ishyface: (when silly thoughts go through my head)
Me: Wow. They're really not trying at all anymore, are they?
Amy: I'm hoping that soon they'll do a wacky episode about a Martian.
Me: And they'll have to operate on him to take the gleeborp out of his klipnards.
Amy: And then it'll turn out to be lupus.
ishyface: (*beam*)
From Little Brother, in reference to the impending Animal Farm musical:

"All musicals are equal, but some musicals are more equal than others."

He is a national gd treasure.
ishyface: (twisted by design)
THE RULES
1. I have picked 10 celebs that I find attractive;
2. Every day(ish), I will make a poll and you'll have to vote for the celeb you find the least attractive;
3. After 24 hours, the poll will be closed and the man/woman with the most votes will be disqualified. There will then be a new poll with the remaining contestants;
4. After ten days, there will be one winner! :D

Christina Hendricks wins at hot! Like anyone is suprised. In lieu of a picture, here is a clip from Firefly.



I will always think of her as YoSaffBridge, Mad Men notwithstanding.

Little Brother, while watching a National Geographic special: ... and you shouldn't have piercings when you're in Australia anyway, because the spiders will land on them.
Ish: Yes! And the spiders will be all "I'LL RIP YOUR PIERCINGS OFF." And then their homies will hold them back so they don't look soft.
ishyface: (camping it up)
Ish: Hey, Eddie. Apparently Justin Bieber wants to punch the Jonas Brothers.
Little Brother: Really? Huh.
Ish: Man, who would you root for in that fight?
Little Brother: Um... if it was all the Jonas Brothers together? I'd have to go with Beebs. But if he just wanted to fight the fat gay one then I'd support the fat gay one.

Team Fat Gay One forever.
ishyface: (Default)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote

Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

Mostly Products Created By Nature, by [livejournal.com profile] skoosiepants. High school AUs of any kind are like delicious crack to me, and this one is Greta/Bob, one of my not-very-secret-at-all het OTPs.

Spencer asks her, “Is that a gym uniform?”

“She’s got egg in her hair, too,” Vicky says, absently paging through a TV Guide. “My car smells like dead babies.”

“Classy.”

Vicky flashes Ashlee a grin. “That’s me.”

“Raw eggs’ll make your coat nice and shiny,” Jon says earnestly, and Brendon laughs into his shoulder, and Greta isn’t sure, but she thinks he mumbles something like, “But she totally has to eat them,” because all her friends
suck.

“Seriously, I love you guys,” Greta says. Best day of her
life, that’s what this is.
ishyface: (in the dumps)
Day 01 → Your favorite song
Day 02 → Your favorite movie
Day 03 → Your favorite television programme
Day 04 → Your favorite book
Day 05 → Your favorite quote

Day 06 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 07 → A photo that makes you happy
Day 08 → A photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 09 → A photo you took
Day 10 → A photo of you taken over ten years ago
Day 11 → A photo of you taken recently
Day 12 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 13 → A fictional book
Day 14 → A non-fictional book
Day 15 → A fanfic
Day 16 → A song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 → An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)
Day 18 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 19 → A talent of yours
Day 20 → A hobby of yours
Day 21 → A recipe
Day 22 → A website
Day 23 → A YouTube video
Day 24 → Whatever tickles your fancy
Day 25 → Your day, in great detail
Day 26 → Your week, in great detail
Day 27 → This month, in great detail
Day 28 → This year, in great detail
Day 29 → Hopes, dreams and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 → Whatever tickles your fancy

Day 3. )

Day 4. )

Day 5. )
ishyface: (Default)
After ninety-six hours it's not a pencil anymore, it's a yellow pointypointy that makes marks for you when you give it brain signals and frankly it's bored and wants a life of its own. Can you blame it? Of course you can. Someone made it. How did they get the hard blackyblack in there? Was it Space Beings? The pointypointy drops yellow to the floor. The floor is fifty feet down. You'll drown if you go after it. No more pointypointy. A pen, yes, get a pen. Yes. It would feel clean and good in your hand, if your fingers weren't numb. No blackyblack in it. Bluesygoo.

How'd bluesygoo get in there?

- The Cheese Monkeys, by Chip Kidd
ishyface: (Default)
My current favourite song, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] jilly_ma_bean.



And we sing with our heroes thirty-three rounds per minute
We're never going home until the sun says we're finished
And I'll love you forever if I ever love at all
Wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
With wild hearts, blue jeans and white t-shirts
ishyface: (*beam*)
Spent the last night of 2009 in a happy haze of beer, pot, and gingerbread with some delightful people. And got a call from a very certain girl at the stroke of midnight.

2010, you are off to a good start.

Time for that meme I post every year. )
ishyface: (Default)
Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow taller?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

- "Whatif," by Shel Silverstein
ishyface: (Default)
I love Sady Doyle for many reasons. One of them is her fantastic Bitch blog about women in the music industry, She Pop, which includes a kind of amazing essay about how female artists are set up to fulfill the virgin/whore dichotomy instead of presenting themselves as well-rounded human beings.

We can talk about [Taylor Swift] as an "alternative" to Katy Perry, but what that misses is that the system is built on dichotomies and alternatives. Wife and mistress; the girl you sleep with and the girl you respect; the hot girl and the girl with substance; the smart girl and the sexy girl. The Media Image of Taylor Swift isn't creating a new alternative to The Media Image of Katy Perry; it's just stepping into the "alternative" role already provided by patriarchy, which has a vested interest in dividing women against each other and against themselves, in keeping them from being whole people, who can be smart and sexy, who can sleep with people and still fully believe that they deserve respect. These two images need each other; they couldn't function without each other. The girl in the white dress is nothing without the girl in red. And vice-versa.

Read the rest of it. You might like it.
ishyface: (Default)
I do not know if the world has lied
I have lied
I do not know if the world has conspired against love
I have conspired against love
The atmosphere of torture is no comfort
I have tortured
Even without the mushroom cloud
still I would have hated
Listen
I would have done the same things
even if there were no death
I will not be held like a drunkard
under the cold tap of facts
I refuse the universal alibi

Like an empty telephone booth passed at night
and remembered
like mirrors in a movie palace lobby consulted only on the way out
like a nymphomaniac who binds a thousand
into strange brotherhood
I wait
for each of you to confess

- "What I'm Doing Here," by Leonard Cohen
ishyface: (oh my god!)
Grumpy Coworker: I've figured it out.
Ish: ?
Grumpy Coworker: You're either extremely positive, very subtly sarcastic, or retarded.

I feel like I should put that on a business card or something.
ishyface: (Default)
When my little sister heard about the upcoming FOBlink-182 tourvaganza, she got very big-eyed and said:

"I want to go to that concert. More than anything in the world."

"Huh," I said, intrigued. "Do you want it even more than, say, world peace?"

She nodded solemnly.

"You do know that makes you a bad person, right?" I asked.

"No!" she replied, shaking her head. "Because that concert will make world peace happen."

I love you, Little Sister.

Guyssssss it was so WARM today! So warm there were kids out playing on the street all day! So warm I got to lie out on my back deck and absorb the sunshine like a furry purry kitty! So warm I didn't even put on socks! (I pretty much always wear socks- brightly-patterned knee socks, for preference- so this is a big deal.) I've got my window wide open and I can hear frogs somewhere out there and it is SUMMER FUCK YEAH FINALLY. \o/

I mean, it snowed again a few days ago, but whatever. SUMMER.

I have been feeling kind of ridiculously optimistic about things lately. This is partially due to FUCK YEAH SUMMER, but also because I have decided to spend this summer Being Productive, and so far I'm doing pretty well! I've been writing and practicing bass and working like a motherfucker and it feels really good to be busy because I think I've been kind of doing nothing for a while. Even during the school year.

I've also been reading a lot, which I choose to count as Being Productive because, um, reading is good for the brainmeats? I dunno. Here are some of the books I've read, complete with pocket-sized reviews!

Books, books, books. )

I'm currently reading Out by Natsuo Kirino (delightfully creepy and full of social commentary) and The Lady Elizabeth by Alison Weir (interesting, but it's really easy to tell she usually writes nonfiction- her style is kind of clumsy and she can never seem to decide whose head she wants to be in). Books are fab.
ishyface: (oh my god!)
Little Brother: *hums*
Ish: What are you humming, dude?
Little Brother: The Hi Ho song! Or the, um, Hi Lady of the Evening song.
Ish: ... *dies laughing*
Little Brother: What? I'm just trying to be politically correct!
ishyface: (*beam*)
Today when I got off the bus the sun was bright and golden and "Here Comes The Sun" came on my headphones and it smelled like spring and little clouds and I danced uphill through the snow.

And then when I got through the door my little brother enlightened me with this very important fact: "There are no angry lesbians, just happy lesbians and lesbians who like cars a lot."

And now I have tea.

Today passes with flying colours.
ishyface: (Default)
Today in Sci Fi and Fantasy we were discussing (for a given value of "discussing"- nobody ever talks in that class) Connie Willis's Doomsday Book, which is about time travel and the plague and other nifty things. About half the book takes place in the Middle Ages around Christmastime, and one scene involves the Christmas liturgy.

Professor Walsh: So what's the message of the liturgy in this scene?
Class: ...
Crickets: *chirp*
Professor Walsh, frustrated: Oh, come on.
Class: ...
Someone in the back: *cough*
Professor Walsh: Whatever you're thinking, it's probably right! This is an easy one. What was the message of the Christmas mass?
Ish: *tentatively raises hand* ... Jesus was born and it was awesome?

Ish: simplifying Christianity since 1988.

And then Trnka explained Hobbes' views on equal rights thusly: "Equality sucks, because then everybody gets an equal opportunity to try and kill you." Oh, Hobbes. You're the Eeyore of philosophy.

To be honest, though, I'm kind of hating school right now. This is mostly due to Grammar. I haven't worked so hard at a class in ages- I study, I take meticulous notes, I go to the teacher for extra lessons, but my average so far is still a 60. :/ It's frustrating, especially since I don't know why I'm doing so badly.

Although it may be partly due to a phenomenon I've only recently noticed- namely, that I seem to have a radio station playing in my head at all times. Here's how that works:

Ish: *sits down* Okay, Self, today is the day you pull it all together. You are going to pay attention. You are going to get good grades. You are not going to zone out and think about Pete Wentz or his baby.
Prof: Good morning, class! Today we are going to learn about-
Ish's Own Personal Radio Station: WWWWWWWWWWWWELCOME BACK TO ANOTHER FORTY MINUTE MUSIC MARATHON! Today we'll be playing a distracting selection of hip and groovy tunes that will get stuck in your head forever and drown out whatever the hell that guy's saying! *plays "Take Me Out," "Dancing Queen," entire Beatles catalogue*
Ish: :)
Prof: - and that's absolutely everything you need to know to pass the final exam. Bye!
Ish: :(

Does that happen to everyone or is it just me? Just me? Okay.
ishyface: (Default)
Little Sister, Little Brother, and I were watching Cribs earlier today. (A fact of which I am not proud, but sometimes I get bored and the TV's just right there.) It was the episode that started with Pete Wentz showing people his house, and his dog, and his cars, and his dog, and his fake snow, and has he mentioned he's got a dog? Little Sister started doing impressions of him towards the end.

Little Sister, Wentzvoicing: Bye, MTV! You've seen my house, my dolls, my hoodies-
Little Brother, Wentzvoicing: My penis.

He then hastened to assure us both that he had not, in fact, seen Pete Wentz's penis. (I offered to show him. He declined.) And now he's talking about Flight of the Conchords.

<3
ishyface: (oh my god!)
This is why I love hanging out with my little sister.

Ish: *reads* Wow, Stephenie Meyer's idea of what's sexy and dangerous is fucking warped. This vampire kid is hot because he drives a Volvo! And wears white turtlenecks!
Little Sister: *confused face* But I thought... don't only girls have Volvos?
Ish: *stares*
Little Sister: ... :D?
Ish: "Volvo," Stephanie, not "vulva."
Little Sister: Ohhhh. I thought they were the same thing!

God help that kid if she ever tries to buy a car. ♥
ishyface: (*beam*)
From [livejournal.com profile] montrealais: Margaret Atwood is cranky and fabulous.

What's the idea here? That arts jobs should not exist because artists are naughty and might not vote for Mr. Harper? That Canadians ought not to make money from the wicked arts, but only from virtuous oil? That artists don't all live in one constituency, so who cares? Or is it that the majority of those arts jobs are located in Ontario and Quebec, and Mr. Harper is peeved at those provinces, and wants to increase his ongoing gutting of Ontario - $20-billion a year of Ontario taxpayers' money going out, a dribble grudgingly allowed back in - and spank Quebec for being so disobedient as not to appreciate his magnificence? He likes punishing, so maybe the arts-squashing is part of that: Whack the Heartland.

Or is it even worse? Every budding dictatorship begins by muzzling the artists, because they're a mouthy lot and they don't line up and salute very easily. Of course, you can always get some tame artists to design the uniforms and flags and the documentary about you, and so forth - the only kind of art you might need - but individual voices must be silenced, because there shall be only One Voice: Our Master's Voice. Maybe that's why Mr. Harper began by shutting down funding for our artists abroad. He didn't like the competition for media space.


MARGARET ATWOOD STOP MAKING ME LOVE YOU. STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

(Just kidding, never stop.)

I just finished a book by Patrick O'Leary called The Gift, and it was the most intense, engrossing read I've had in a long while. It's kind of a fantasy, but it's not like any other fantasy I've read- sad and sharp and funny and horrifying and beautiful and painful, like all the best fairy tales distilled. It's a book about stories, and the danger of power, and the redemption of love. The kind of book that makes you feel refreshed and excited just because it exists. I'm glad I read it.

(Especially after A Song For Arbonne. I have never eyerolled so hard at a book before. Women are tender delicate nurturing moonbeams who must gentle their menfolk! You can tell that evil people are evil because they enjoy oral sex! "AMUSING" IS THE ONLY ADJECTIVE IN THE WORLD! Fuck you, Guy Gavriel Kay. Fuck. You.)

I discovered yesterday that Patrick Wolf's The Magic Position is the best album to listen to at night on the bus, when it's starting to rain and the streetlights have just turned on. (That sounds laughably specific, I know, but it's not really.)

Then, when I got home, I discovered this present from my mother on my bed:

Photobucket

Gosh, Mum, what are you trying to say exactly? YOU ARE BEING TOO SUBTLE. I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

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