I think I have no passion; I look inside myself and draw a blank.

Actually, this time I did try to find myself, and so I put on a scuba suit and dived into this huge bank of mud that stretched on forever throughout the caverns of my mind, and it was gross and stupid and I hated it, but somewhere in there I saw a naked woman, asleep, cased in a glass ball, never to get out underneath all the mud and baggage caked around her.

I suppose it's my duty to unearth that woman.

I owe it to myself, anyway.

Friday, September 24, 2004

Hello! I just finished reading Brave New World. Very interesting... in the future, humans shall be raised like Chia pets and everybody will be happy, and there will be no reason to be sad, or angry, or have any emotions at all.

It was a very moving book, and I thoroughly enjoyed it... (select to read the rest) but it ends way too soon. It has the feel of the first two acts of a three-act play, which is probably why he wrote Brave New World Revisited, which I am proceeding to read.

Gee, I'm bored. School starts up again very soon, so I suppose I should be nervous, but instead I'm totally stupified. But anyway... HEY! Did I pester you all to make sure you VOTE this year? Really? I did? Well here it is a again! Vote, or Leticia McKenzie will come to your house and kick your ass!

That's all for now. I need a shower... shower...

Sunday, September 19, 2004

Hi! I just slept over at Dante's house. It was scary! Leslie was slightly tipsy and giggling madly; she had gotten tipsy against my wishes, and don't worry, your humble host has remained clean and sober. We got into a tickle-fight, and after she discovered my weakpoint (my hairy lesbian armpits) she went for the pits like there was no tomorrow. Scary!

I got to see my very good friend, the other prettyboy I know, whom we shall call... Drakan. Drakan's a very handsome boy that I've gotten very close to, or, well, as close as I get to anybody. Anyway, I like him a lot, but he doesn't seem to like me back, which is okay, but frustrating because it makes me feel like I don't command enough... you know... girl meat. Presence. I wish I got more guys' attention.

And, I'm fully aware of those of you reaching toward the comment button to say, "trust me, it ain't all it's cracked up to be." Trust me, I know; I'd tell you, but it might blow my secret identity. (Let's just say I had my own little adventure with a boy's creepy crush...)

So, that was my night. Oh, and Dante, on principle, doesn't drink alcohol. In fact, on principle, he lets his girlfriend do anything she wants, including lick whipped cream off of Leslie (DO NOT ASK). This is what allows him to make out with me, which doesn't feel right... at all. (Don't worry, I let him, the one time that we did make out, see my last winter formal; it was just bizarrely passionless.) There was also one other boy there, who is surpisingly handsome with his new face fuzz, and... well, he's kind of scared of me. Why is everybody afraid of Leticia?! Is it... I don't have a mustard stain on my shirt, do I?

There you have it, dear readers! Now I am trying to operate on four hours of sleep. Oooh! Oooh! Sonic Team announced their new game for DS (formerly "Project Rub")... and it's a dating sim! See, there's this girl, and you love her, like a lot, and the object is to make her happy with the stylus. Isn't that GREAT?! I love the fact that, after we've been deluged by games aimed at guys that are craptacular ogle-fests we get a game where the goal is to be _gentle_ towards a woman, and you get rewarded for that! I might pick it up, myself.

In fact, I wish I were that girl, so that I could have a boy pleasure me with a stylus.

If only it were that simple.

"I Would Die For You"

Monday, September 13, 2004

Bleaargghhhh! I was hungry so I made some pancakes and ate them all. Now I have a starch and syrup tummyache, so it made me really dry so I had lots of water, which gave me a starch and syrup and water tummyache. Gross!

You'll be glad to know that I slept very well last night, although I had strange dreams. I was pretty certain that, instead of being an army of lawyers, I was a Neotank, stationed on my bed, and that I surrounded myself with friends who were rocket units as my emotional support, and I think I had a tank or maybe a missle unit on the floor to protect me, and I felt very secure. So secure, in fact, that I got up at 2 am to start my day, got dressed and stumbled into the bathroom in record time (I take ten minutes plus to do this), realized it was 2 am, and got to bed. No, really, I knew it was 2 am before that, but it took me a moment to realize that not only was it 2 am, but 2 am is a time reserved for sleeping, and not getting up in the morning to go visit my friends at Poseidontown High.

Speaking of which, I went to see my friends at Poseidontown High today! It was... depressing. I was very popular there, but for reasons I have explained earlier and compared to an episode of Digimon, I still didn't feel very well liked; nobody seemed to want to get close to me. Well, I came back, and still everybody liked me, and I still felt like I was floating through the sea of pudding, and I felt almost like I was going to cry when I saw The Most Popular Girl in the School (whom I used to be good friends with) and thought about how if I still went to this school, I'm positive, POSITIVE, that I would have fallen back in favor with the Popular Girls again. (Note that I was never out of favor with the popular girls; I'm just shy and embarrassed like that.)

So! What did I learn? Never go back to your old school! It's stupid! Let go! Nobody learned anything there! The most I learned there was about quadratic equations and the relative bitchiness of the science teacher. Most of all, though, I don't miss the drama. I don't! And it didn't help at all that when I arrived, my comrades were all playing some silly name game and I always loved playing the silly name game and meeting new people every year... (sniff sniff)

So! What's my plan? Mope and play Skies of Arcadia! The cure for everything! And write on my blog about when I got back.

I was emotionally exhausted when I came back, so I took a nap. (Yes, I have too much free time. Don't you hate that? You either have none, or too much. Bitch, bitch, bitch.) I swear that I told my dream henchman, as I drifted off to sleep, to take pictures of my dream on a webcam and then post them on the Internet. My hand to God. And if he had followed through, you would be looking at some really cool pictures right now. Incidentally, I don't remember anything about the dream, other than that it involved a woman in a tiger stripe bikini.

Actualy... I'm not doing that bad. I start school again soon, I have a writing group... things will be happy and I'm sure I will find my Bestest Friend in the Whole Wide World very soon.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

I am sooo depressed.

As if being stuck at home with nothing to do wasn't enough, I've been thinking about... that girl. I think I should go up to her, apologize, and tell her I just want to be her friend. I think it will work. Do you?

I've also had trouble getting to sleep. Currently, Advance Wars 2 and Skies of Arcadia have been tag-teaming as the Get Leticia to Sleep Committee. Any suggestions?
I am soooo depressed.

As if being stuck at home with nothing to do isn't enough, I've been thinking about... that girl. I think I should go up to her, apologize, and tell her I just want to be her friend. I think it will work. Really. Trust me.

Anyway, I've had a lot of trouble getting to sleep. Currently, Advance Wars 2 and Skies of Arcadia have been tag-teaming as the Get Leticia to Sleep Committee. Any suggestions?

Saturday, September 11, 2004

I just finished reading the last volume of Marmalade Boy. Waah!

That was probably the best manga I've ever read. The fun characters and the emotional tension that spans entire volumes made me devour them like Game Gear batteries. Even when the author talks about herself in the "free talk" sections, she rambles with nuanced kindness and a gentle voice. I am now convinced that she has the ability to transform herself into a chibi crayon-drawing person. Seriously.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Well, I asked a girl out. I’m sure you’ll all be glad to know that lonely Leticia has come out of her shell long enough to look pouty and ask, "will you go out with me?" and then run in terror, all except for the run in terror part.

So, what is the significance of this? Well, you ought to know why I (skies) haven’t been (of) posting in the (arcadia) past few days, and since the true answer is so unforgivable that I can only provide it using subliminal messages, I’ll give you a second one.

What the hell was the impetus behind my last post? Well, you should know that I was going to write "boys." I really was going to say that (I’ve even gotten sick of the word "boys," this internal drama has gone on so long. From now on, the condescending female term for the other team as far as I’m concerned will be fhqwhgads) I had finally learned to accept it in myself that I am heterosexual and thus back in God’s good graces as far as the Christian Coalition was concerned.

Well, something got fucked up.

Yeah, it practically wrote itself. You see, I’ve been engaged (I’ve explained this to Brielle, but nobody else) in a long-standing battle with myself over who it is that I like. Now, any reasonable person would take a good look at me, or even a cursory look at me, or even just glance up my skirt and say that I’m a true-blue bisexual, as bisexual as a three-pronged plug or Digimon slash fiction. But! You have to understand, the You-Like-Girls and You-Like-Fhqwhgads camps are divided quite evenly into exclusive sets of neurons, each trying to humiliate each other every damn minute when I’m trying to think, but especially—especially—when I’m trying to do math homework.

So each side loves to bring up its own respective evidence towards their particular agenda. Dreams, random glances, everything is fair game as far as the Trial of Leticia’s Sexual Preference is concerned. And the reason I can’t just lay down my respective arms, call it quits, and start calling myself "bisexual" and shaving only one armpit is because the two halves of me are entirely separate identities and good Lord, they’re tearing me apart piece by piece. I can’t really explain it fully here, but they’re using my everyday thoughts as a battleground and it’s wreaking havoc on my emotions. I wold cry if my ability to produce tears weren’t limited to Pokémon episodes.


I put a lot of stock in dreams. I write them all down, I analyse them for possible analogies, I pray to my Dream Goddess that she will grant me wisdom with which to approach my life. So when I had a dream in which I realized that I absolutely had to ask this one girl out, I did the only thing that a good old Leticia would do; I carried my dream advice into my life.

Of course, my dreams are never wrong. For instance, I’ve been playing Advance Wars so much, I had a dream about it the other night that insisted that I needed to retreat one of my three armies and strengthen it. Being that my personal dreamworld is my only clear look at my brain’s true processing power, I take its advice at face value.

So I asked her out. She looks at me funny. I look at myself funny, in a somewhat abstract fashion. She says no. I am crushed, by not totally downtrodden.
Actually, I feel plain fucking stupid, and the You-Like-Fhqwhgads neurons laugh all the way to the bank. But, no matter; Luscious Lesbian Leticia will strike back with a vengeance.

But then, I got back to my game of Advance Wars; but not only did I decide not to retreat my army since they had gained a narrow foothold in the area south of the factory that I was attacking; this particular army was instrumental in winning the game, and I’m positive that the Advance Wars coach bought them all fruit smoothies once it was over.

Oh, fuckberries.


Now, I’m pretty sure I have my head on straight. It’s not that I don’t like women; they are breathtakingly beautiful, and someday, I want one as my pet. (Mua ha ha.) But I am, unfortunately, undeniably heterosexual. I really do think I’m going to fall in love with a fhqwhgad; but I am going to be smart this time, and rather than ignite the long-standing sexual tensions happening between my lesbian half and my straight half, I’m going to be silent and let them work it out. With any luck, the two halves will fall in love, and that will create such a bizarre feedback loop that they will explode, and I will get back to my math homework. Hurrah!

(You know how, in those cartoons, they would always have an angel person and a devil person? Well, it’s like that for me, only the devil person is not really a devil, just a sexy butch lesbian. Sexy sexy butch lesbian. They have a lot of appeal.)

(I have two friends who are both stumpy butch lesbians and they love me a lot and I had a fantasy where they were making me into a soup and it makes me laugh to think about—oops! I just broke my embargo on masturbation fantasies. Ooooh, that felt good to write.... let’s see, just right now I had an imaginary boy massage my back while I watched TV...)

Thursday, September 09, 2004

My right mouse button is broken. I can't right-click anything for the life of me. Anyway, here's a summary of Leticia's Crappy Day...

Woke up from some creepy dreams. I remembered that last time I had a dream, I dreamt about this girl from the community center and about how I was _just_ _about_ to ask her out before I woke up. I decided that, even if I don't seem to like girls as much these days as in eighth grade, I should as her out at least out of respect for my cosmic self. (This isn't the first decision I've made on a dream, nor my last; myself as portrayed in my dreams is pratically an open book compared to how I treat myself when I'm awake.)

So I do some writing, feel good about myself, go to the community center when... I find that the community center is closed, because it's Thursday and the center is ALWAYS closed on Thursday. Dammit! I _totally_ thought it was Friday and I think my mom was just holding back on me. Anyway... I go to Poseidontown Square and meet a friend of mine, whom we'll call Belladonna, because she dresses extravagantly and makes everybody around her feel nervous.

Leticia: Oh, um, hi. How are you?
Belladonna: Oh, hi. I'm good.
Leticia: So, um, how are you?
Belladonna: Just, hanging out. At Poseidontown Square.

...Yeah, no good. I hate smalltalk. But you want to know the real reason I go to Poseidontown Square? I just like looking at people. So many different people pass through the Square, it just makes me happy that there are so many different kinds of people in the world. And that one girls bi-hawks are very pretty.

Anyway so I bury my face in a book and try to forget about the imaginary conversation taking place in my head with my imaginary Belladonna ("you like physics? So do I!"), and listen to Belladonna surround herself with, well, drug addicts. No, not all of them, in fact reasonably few of them are drug addicts, but reasonably all of them are rather mean-spirited and verifiably "the wrong crowd." Which... makes me sad because Belladonna is one of the most polite people I know. Why would _she_ be drawn to this crowd? Of course, I'm sure she has altruistic and humanitarian reasons for it, but...

Then I just got sad. Yes, I'm glad that there are places for these people to go... So many people get thrown by the wayside in this town, in every town. Among this group of worn-out, young people was a graying man in his thirties bitching about being evicted and drinking. Why do they end up ruining my day and reminding me that things go beyond my plush existence of Xboxes and long nights of Skies of Arcadia between vibrator sessions?

So I got depressed and left, and something... really got to me. It's that I really do like girls, and I really want to deny it because something deep in me wants me to move beyond my babydyke days by saying, "look! I'm normal! Now I can do anything in the world!" So, here I am, now, wondering when it's all going to be over.


Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Skies of Arcadia is pure crack. You will play it day and night. You will consider the characters to be your actual friends. It will invade your thoughts and your dreams. You will not be able to escape onnce you have become a mere tentacle of the great Sega Overworks collossus known as Skies of Arcadia.

That, an it's a hell of a game. Some of the most charming character designs I've ever seen are in there, and the whole "air pirate" theme, while a bit of a stretch, is neat. How many times have you gotten to pilot a flying boat? Really.

You know, one of these days I would like to join up with a roving band of Amazons and roam the mountains foraging for food and man-flesh... but then I'd probably complain that my loincloth is all dirty and I'm hungry and don't get to play my videogames and then I'd give it up. It's funny; one of the general RPG rules is that technology is always evil, and that the coming of technology always spells doom for a society, and it is the heroes with their swords and boomerangs and slingshots that will win in the end. It's like, nations where families can afford to indulge themselves in videogames seem to do it in order to pretend they are poor. I wonder why that is...

Anyway, being a swashbuckling air pirate is a lot more interesting than being a middle-class automaton. Just once I'd like to see the rebellion put into our videogames find its way into mainstream politics. Come on! Rock the Vote, y'all! Put some of that energy into giving rich white guys the business.
Sure to be of interest to my readers: the story of Washingontienne, as told by the Washington Post, with eerie parallels to yours truly.

Monday, September 06, 2004

You can find the Guardian's press review of Bush's speech here. But, for your convenience, I have summarized the press review in haiku form:

What a moving speech
How it would have made some sense
Back in 2000

Bush's grand vision
Isn't this guy president?
Asleep at the wheel...

Sunday, September 05, 2004

Welcome to the Republican National Convention: no violence, but 1,790+ arrests.

Listen to the first-person accounts here. It's like the Blair Witch Project, but real. And scarier.
I love how Bush's campaign theme seems to be "This Time, He'll Be Better."

After all, what kind of record does he have to run on?
To all who are familiar with the drug, Paxil (known as Seroxat in the UK), read this Guardian article immediately.


Paxil is a drug advertised to keep teenagers from getting overly anxious. I am something of a worrier, and so I was on Paxil for about four days before I demanded to my parents that we go against the doctors wishes and get me off the stuff before they increase my dosage. The reason? It placed a permanent buzzing in my head, keeping me from focusing in the slightest. The proof? When I went on Paxil, I got on the wrong bus, didn't notice until the line ended at the other end of town, then took the bus back and missed my stop. Other highlights include the lack of any internal monologue, and my anxiety being significantly suppressed at the expense of all other emotions. I was a complete blank.

(I also had a self-defense class when I was going off the pill--trying to learn to defend yourself against rapists is not something you want to do on a Paxil hangover.)

Anyway, turns out I was a best-case scenario.

A lawsuit has been filed against GlaxoSmithKline in the United States seeking refunds for children and adolescents given the antidepressant, Seroxat, following claims that the firm suppressed data showing the drug did not work and increased suicidal tendencies in young people.
The writ alleges GSK hid the results of two clinical trials that showed the drug was no more effective than a placebo in treating depression. In one case, it says, the placebo was more effective than Seroxat. Instead, the lawsuit states, the mixed results from a separate study were published in a scientific journal and used to promote the drug.
Additional information in the writ is an internal GSK memo, revealed this year, which said negative trial data should not be given to regulators and its dissemination should be managed "in order to minimise any potential negative commercial impact".

These people are scum.

For those of you in the UK: America is on something of a drug fad. If it comes from a plant, it's illegal and you'll go to jail for a good portion of your life. If it is made in a lab, it is the new wave. Drugs are used to treat ADHD, hyperactivity, anxiety, and everything else that teenagers have. (Children have lower attention spans and are liable to be disruptive? Golly gee!) To be fair, there are legitimate uses for such drugs, such as among the clinically depressed. But over here, they've been marketed as the one-size-fits-all solution to the awkward teenager: drown 'em in drugs. Drug-Free America, that's us!

As an awkward teenager, this gets me where it hurts. It isn't enough that my friends often want to kill themselves; they have pharmeceutical companies taking advantage of their parents' hysteria to sell them mind-altering synthetics that they know full well don't work. I've always maintained that corporations are not evil; they are simply out to make money, and they should always be expected to do whatever it takes to do so (which is why no law should ever work on an honor system). But this is so crass, so cynical, so brazenly cruel, I don't know if I'm ever going to look at a man in a business suit again without clobbering him.

In closing, whether or not you want to take drugs like Paxil is nobody's choice but your own; I'm positive there are success stories. But don't believe everything the comapanies say; remember, they're only in it for the money.

(And to my fellow bloggers: Please make sure this article rips through the blogosphere like wildfire. As a teenager, I have had many friends who are suicidal, and I don't want any of them to lose their lives to a drug.)
Well, I'm angry.

Arnold Shwarzenegger, who, you may recall, got elected purely because he is a movie star (and everybody stood by... nobody bothered to say, "um, isn't this a guy a movie star?"), says that those who are worried about the economy should "stop being economic girly men."

(or, more accurately, "stooop beeeing economic guuuuuuuhhhrly mennnnn!!!", at which point, he fired his AK-47 and the corpses fell from the cieling to massive applause)

Elevating the tone. Right. I'm right back into the playgrounds of second grade, where "like a girl" is once again an insult, and acting masculine in the face of reality is virtuous.

I was planning on getting all feministically pissed off at him, but the sad truth is, I've gotten used to it. It would only be a matter of time before Republicans resorted to "like a girl" as their insult. Just grab your crotch and suck it down, sissy.

(By the way, when he said his first "girly men" remark--about "special interests," which is a very conveniently broad term you can apply to anybody who has interests that are special and are not you--all the nice liberal groups were up in arms about how he was insulting gay people; and he was, and deserves to be deep fried for it. But, and let me be clear... WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT SAY ABOUT WOMEN?! Good God, anybody questioning the economy is not only effeminate, it is FEMININE, and unbecoming of a politician, even Janet Reno. That makes me, and my girlhood, and my vagina, very angry.)

(This is Leticia, and her girlhood, and her vagina, very angry, signing off.)

(By the way, I finished Paul Krugman's new book, The Great Unraveling, and he makes quite a case for the radical right being a revolutionary power that considers the current governmental system to be obsolete and invalid and will stop at nothing to replace it with the neocon wet dream of complete corporate rule; but, I forgot, he's a limp-wristed pansy. Don't listen to him!)

Saturday, September 04, 2004

Good golly! My brother made me watch three movies:

Undercover Brother: stupid
Mystery Men: very neat
Death to Smoochy: waaaaahhh!! I want my mommy!!!

(he was going for a "people in silly costumes" theme)

Undercover Brother is a cavalcade of tasteless in-jokes that make a mockery of black culture that I'm sure is amusing to somebody... okay, I found it pretty amusing too... but realizing that I found it amusing was an experience not unlike realizing I had slept with the school bully while drunk.

(Not an actual occurence. I made it up. Do not worry.)

Mystery Men is pretty stupid too, but after swearing to hate it for about the first hour it really grew on me. I've read a lot of superhero comics but not one has managed to tell the story of a group of superhero screw-ups who suddenly become humanity's last hope as well as Mystery Men did... I came away thoroughly charmed. Also, the cast kicked ass. I don't like celebrities at all, but even I had to go for the combination of Ben Stiller, Kel Mitchell, and liberal heroine Jeneane Garofalo, as well as the coffee shop girl who needs to rule the world.

Death to Smoochy will give me nightmares. Forever. It's a very good film, actually--exceptional, even, from a filmmaking standpoint--but god DAMN did it make me piss my pants. I don't think I _can_ like it, as my conscience won't let me. I'm going to speak to my therapist and tell him that the dancing rhinocerous with a gun needs to GO AWAY!!! PLEASE!!!

I want to play Harvest Moon now. I wish I owned Harvest Moon, but of course, I'm waiting for the Girls version. I need Harvest Moon to hold me and stroke my hair. Waah!


p.s. You know, one day, I was thinking: Viewtiful Joe is neat, but it makes my head hurt like a mofo. Too much going on... too much action... neat calm... need peace... it's the second game (after Shenmue) that I've bought pretty much only because it got critical acclaim, and after I bought Shenmue and found it to be an overly glamourized sailor-hunt I swore only to buy a game if it appealed to me personally and not just because it got straight nines.
So I finish (almost... can't beat that damned final boss) Viewtiful Joe and realize, no matter how good a game it is, I won't play it very often because it simply isn't my thang. So, I thought... what would be Leticia's Best Game Ever? So....

My old teacher, who also needs to rule the world, taught his class (including me and Dante, who, over the course of this class, discovered we were in love, to a fashion) to meditate, and we had to imagine our perfect grove in our perfect forest land. No, only I imagined a grove in a forest land, he just told everyone to construct a home for themselves in their minds. Mine looked like it was in the middle of nowhere, but when you found my shiny purple/silver palace, you saw the hot springs and fountains and beautiful bathrooms (I love bathrooms, when I'm rich and famous I'm going to have a bathroom the size of the Astrodome) with great big porcelain tubs and showers and I can just lay down on the floor and stare at the cieling and think about how beautiful I am...

So I thought about my World's Perfect Game for Leticia and I realized, IT WOULD HAVE TO HAVE MY FOREST MANSION, but no, I wouldn't START with my forest mansion, I would start with a tiny little shack and build my way up through challenges and connections and mini-games. This, by the way, is almost EXACTLY the concept of Sega's new game, Amazing Island, but it doesn't have the fancy houses I don't think.

But the point of the game wouldn't be all the mini-game challenges, I figure I'm much too jaded a gamer for that. No, I would have to choose how to spend my money on beautiful decorations and I could decorate my house however I want and have pets like pandas and tigers and the tiger would have a habit of eating me in the middle of the night (excuse me) oh and I'd have a beautiful silk nighty and I would walk through the house feeling as though I were made of beautiful, heavenly fluff and my husband would come by and grab me and fuck me like nobody's business until I have ascended to the next plane, in which I am an old woman playing checkers with my old lady friends at a bridge table on a completely blank background (like on those cell phone commercials) and we smile and talk about politics and figure we're just old fogies and we've gotten everything in the world and there's nothing left but to have fun until we die... and then, after five minutes, I come down from my orgasm and place my hand on my husband's stomach and tell him, "you know, I'm only thirty years old," and he says, "yes, my Charmander, you have your whole life ahead of you" and then he licks my pussy.


See! Wouldn't that be the best game ever?! Um, it sort of became my sexual fantasy halfway through, but we have to come up with some use for those vibration controllers, now don't we?!

Signing off,


(Yes, I already signed this post, but I just live for all that pomp and circumstance. I'll watch a whole TV show just for the cliffhanger. Actually, you know what I really love? The awkward pause just before the theme song. Firefly does it quite well. I live for that awkward pause.)

SUZY: Appendix A includes games that somewhat match Leticia's description.

Harvest Moon
Animal Crossing
The Sims

LETICIA: You know, if they combined Advance Wars and Animal Crossing, THAT would be the best game ever.
SUZY: If you say so.
At the bank, there are these little cards that have your teller's name on them and say, "I Caught [jane doe] Giving EXCELLENT Service!" Now, as far as I'm concerned, every teller I've ever met has given me just damn fine service; they smile, they look at my ID, they take money from my account and/or put it back in. I don't need them to do a freaking song and dance, you know? But, I'm always too shy to do anything with those cards, because I'm far as I'm concerned, all the tellers give me excellent service because I JUST WANT MY DAMN MONEY.

Then again, if I _did_ just fill out one of those cards for every teller who takes my order, I would probably dilute their effect. Still, it would be a courtesy, wouldn't it be?

Of course, this is the bank that made me realize that the smoothest and most handsome people are the ones running the world. Crikey.

More vignette-y nonsense:

On the bus, once, I saw a white teenager (very handsome) with a black armband featuring Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man in holy matrimony. What warmed my heart was seeing that Ms. Pac-Man appeared to be black; it was an armband in favor of interracial dating! Oooh, I thought, he must have a black girlfriend and wants to show his support. How neat.

Then, he turned his arm, and I saw that the armband actually just showed regular old Ms. Pac-Man, hailing from the Establishment, and the light is what made me think she was black. Hunh.

Anyway, I got Skies of Arcadia: Legends today. I'll tell you how it is. EB was packed today! The swamped clerks were trying to sell people doodads left and right, telling them to preorder games they were never interested in. He tried to get me to preorder the Special Edition of Halo 2; oh, but no, I'm smarter, I'm fighting The Man by getting the $5 cheaper version because I LIKE THE BOX ART BETTER! Hah! Hah!... oh, I'm a loser.

Oh, and you have to see Al Sharpton's speech at the DNC. You can see it here. Everything I've wanted to see in politics is in there. Oh, and I'm sorry I've been gone.........I'd like to say I have a great family-related excuse, but it's more that I've binged on Advance Wars 2 since finals ended. This is why I have begun dreaming in Advance Wars, such as the story of the lonely, weak infantry unit who was left behind at the HQ to heal, only to be picked up by a wandering APC unit from the other team. See you next time!
The problem is, Kerry is stuck in the past. Yes, we've been hearing about the Swift Boat Veterans for Their Version of Events for what feels like years now, and the Democrats have yet to deploy the shock troops to the morning news shows and say, "Here is Kerry's record in Vietnam, here is Kerry's record as a senator, take a look at them and how they stack up against Bush's respective records." Yes, I know, we're the Democrats and we're the wishy-washy nice guys who don't mind lobbing a few balls in the Republicans' direction ("moderation in pursuit of further moderation is no vice!"), but at some point, we're going to have to learn the rules of the political game that the Republicans pretty much invented.
The problem with the Swift Boat Liars is that, even though they've been thoroughly discredited, the headlines of "Kerry's Vietnam record in question" make everybody think twice about whether or not Kerry really did save that guy (hey, is Jim Rassman dead?). We should not rest until every American knows that Kerry's Vietnam service record has been a matter of public record since the war, and that Bush spent Vietnam dodging the draft and snorting cocaine. (Of course, everyone was trying to get out of Vietnam, but it certainly doesn't help Bush's commander-in-chief credentials.)
But, more importantly, we need to take Bush down as the Super-Manly Candidate. John Kerry had the courage to serve in Vietnam and then the courage to protest the war when he returned. All Bush has is an empty flightsuit and a dental record. Bring it on, sucka. Bring it on.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?