behind my gameboy i got game, girl
Feb. 15th, 2009 | 06:14 pm
music: Michael McDonald - What A Fool Believes
My sleep schedule has completely shat itself. I am now retiring around 4-5AM and sleeping until about 3-5PM. I always wake up before C goes to work, which is generally 9AMish. But then I always fall back asleep and this always--always--results in really epic, tediously detailed, seemingly endless dreams in which I wake up mentally exhausted. I'm not even going to bother writing on the recent fantastical voyages I've been on while unconscious. But I would like to mention that this morning's bout of imagery involved me gunning it on a dirt bike around Auburn while shredding something vaguely Quorthon "I've Had It Coming My Way"-ish on a geetar, wearing a neon pink helmet. I don't know. But it was a nice change from the usual excessively graphic nightmares.
S
S
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"I Hate John Mayer", First Edition.
Dec. 27th, 2008 | 02:19 pm
( Click. )
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It's ONE degree. Here's a rant about something completely unrelated.
Dec. 24th, 2008 | 02:15 pm
I have an uncommon name. My parents were originally going to name me Shannon, but my father decided at the last minute that I needed a more unique, authentic Irish name. So Shanna I became. As a result of being named this, I have been made painfully aware throughout my entire life that I am surrounded by idiots. Apparently, my name is difficult to pronounce for Americans. I wonder if those same people have ever called a girl named Anna "Awna" or "Ayna". It's the same fucking idea! Does adding the prefix "sh" really make it a monumental task to utter? I suppose I've already answered my own question by virtue of posting this blog. Here is a complete list of names* I've been called that, well, aren't so:
Shannon
Shana/Shaina/Shayna
Shane
Shawna/Shonna/Shauna
Shenna
Shunna
Shanne
Sharon
Shoona (!?)
Sheryl (ew.)
Sarah (I guess "sh" is just too mindblowing to compute for some that they must drop it altogether and give me a totally different name.)
Anna (see above.)
Hannah (well, I guess some deserve credit for trying.)
*Does not include derogatory references. I don't have enough time to compile that one, though it's far funnier. That's a tome just waiting to be written.
There are people I've known for years who STILL call me Shana/Shawna, despite, well, knowing me and hearing my name spoken for so long. When I was a little girl growing up in the 80s, I could never have the cutesy 14k gold necklaces or license plate keychains or wall decorations that bore my name, like all of the billions of Ashleys and Katies and Jennifers out there who could have any personalized item they wanted without having to pay extra. One time, I found a package of hair ties with plastic hearts on them which appeared to actually bear my CORRECT name in some barely legible half-cursive, bold, italicized, 80s tourist beach-towel font. I never took the hair ties out of their package, and upon closer inspection, years later, it occurred to me that the hearts actually read SHAUNA. My heart sank. I inadvertently had gotten my own name wrong! I had been so optimistic, thinking there existed someone in America who cared about all the little Shannas who just want their names truly recognized!
In school, having my name mispronounced was just so commonplace I quickly accepted that, to some people, I simply have a different name. This remains true in adult life. So I respond to whatever "Sh" variation gets thrown at me. I stopped flinching or correcting most people decades ago. After all, I live in America, land of the stupid. It's also proven to be a good measure of intelligence when choosing whether or not to associate with someone. If I tell you my name, and you reply with whatever retarded interpretation I've listed above, chances are that you're probably not smart enough to be my friend anyway.
REMEMBER: It's basically "Anna" with "Sh" casually prefixing it, holding its left hand. Hey, it also rhymes with banana. But I probably won't share your inevitable mirth if you call me Shanna Banana. Which too many have, because being able to rhyme one's slightly exotic name with a piece of fruit completely changes everything here.
♥
Slayna
Shannon
Shana/Shaina/Shayna
Shane
Shawna/Shonna/Shauna
Shenna
Shunna
Shanne
Sharon
Shoona (!?)
Sheryl (ew.)
Sarah (I guess "sh" is just too mindblowing to compute for some that they must drop it altogether and give me a totally different name.)
Anna (see above.)
Hannah (well, I guess some deserve credit for trying.)
*Does not include derogatory references. I don't have enough time to compile that one, though it's far funnier. That's a tome just waiting to be written.
There are people I've known for years who STILL call me Shana/Shawna, despite, well, knowing me and hearing my name spoken for so long. When I was a little girl growing up in the 80s, I could never have the cutesy 14k gold necklaces or license plate keychains or wall decorations that bore my name, like all of the billions of Ashleys and Katies and Jennifers out there who could have any personalized item they wanted without having to pay extra. One time, I found a package of hair ties with plastic hearts on them which appeared to actually bear my CORRECT name in some barely legible half-cursive, bold, italicized, 80s tourist beach-towel font. I never took the hair ties out of their package, and upon closer inspection, years later, it occurred to me that the hearts actually read SHAUNA. My heart sank. I inadvertently had gotten my own name wrong! I had been so optimistic, thinking there existed someone in America who cared about all the little Shannas who just want their names truly recognized!
In school, having my name mispronounced was just so commonplace I quickly accepted that, to some people, I simply have a different name. This remains true in adult life. So I respond to whatever "Sh" variation gets thrown at me. I stopped flinching or correcting most people decades ago. After all, I live in America, land of the stupid. It's also proven to be a good measure of intelligence when choosing whether or not to associate with someone. If I tell you my name, and you reply with whatever retarded interpretation I've listed above, chances are that you're probably not smart enough to be my friend anyway.
REMEMBER: It's basically "Anna" with "Sh" casually prefixing it, holding its left hand. Hey, it also rhymes with banana. But I probably won't share your inevitable mirth if you call me Shanna Banana. Which too many have, because being able to rhyme one's slightly exotic name with a piece of fruit completely changes everything here.
♥
Slayna
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An Open Letter to Whomever Made Crocs Popular
Aug. 8th, 2008 | 11:04 am
To Whom It May Concern:
Sincerely,
S
I've noticed this abomination gracing the feet of almost every American citizen who happens to cross my path for a good year or two, now. I suppose it has taken this long for this particular matter to fester below the surface and finally come to a boil. I simply cannot withstand this visual abhorrence anymore. Something has to be said. I can no longer suffer in silence.
What was it about nurse's shoes that inspired you so fucking much? Were crocs initially an attempt to be witty, a commentary on the pedestrian lot getting royally fucked by the upper crust in these economically barren times? Are you rich and pompous, and one day smarmily thought to yourself: "Hm! If only there existed a shoe which made the plebeians look even more plebeian! Nurses and orthotics seem to fit this mold... Aha!"? Or was it a sadly simple matter--that this idea came from person (or persons) with complete and utter lack of any semblance of style?
As I walk outside, literally 90% of the population shuffle about in these horrid plastic clogs. Cogs in clogs. I would imagine that as you take your morning bath in solid gold coins and diamonds carved into phallic shapes, "drying" yourself afterward with $100 bills and laughing in the sunshine, this is all very amusing to you. Such imagery was enough to prompt me to investigate your company. I reviewed your history and nearly choked on my Oats & More when I came across this line:
"We are committed to making a lightweight, comfortable, slip-resistant, fashionable and functional shoe, which can be produced quickly and at an affordable price to our customers."
Fashionable! RRY? Let's just examine this needlessly absurd claim. Fashion is not utilitarian. That's what makes it art. That is why high fashion is displayed on runways and in print. Those are its galleries. This shoe--this plastic pocket that everyone seems to love parading around in--is strictly utilitarian. Whole families can be outfitted in these. Men and women, young and old, gay or trapped inside a woman's/man's/midget's body. You are most definitely profitting off of the common American's lack of style and current financial destitution due to the unkind market. That success I cannot chide you for. That's capitalism on your side, though it still makes you an asshole. What I can--and am--chiding you for is the fact that we look bad enough as a nation. Was this obscenely ugly, not to mention outright demeaning, invention really necessary?
Crocs serve a purpose--behind the scenes and most definitely out of view, while doing something that involves contact with liquids. On boats, cleaning pools, in the hospital, whilst painting with kindergartners. To assert that such an item is fashionable is truly appalling. The death of modern fashion arrived with the T-shirt. The death of modern footwear most certainly lies with Crocs. I thought that Ugg boots had ruined everything, but this is a far more insidious and widespread phenomenon. The death of its creators would lie with me, if I could track down who these faceless businessmen are--it seems you are aware that someone out there with style hates you, and you require anonymity to survive. Beware of the day that I do hunt you down and you awaken with a steel-toed leather boot upon your throat. "These are utilitarian!" I'd whisper to you, grinning as you gasp and weakly plead for mercy. "These, too, serve a purpose, you tasteless choad!"
What was it about nurse's shoes that inspired you so fucking much? Were crocs initially an attempt to be witty, a commentary on the pedestrian lot getting royally fucked by the upper crust in these economically barren times? Are you rich and pompous, and one day smarmily thought to yourself: "Hm! If only there existed a shoe which made the plebeians look even more plebeian! Nurses and orthotics seem to fit this mold... Aha!"? Or was it a sadly simple matter--that this idea came from person (or persons) with complete and utter lack of any semblance of style?
As I walk outside, literally 90% of the population shuffle about in these horrid plastic clogs. Cogs in clogs. I would imagine that as you take your morning bath in solid gold coins and diamonds carved into phallic shapes, "drying" yourself afterward with $100 bills and laughing in the sunshine, this is all very amusing to you. Such imagery was enough to prompt me to investigate your company. I reviewed your history and nearly choked on my Oats & More when I came across this line:
"We are committed to making a lightweight, comfortable, slip-resistant, fashionable and functional shoe, which can be produced quickly and at an affordable price to our customers."
Fashionable! RRY? Let's just examine this needlessly absurd claim. Fashion is not utilitarian. That's what makes it art. That is why high fashion is displayed on runways and in print. Those are its galleries. This shoe--this plastic pocket that everyone seems to love parading around in--is strictly utilitarian. Whole families can be outfitted in these. Men and women, young and old, gay or trapped inside a woman's/man's/midget's body. You are most definitely profitting off of the common American's lack of style and current financial destitution due to the unkind market. That success I cannot chide you for. That's capitalism on your side, though it still makes you an asshole. What I can--and am--chiding you for is the fact that we look bad enough as a nation. Was this obscenely ugly, not to mention outright demeaning, invention really necessary?
Crocs serve a purpose--behind the scenes and most definitely out of view, while doing something that involves contact with liquids. On boats, cleaning pools, in the hospital, whilst painting with kindergartners. To assert that such an item is fashionable is truly appalling. The death of modern fashion arrived with the T-shirt. The death of modern footwear most certainly lies with Crocs. I thought that Ugg boots had ruined everything, but this is a far more insidious and widespread phenomenon. The death of its creators would lie with me, if I could track down who these faceless businessmen are--it seems you are aware that someone out there with style hates you, and you require anonymity to survive. Beware of the day that I do hunt you down and you awaken with a steel-toed leather boot upon your throat. "These are utilitarian!" I'd whisper to you, grinning as you gasp and weakly plead for mercy. "These, too, serve a purpose, you tasteless choad!"
Sincerely,
S
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(no subject)
Apr. 14th, 1985 | 08:45 pm
I think you know.