That's right, baby, I'm checking you out *RAWR*

So the other day I was wandering around campus doing something... returning books maybe? And I saw this guy and did a total double-take. He notice me staring and he got this "oh yes I am SOOOOO hot" look on this face and then strutted off. While I will admit that I was definintely doing the lingering-glance thing, it was not because I found him attractive.

I was oggling his headphones.

(promise breaker? nah!)

Eww.

Would you look at how early it is? And I've been up for half an hour. It's ok, though... LAST EXAM AT 8 30 WOOOOOOOOOT.

Just sitting here with my canned breakfast (can't handle solid foods this early in the morning it seems), waiting for my brain to turn on so that I can re-read my class notes. Nothing too heavy; it's not like I'm suddenly going to wrap my head around anything amazing this close to sitting the exam... just reviewing.

Got a good sleep, which followed productive studying at Starbucks in the morning/afternoon, and not-so-productive studying at home. Oh Starbucks, how you continue to define our generation...

Sall kept me hooked up with drinks (GRATUIT! Parce qu'elle m'aime!) and then John showed up (apparently he had been texting her) armed with an iPod full of lovely new things for Baby Mac. Baby Mac? Mac Baby? Jury's still out. Anyway, he (the computer)'s so pimped out now, it's awesome. A quick cameo by Trev and a phone call from Mom and Kell and I was outta there around 4 30. I like that S'bucks; it's not jam-packed all the time like certain other stores in the neighborhood.

So what is the point of all this? Not a darn thing. I still have yet to blog about funner funner things (like a run-in with the law last week GASP!), but for now, I'm just chillin' for a few, getting ready for the day ahead. And umm... I missed my computer. *cough* NERD *cough*

Cheerio,
Sara

ps - as stated previously, I promised ManCandy with my maiden Mac'D post... so here is a Mini-Mancandy:



This is my cousin's son, Kye. (Mommy Shelice and Daddy Bryan, I think I blogged about their wedding in the first month of the The Ramblings). He's a bit older than this now but sooooooo precious. Looks just like his Dad and is for the most part a happy smiley baby. Such the cuteness! I have been thinking that I might try to get him to call me Auntie Sara even though technically I'm not...

I promised myself that the maiden post on my new baby (who arrived on Friday evening, by the way) would be a new edition of ManCandy. So I'm actually posting this from the Craptop:

I'm staging a crammathon at the Starbucks at Tribeca (King G and 152). Vistors welcome :).

I like distractions ;).

Sara Simmons

I know that there are those of you who, late at night, lie awake in bed thinking, "I wonder what Sara would look like as Gene Simmons." I know, it's a thought that has crossed many minds over the years.

Well, given that I am exceptionally skilled in the art of Microsoft Paint (please see Mancandy, Honorary Members) , I decided to put the minds of the general public at ease.

[scroll down and say TA-DA]
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[doodleedoodlee]
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And so now you have a new question to ponder when sleep fails to greet your tired eyes: "Man! How does she be so hot?"

So.... I'm still awake.... I think I've aged about five years since I last bristled past the mirror.

Clack clack clack! Clackety clack! My fingers are still flying, although the number of typos has increased in the last few hours. And I think Craptop is going to need a vacation when I'm done abusing him.

But I'm learning valuable lessons here.... like what happens when you don't say "no" to people. Among other things.

Well, since it appears that I do my most prolific blogging at night....

*chokes on tongue* Yeah right. Prolific my ass. I have been advised by certain professionals that after 90 minutes of work, one should take a 10 minute break. That is what this is.

*stares at clock and tries to think of something fun to do for the next eight minutes*

So, umm.... how are things?

Simultaneously new ("neo") and established ("ism")

People sometimes ask me what classes I'm taking. I list them off, one by one, and when I get to "The Manifesto", I often get an "ooooh, what's THAT one about?" Well, my brain is atrophy...ing, so I'm just going to post the second of two parts of the exam (ie, the bit I got to write an essay on). I'm beginning to think that to be able to write brilliantly about nothing is a sign of genius*.

Hello and welcome to Neoism, the international movement of games and total freedom. It may be difficult for the casual audience to understand or appreciate Neoism because Neoism is the vehicle of its own understanding. Neoism simply means that what is done in its name is simultaneously new ("neo") and established ("ism"). It does not imply that it is original. In this sense, Neoism makes past, present and future the same, rendering them pointless. With time left behind them, Neoists find any obsession with freedom futile. Neoism is not a means to freedom, but supports censorship as a radically populist cultural practice. In the same spirit, Neoism prescribes arbitrary game rules to put the lives of Neoists under the discipline of rigorous combinatorics, with perpetual permutations. The purpose of Neoism is to reinforce mnemonic structures on the mental plane and so invigorate culture. Of all values and norms we believe the value of tradition is the greatest; this is the one we try hardest to reinforce.

In a Neoist view, the world is not things colliding in space, but a random array of disconnected phenomena. Neoism does not conceive of the spatial as lasting in time. Since every phenomenon is irreducible, the mere act of giving it a name implies falsification. The paradox however is that names and philosophies exist in Neoism, in countless numbers. There are Neoists who consider a certain pain, a green tint of yellow, a temperature, a certain tone the only reality. Other Neoists perceive all people having sex as the same being, and all people memorizing a line of Shakespeare as Shakespeare. Another group of Neoists has reached the point of denying time. It reasons that the present is undefined, that the future has no reality but as present hope, that the past is no more than present memory. Yet another group has it that the history of the universe is the handwriting produced by a minor god communicating with a demon. Those Neoists think that the world is an emblem with a lost subscription where only that which happens every three hundredth night is true. Other Neoists believe that while we are asleep here, we are awake somewhere else, so that everyone is two. Books are rarely signed, and the notion of plagiarism does not exist.

Neoism is, above all, a prefix and a suffix without anything in between. According to Neoist sources, it was founded in the year 1346. Since then, Neoism has permanently been about to dissolve. Some Neoists even claim that Neoism never existed and is a mere invention of its enemies, Anti-Neoists. Since Neoism is indivisible, it cannot grasp itself, and anyone who wants to grasp it has to be an Anti-Neoist. And since the Neoists want to create a situation in which a definition of Neoism would make no sense, attempts to write off Neoism by historicizing it are just part of the Neoist cultural conspiracy. Obsessed with speculation, reality adjustment and mad science, Neoists produced nothing but manipulations of their own and other histories.

When such manipulations make it impossible to differentiate between words and things, the structure of things must begin to repair itself. Neoism is here to fix these things once and for all. Neoist names like Monty Cantsin, Akademgorod, Neoism are regarded not as artificial, but as tangible symbols so that everything done with them immediately affects the things they represent. At first, Neoism was probably nothing but a collection of obscure in-jokes and ironical references. They were elaborated into fanciful allegories and hieroglyphs whose points only insiders would get. Later, their hidden allusions were forgotten, and the signs were taken for themselves. Since they obviously had to mean something, Neoists had to reinvent their meaning. The remotest analogies between signs and meanings were constructed until Neoism became an art of concordant discord, a sphere with as many coordinates as diameters, a self-refuting perpetuum mobile.

The pompous claims and the solemn pathos of Neoism had an extraordinary impact on naive people. Rich with obscurity, riddles and esoteric subtexts, Neoist writing such as "The Disposal of Truth," "Mind Invaders," "The Seven by Nine Squares," "The Book of Neoism," "The Universe in Contention" and "Dialectical Immaterialism" tries nothing less than a complete reinvention of culture. Neoist achievements allegedly include time travel, the transformation of blood into gold, inexpensive telepathic technology and, more generally, collective control over matter, space and time by manipulating things through their names. Neoism finally claims to have overcome the parameters of life and death, offering immortality to everyone: Through the name Monty Cantsin, Neoists live and explore the paradox of a subjectivity that is one and multiple, collectively realizing individuality and abandoning it in the end. The result of this experiment is a simultaneous "both/and" and "neither/nor" as the principle of all Neoist thinking.

A chief concern of Neoism is to turn people into players. This is to be gradually achieved. First, Neoism denies there is a game. Second, it hides the rules from those involved. Third, it gives them all penalties and no wins. Fourth, it removes all goals, enforces their playing, inhibits their enjoying. Fifth, it makes them look like players, but forbids them playing. To make everyone remain a piece in the game, it permits him to associate only with pieces and denies the existence of players.

Imagine a house. Six walls. A house, no door, no window. A person inside that house. The house consists of nine squares, 20 feet across and 20 feet high and 20 feet wide. But the person's diameter is only 19 feet. His awareness is only 19 feet. Does he see the walls? No! Neoism makes him think he is a one-lifetimer, and his awareness goes down to 18 feet. And when it goes down to 18 feet, Neoism moves its walls in to 19 feet. When Neoism gets him down to the size of a fist, its walls are the size of stretched out arms, and things have been nicely repaired. And if anybody jumps out of the line, we got lobotomy, shock treatment, Siberia - whatever you want, baby, we have it here.

So be on your guard! Watch Neoism. Take it home. Don't be ignorant. Neoism is compassionate, and it is cruel. Be on your guard! Don't hate its obedience and don't love its self-control. Don't dismiss it in its weakness, and don't be afraid of its power. Why do you despise its fear and curse its pride? It lives in fears and strengthens in trembling. Neoism is stupid and it is wise. Neoism will be silent among the silent, and it will appear and speak. Why then have you dismissed it?

Neoism appears when you are away, and it hides when you appear. Take it home to places which are ugly and in ruin. Out of shame, take it home and scatter its members shamelessly. Approach it and turn away. Neoism is the reading that is attainable to anything; it is the speech that cannot be grasped.

If you want to understand Neoism, differentiate. If you want to know what it's all about, understand its philosophy. Understand its technical application, and study Neoism in its own words. Conceptual understanding is of importance here. Not everything in Neoism is of equal value. Neoism has its own opinion, and it has a right to keep its own opinion. And boy, it's got some wild opinions. You oughta hear them sometime. But that's a different thing... a different thing... and you can tell very easily when it swings over into its opinion, when it starts rambling about this or that. Take it as amusing, but it doesn't have anything really to do with Neoism. Neoism itself is cleaner than a wolf's tooth. There are a lot of wolves' teeth out there and they aren't too clean.

Neoism is clean because it does not exist except in the reactions it creates. Some Neoists used the experimental arts to promote the Neoist values of tradition and speculation. Neoism, in this disguise, was a movement that created the illusion of a movement called Neoism. After various mutations, Neoism developed an increasingly complex web of contradictory self-descriptions, a hermeneutic drift that leads every Neoist to re-interpret Neoism in any suitable way. Neoist self-descriptions soon became an impassable maze. This explains why it is so difficult to approach Neoism whose only work has been a never-ending monologue about itself. To complicate things even further, Neoists now refuse categorically to reply to any questions or requests for information about Neoism.

Neoism is like porn movies: The subject has no importance, logic is unneccessary, there is an accumulation of well-known things, the focus is always on the same explicit facts, repetition and boredom rule. One is tempted to believe that Neoism once had some sort of intelligible shape and is now only a broken-down remnant. Yet this does not seem to be the case; at least there is no sign of it. By its own standards, Neoism is irrefutable, perhaps the only perfection in mankind that has superseded nature. In any case, closer scrutiny is impossible, since it is extraordinarily nimble and can never be laid hold of. It lurks by turns in the stairways, the lobbies, the entrance halls. Often it can't been seen for years; then it has presumably moved elsewhere. It always comes faithfully back to your place again. By differentiating a little bit, one can get the true intention of what Neoism tries to accomplish. Neoism is sound where there is sound. It really wants to help people and at last we owe it great respect for that.

Join us, we want war with you. Cursed be anyone who doesn't believe us.
Monty Cantsin

Wow, Monty. I tip my hat *thusly* in your direction.

3/5 exams done
3/5 papers written

Tomorrow morning I take on British Columbian Literature. I wonder, if I just roundhouse kick the exam in the face, will I get an automatic A+? [scratches beard thoughtfully]

*It excites me to know that I am halfway there - I often write about nothing ;).

What gets me through the night?

Wednesday through Sunday rocked, each day having its own share of wonder, reflection, conversation, fun, productiveness, etc. Just really... quality days. More later perhaps.

So what gets me through these long nights when I'm paper-writing and trying to keep active? Well, lately, it's been Chuck Norris jokes. So here are a few:

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.

Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.

Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.

There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.

When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.

It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris, you may be only seconds away from death.

A duck's quack does not echo. Chuck Norris is solely responsible for this phenomenon. When asked why he will simply stare at you, grimly.

Chuck Norris doesn't believe in Germany.

Chuck Norris has never blinked in his entire life. Never.

Contrary to popular belief, Chuck Norris, not the box jellyfish of northern Australia, is the most venomous creature on earth. Within 3 minutes of being bitten, a human being experiences the following symptoms: fever, blurred vision, beard rash, tightness of the jeans, and the feeling of being repeatedly kicked through a car windshield.

Oh dear....

Nothing to be done...?

I had a wonderful, wonderful evening last night, following an exam that is... well, it's done. Dinner with Megs followed by a chill out at Dean's new Van pad.

Have a seat at the Stanley to see Waiting for Godot tonight. I'm stoked! I think tonight will prove to be awesome as well, mostly because I get to hang out with another wonderful person ;).

(Oh, and my silicon son has arrived at the Calgary Tomko... the Mac Baby is nearing his new home!!!!!)

Things about things

Time: 8.35 am (aka bedtime)

Place: my garage, where I've been holed up in for the last thirteen hours

What: sleep

Who: me

Man of the hour: the_uh_guy; English 409 classmate who happened to be online as I was emailing essay to self just in case... he offered to print off my paper and hand it in at UBC for me, thus becoming Sara's Hero of Tuesday, if it is in fact Tuesday which I believe it is.

Not my hero: Roxy, who thought it would be fun to pretend she had to relieve herself at 4:07 am, only to run to the other side of the complex and try to be all tough in front of the poor Vancouver Sun delivery lady.

Socks: very dirty

Hair: unbelievably sexy

Number of unforseen crises involving sobbing friends and the failure of technology: 1

Details on recovery of said friend's precious documents: pending

Paper: done'D

Thoughts: favorite paper ever. I don't care how I do on it (that's a lie, but) either way i am pleased with the process that was involved (minus the hallucinations) and i enjoyed writing it very much.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

You know what I could go for right about now? A nice big cup of coffee with just a smidgen of fluency in Spanish. Gloria Anzaldúa is taking me to the cleaners with this switching back and forth business. And at 5 15 in the morning, the world and everything in it is making less and less sense.

Roxy is outside right now (AGAIN, after an altercation with the papergirl), and I wonder if she understands how close I am to kicking her tiny, hairy little butt. Nah, don't worry, I'd never do that (the dog has me whipped, remember?), but nevertheless, she is very, very annoying sometimes.

Como es Juan?

Juan es babosa.

Excuse me, Monsieur Le Paper, would you please just throw me a frickin' bone and finish writing yourself? I'll give a nickel.....

I'm staring at a minature Eiffel Tower.

My dog is grunting and rolling around on the floor (I think I understand why she has been so tired in the daytime these past few weeks).

I would like to go to sleep.

My mouse is red.

I like dental floss, but not cavities.

Hope is Rising...

Last night I was moved once again by the heart and the work of a friend. Enjoyed some music, laughter, and catching up, and went home with some beautiful prints (see below). I don't know if my heart was aching from sadness or from inspiration, but perhaps it was from both.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

"Thank You for Your Order"

MacBook Pro HERE I COME.

Laaaaaast day of claaaaaaaasses for Meeeeeeeeeee

Wooooooooooooooooooooooot.

Decided to run some errands at 12 am this morning ... figured it would be wise to stop at Brea's after to play a quick round of The Game of LIFE: Spongebob Edition. It certainly was. Wise, that is.

And now I'm heading off to le bus. TRA LA LA.

"OH REALLY? Well then where did THIS tasty lick come from?"

My all-time favorite sketch by Will Ferrell:


Someone (and by someone I mean ME) slept for 12 hours last night.

I am so comfortable right now it should be illegal

Had my last Long Tuesday ever (well, hopefully). Now my bones are tired and I'm ready for bed. I'm in bed, actually.... in the most comfy of comfy pjs and my blankets are soft and my pillows are fluffed.... oh man. What the heck am I waiting for? *passes out immediately*

We interrupt Sara's regularly scheduled paper-writing madness a second time to bring you this important announcement:

This is NOT a test. Repeat, this is NOT a test.



I have been waiting for this CD for four years. That's 1/5 of my natural life.

We interrupt Sara's regularly scheduled paper-writing madness to bring you the following announcement:


Maaeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

I didn't take this picture :).