> Just saw Simone
> Marilyn Manson - Para-noir

Simone was kind of lame, but chilling at the same time. It was by Andrew Niccol, the mind behind Gattaca. My computer is being such a shit. I’m inspired to work on my website now, seeing a movie about technology. Hm. It’s 11:51. I tried to load Flash help, but it crashed the program. That really sucks–help is a very important function in Flash. I must upload the source file for the page I’m working on so I can work on it at school. Yay for FTP! Molly e-mailed me and said that some weird thing happened when she tried to open my blog–I don’t know what her computer’s been smokin’. I took the links to my friends’ blogs off–it allowed people from the Internet to find out my real name. And we can’t have that, can we? I thought not. I am absolutely in love with the Password page. It’s so sweet an animate-ey. That is so not a word. But I don’t care. It’s my blog. Brogybra#rjoeiwj%gapwerwjerl is my new word for animate-ey. My FTP isn’t working! Gay in the butt! Damn it all to hell. Dan (Kelly’s boyfriend) is talking to me, he got a job at Hollywood Video. We’re talking about how flagrantly the filmmakers screwed up Simone. It was by Andrew Niccol, the writer of Gattaca, a very serious movie–they even used a set from Gattaca in it–but no, it sucked. Well, you can’t win ‘em all. Damn, the source file for the Password page is 4 megs. That would take until tomorrow on my crappy connection.

I need an external Zip drive. Or some kind of memory card. Floppies are unreliable, and burning CDs is time-consuming and screws up all the time. I need a solution. Fuck everything. I wish I could sell all my oil paints that I bought–I’m so not in the mood any more. I want to sell back all my photography paper, I want to throw out my sketch book. I’m not cut out to be an artist–at least in the 18th century meaning of the word. My art is my web design. I may drop television production. I have nothing to say. I have no inspiration. I just want money so I can fulfill my monkey-like desires for stuff and sex. Depressing. I have to get out of this shit hole. Okay, it’s 12. Must be going to sleep. I was really irritable after I got off of work, so I left the college. When I notice that I have a venomous insult on the tip of my tounge at every turn, it’s best to go home. People just grate on my nerves sometimes–especially when they are loud. Or illogical. I’m even angry at Dan right now, he doesn’t get what I’m trying to convey in this work-related anecdote I told him. Maybe it was ineffable. Or I’m just not in the mood to convey stuff. Fuck.

Oh, Amanda told me something funny today. She showed her mom my website and her mom said that the symbol in the top left of the navigation bar is the “star of Satan.” Those of you who are not imbeciles, this is your cue to laugh. That symbol is the Star of David–and unless she was referring to the entire Jewish faith when she used the word Devil, she was flagrantly wrong. The more I’m on this planet, the more I believe that intelligence skips a generation.

Well, I must be going to sleep. Work awaits tomorrow. Only nine more days until payday!

> Just watched The House of Mirth

I think that was quite possibly the most boring, depressing, and pointless movie ever. The acting, costumes, cinematography, and sets were impeccable, but the actual plot was about as anti-climactic as a Florida election. There were some really powerful scenes, but the superb acting was all that carried this funeral procession on. And god, why didn’t she just marry the man she loved? Watching the character development of this miscarraige of a main character was like watching a pyre burn. The movie took place over too long a time span, and kept jumping forward too fast. The central aspect of the movie was money, but somehow periods of months went by when the main character supposedly had nothing to eat, while wearing opulent dresses and her ubiquious jewlery. Even the title is someone’s horribly misguided attempt at levity. I would recommend this movie about as much as I would recommend a colonic irrigation. At least it might be possible to feel good after the latter. I believe that the filmmakers were trying to capture the period of the 1900s social scene, but they failed to realize that all they’d capture was stagnant, Victorian ennui.

Okay, I’m done. Gillian Anderson was superb, however, and I didn’t expect her to be. It was strange. Well, I think I’m going to watch some porn and try to get this–abomination–out of my mind. I’m talking to Tawna, she’s at the clubhouse with everyone. I’m also talking to Tara, she took the Pointless Personality Test and she got “Powerpuff Girls.” KiddGrotesk is also harranging me with his new meditations on drugs. He could give lessons in attempting to extract pity via the Internet. Great, he’s blathering on about ennui.
KiddGr0tesk: i dunno
KiddGr0tesk: i feel empty
KiddGr0tesk: like im missing something
KiddGr0tesk: and its time for me to grow up and im not ready
dariusofthedark: how so
KiddGr0tesk: college, work
KiddGr0tesk: i miss being a child were i could find fun in anything
KiddGr0tesk: now, im just alive
KiddGr0tesk: and find everything once appealing, boring
KiddGr0tesk: its kinda torturous; its been causing me uncontrolable anxiety

Uncontrollable anxiety. It’s causing me uncontrollable boredom listening to your bullshit. Just blog it, damn it. Lol, that would be a cool Internet parody song, “Blog It” instead of “Beat It.” Hm. Taggart’s online again. I should post this, I said that I wrote a scathing review of that accursed movie.