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duhBONER
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Name: Amanda
Birthday: 12/13/1985
Gender: Female
Interests: xanga, myspace, facebook, best friends, old friends, new friends, healthy food, junk food, lazy days, pilates, writing, reading, judging others, waiting for them to judge me, air bands, live bands, the smell of orange peels, the smell of fresh laundry, the smell of coffee, baking cakes, making pancakes, cooking spaghetti, reliving my childhood, and learning about yours.
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
6/11/2003
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| Those of us who are lucky to be able to bring laptops to class often find ourselves vying for one of two electrical sockets in the crowded lecture hall. The gentleman behind me brought an extension cord to accomodate as many people as possible. I wish he were my friend.
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| Not sound like a whiny-ass pussy emo bitch, but like, fuck my dad. Fuck him.
Funny how you assume that your family takes an interest in your own passions. We often forget that they're regular people too and, like regular people, sometimes they just don't give a shit -- plain and simple.
Moral of the story? Just because something is important to you doesn't mean that it's important to your loved ones as well.
At the end of the day the only person people care about is his or her self.
Cynical? Yes. True? At least partly.
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| What that title means, I honestly don't know. But do most things
pertaining to Jack Black make any sense? I'll be the first to admit
that I thought his easy-going, nice-guy nature with overly expressive
eyebrows and hands was somewhat endearing in Shallow Hal
but in the five years since then, he's had ample opportunity to prove
that he's more than yet another tubby, energetic comedic actor. But
he's failed us all.
He was an overweight loser in the easily-forgettable Orange County, an overweight loser who somehow redeems himself by scamming a private school into believing he's a real teacher in School of Rock, and an overweight loser-priest or wrestler or something in Nacho Libre (I didn't watch it; I wasn't one of the 95 people who did). He proved to be an actually-not-so-bad actor in King Kong, where he played a washed up overweight loser director who was evil and selfish, yet strangely pathetic.
But in all these roles he proves to be nothing more than a -- you
guessed it -- overweight loser. Okay, we get it, you're fat. Okay, we
get it, you're not cool. And now you're adding Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny
to this by allowing the world to view you as an average guitar player /
singer? So now, you're fat, kind of a dork, and have the musical
skills of a 12-year old boy with ADHD? Mr. Jack Black, this does not
make you "an everyday man" or more easily accessible to the public,
rather, you make us wonder what idiot even gave you an audition, let
alone the role of Augie in Airborne.
Ah, Tenacious D. Tenacious D. So many questions, so little reason for
me to even care. Allow me to start off by saying that Tenacious D is
nothing more than an overly nurtured fantasy by high school boys who
have nothing to do on Saturday nights but dance in front of the mirror
and wish to be Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, or The Living End because
they lacked the social skills to venture out not just to a party but to
any public place where there were people other than Magic card nerds
they could give purple nurple and swirlies to. What? The Living End
isn't cool? What? They're just an Australian band with one decent
song and a stupid name? Well, they blow Tenacious D out of the water
any day.
Let me ask, what douchebag gave Jack Black and Kyle Gass (the
overweight guy with his thumb up Black's ass with a surname just as
ludicrous and easy to make fun of) millions of dollars to write,
produce, and star in this piece of crap? Tenacious D is nothing more
than a joke gone too far. It's one of those things you joke about with
your buddies in your living room and they laugh, only because they're
your friends and it's understood that you're being so unoriginal,
annoying, and mind-numbingly stupid, that they don't even need to make
fun of you. Now, what studio exec was in this living room and said,
"Hey, I'm tired of taking piles of money and setting fire to them. Why
don't I give the money to you and you can show me how to properly waste
it?" And Jack Black, in all his "loosey-goosey" glory, snatched that
bill and said, in his wannabe-creepy-Jon-Lovitz-esque voice, "Ah thank
you, my good man," arched his fucking eyebrows, and proceeded to rock
out.
Consider this not only an open letter in defiance to the mediocre
actor. Consider it a bid to Mr. Black to vacate all magazines,
television shows, and movie theatres, take a break, for a long, long,
long, long time, and perhaps return with some kind of project that will
give at least some of us an ounce of respect for the guy. I actually,
believe in you Mr. Black. I don't resent you for being fat, for
sucking at guitar-playing, and for becoming even fatter over the five
years I have known you; I don't want to hate you. I just want to be
able to see you as something more than a poor man's Philip Seymour
Hoffman. (Oh, yes, I saw Along Came Polly). | | |
| Ehhh, for those who don't read my MySpace blog.
You're kind of whore-ish. With that whore mouth and whore dress, you
look like a whore. And you're too fat to be wearing that. And you
have a zit.
You, you're kind of stupid. You look stupid when
you do that thing I think is stupid. I kind of want to smack you on
the back of the head in hopes that some of your stupidity will spill
out.
You smell bad. You need to take a proper shower and spend an extra dollar-fifty for some better deodorant.
I
think you're a terrible dresser. Those leggings make you look fat.
Those ballet flats make your feet look big. Your sideswept bangs look
oily. Skinny jeans make them look like thunder thighs.
Will you come out of the closet already? Everyone knows you're gay. Just say it. No one cares, really. Gay.
You, you wish you were gay. But you're not that cool.
And you, just because you're gay doesn't mean you're cool. And you're not a fabulous dresser just because of it either.
You're
a whore too. And I don't like you. I would like to kick you in the
throat. I don't really care if people like to sleep around. Just have
some integrity about it, whore.
You're not that smart. Really, you're not. You're not smart at all. Go pick up a book.
You, you ARE smart. Why do you act like that in public? It's really embarrassing. Just be yourself, loser.
You're
not that good-looking. I mean, you're cute, but that's it. You're
like a 7. Not bad, but you'll never be a model or famous actor. Well,
you won't! What! It's true! Well, it is...
Ugh grumble
grumble hfsudgbursaogbgvjvb. Fhsuthprwhaugb. Yeah, that's what I
said. And if you don't like it, you can shove it. Well, if you don't
like it, then why'd you read this far? Blah blah balh
blahdoihyopehfoshf. Leave me alone to my whining and criticizing.
It's almost 2AM, I can't sleep, I'm cranky, pensive, and have to be up
in a few hours to pick up my dad at the stupid airport. Gimme a break. | | |
| GOOOOOOOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!!
Did you all miss me? It's been well over a month since my last entry, and boy did I miss you. Did you miss me? It's been a crazy 7 or so weeks; a trip to the Philippines, the start of fall quarter, a brand new beanbag chair, a change to contact lenses, and a predilection for sweater vests.
Why the long absence? Well, lately I've been using my MySpace blog, but I save that for the stupid, crazy entries. As you, my loyal fan base, already know, I save the previous Xanga fore thoughts I keep close to my head. That doesn't make sense, you say? I'm a bit rusty, I tell you.
I guess you didn't miss much. My life isn't really interesting. I spend most of my days watching reruns of Saturday Night Live and Conan O'Brien. That's pathetic, you say? Well, yes, that's true.
I have been preoccupied, though... in my own head. I've been stuck in my head for a while. Can't really seem to find my way out of it. Just been able to take a few minutes a day to resurface for more air before disappearing into the depths of it. Oh, it's deep, believe you me. Not just a hat rack, my friend. Not just a hat rack. ($5 to whoever can tell me where I got that last line from.) Hard to find clarity, you guys know the deal. It happens to the best of us soldiers. But we gotta just keep on keepin' on.
I will say that for the first time in four or so years everything's changing again. Just when we finally get used to the madness in our lives, something else happens that turns everything upside down and gives you a good kick in the pants. Life's getting all different... complicated and even lonely. I'm just chillin on my yoga ball waitin for someone to bounce with me. It's not just about growing up and moving on with our lives. We do that crap every day. It goes deeper than that. Days and weeks go by and when you look up, you hardly recognize anyone around you. You start missing the familiar faces even though you don't quite remember what they looked like to begin with. It's that whole thing of longing for something that doesn't even exist anymore. Then you wake up 50lb heavier with potato chip crumbs on your shirt wondering when they canceled "Friends."
Just babbling.
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