"Well, We're Arrivin', But We're Departin'..."

MEXICO CITY – Mexico's president assumed new powers Saturday to isolate people infected with a deadly swine flu strain as authorities struggled to contain an outbreak that world health officials warned could become a global epidemic.

New cases of swine flu were confirmed in Kansas and California and suspected in New York City. But officials said they didn't know whether the New York cases were the strain that now has killed up to 81 people in Mexico and likely sickened 1,324 since April 13, according to figures updated late Saturday by Mexico's health secretary.

Tests have confirmed swine flu as the cause of death in 20 of the cases.

Mexican soldiers and health workers patrolled airports and bus stations as they tried to corral people who may be infected with the swine flu, as it became clearer that the government may have been slow to respond to the outbreak in March and early April.

Now, even detaining the ill may not keep the strain — a combination of swine, bird and human influenza that people may have no natural immunity to — from spreading, epidemiologists say.

The World Health Organization on Saturday asked countries around the world to step up reporting and surveillance of the disease and implement a coordinated response to contain it.
_________________________________________________

God, I hope to god this isn't what I think it is. Denial's a bitch, this is real, I know, but...God, if it is? If it is....?
 

Answer: KICK ASS. And terrorize New York City.

I think, to a greater or lesser extent, that I can be rather unreliable and flaky. I don't say this as a plea for help (gehck) or a plea for compliments, but simply as an observation...more and more I've slacked some of my silly INTERNETZ responsibilities for the sole reason that, you know what? I've gotten bored. And it's kind of shameful, really, because I know this people depended on me, and even though ZE INTERNETZ is ZE INTERNETZ, there still is some code of responsibility and whatnot. 

Four weeks 'til I graduate. And while I haven't really felt either way about high school on the whole, I can say I will be happy to leave. The dramu, the sex and drugs and immaturity really got old for me. When I think about it, I was done with this game by the time I was a junior. 

Still procrastinating like crazy. And while senioritis is mostly a bullshit excuse, it had been relatively dormant for the first six months of school but now I get home and it's like, "I should do homework...but I'm going to watch Fringe." Or, "I have a lot of work to do...but I'm going to screw off on LJ.." My grades are still up and everything, but I've just been noticing that whenever possible, I delay major work. I sit on my ass and puff out my cheeks and hum to myself and listen to my record player but do nothing of real substance. 

Eh. Eh. I have college. I gots some money but not enough. I'm trolling about and maybe trying to find a higher paying job. 

This is just a very interesting time, really. 

I found

  ( this )

...I'm not quite sure what drugs I was on when this manifested. But if frightens me a little bit. I suspect, actually, that Hot Fuzz has something to do with it, and that scares me further.

In other news, The Watchmen made me give a sad face. ;_; There were some spectacular parts (the opening, OMG, and Rorschach kicking ass and taking names, and Dr. Manhattan (and his entire flashback thing was absolutely heartbreaking and fantastic), who I suddenly sympathize a lot more than I did previously), but otherwise I thought the acting for Dan and Laurie was bad bad bad and the sex scene just embarassing. It was like cheap, soft-core porn with caps and heels and pouchy middle-aged men. Not that I'm a particular conaisseur of porn, but...

But yeah. That's it. Procrastinating on French and le subjonctif. C'est la vie, non?

I have been nudged by the lovely inactivism  to post. Thus, I shall. Here is the story of my past five weeks -- or at least the important parts.



In D.C., everyone runs.

I don't mean this in the poetic or figurative sense (though it is a great way to start a novel, isn't it?) but I mean it in all ways of the literal sense. Runners are everywhere, on every sidewalk, in every outfit, fat, skinny, shorts, sweats, t-shirt, full outfit, old, young, and they run. They run by the flocks of teenagers dragged on this field trip with little understanding of the gravity of their location, run by the homeless folk  bundling up frayed and browning blankets underneath bypasses and bridges, run by the icy marble monuments, the glowering faces of Washington D.C. Metro security, run by the big lawyers in Hugo Boss and Armani, thumbs dancing across Blackberry dials and the women in spiked heels who have trained themselves to ignore the fire that strikes with every downstep.

They run by their world, and it runs by them.

The inner hallways of the Pentagon are antiseptic and white, aged linoleum on the floors and irritating flourescent lights that reflect poorly on the faces on the flood of men and women that sweep by, some with rolling backpacks and others with attache cases, some texting and others talking hurriedly into phones or to each other, all pushing and shoving to leave before closing. When we come back to the entrance of the Pentagon, we'll still see the river of them streaming down the five escalators and past the formidable security center in the middle of the lobby.

It's easy to feel stifled in here. Easy to feel as if you're living in an artificial fish-bowl, surrounded by artificial fishies in your artificial federal jobs. We walk obediently and with light conversation but almost pause when we look into one room and see a small convienience store and two men -- one with caps, buying candy bars over the corner.

"Move to the side," the sergeant -- our escort -- orders, though gently. "It's closing time, and these people want to get home."

They gossip like women. Worse, perhaps. More devious, more cunning.

Five feet away, a senator gently leans back and whispers audibly into the ear of a staff member.

"He's got a good argument," I hear lopsidedly, legs crossed and ankles uncomfortable from walking in heels all over the Hill. "Find me something to use."

The issue is global warming. The panel in question has a combined intelligence off the charts with five PhDs and one Nobel Prize winner. In a raised semi-circle facing the panel, the senate committee splits in the middle. 

Across in the Democrats, an aging and widening old senator  from Delaware, gold tie and dark-gray hair, speaks loudly, emphasing his point occasionally with the nasally accents of the northeast.

A large man next to me in a beige suit that looks uncomfortable shifts, the leather sqweaking under his bulk. He is a staffer, and he is braced forward, elbows on knees.

"Just because he's loud," the man stage-whispers, enough that even I can hear, "doesn't mean he's right." Another man who wordlessly forces me to scoot closer to the young man on my right snorts softly in agreement, then tilts his ear forward as the two exchange papers and discuss.

And from Oklahoma, the hawkish Senator Inhofe casually leans back, reaches into a pocket and pulls out his Blackberry.

I watch this fifty-something year old man text.

On my right, the young man moves again to get comfortable and sighs.

The ceiling is blue and white.

I see my Zodiac sign.

The world seems more slow, here. More unaware, more lazy and more at ease with being non-existant. It doesn't care particularly what happened today in the Supreme Court, though maybe five years later, it'll bitch absently about it. It doesn't care for suits, for courtesy, for power or truth or lies. This world thrives on diesel trucks, big-rigs, cows and the outdoors.

I start driving an SUV again, and when I look outside at the barely century old architexture and history, I find myself bored.

(I dream about running in Georgetown again).

</lj>

Is it so terrible that I'm thoroughly enjoying ego-searching for my real self and all my internet selves? Or is this just a sign that I'm totally content and happy with my self-esteem?

*ponders introspectively while she discovers that another person with her name is a model, and a track runner. Clicks to page three of search engine*

Look -- I've come to the realization that no, I'm not the center of the universe and yes, workers are people too and yes, being a postal worker is a tough job. Besides all the 'going postal' jokes, the crusades through all weather that is freezing-ass cold or near hurricane, they have to drive that itty-bitty car/truck thing around and carefully go to each house and deliver mail.

Shit, I used to want to be a mailworker --  still do, actually. I mean, what better job is there than being able to walk around all day (for your job) and just drop off mail? I fucking love the sound of it. You don't have to deal with people that often, and when you do they're usually friendly, and there's the threat of dogs but hey, that's what bear-spray is for.

But seriously, mail man? It's been nearly two fucking weeks and we have received no mail. None, whatsoever. I understand the idea that maybe we might not actually have mail, but I also know that that idea is bullshit, because we've always always received mail every day. We don't live in the Boonies, I always shovel the sidewalk, we have no killer dogs (though you might want to watch out for the cat) and our house isn't some old creepy-shack that screams "ALL WHO ENTER DIE HERE." We're pretty normal.

I need my mail. I have itineraries I need for trips, a new credit card I need for the one I thought I lost (but actually just was frozen in the ice outside our house but that's a good story for another time heh-heh), packages I need for other people and magazines I've been pining for. This is crap. You need to do your job. I have one present for my bro that (according to the tracking stuff) has been sitting up at the depot for almost three weeks. The neighbor I talked to said she's been getting her mail, and she lives just diagonal from us.

This is fishy, and I do not like it.

DO YOUR JOB, MAILMAN!!!  >(

So, I caught massive air while Twilight Sledding this evening.

I think I broke my ass/tailbone.







Totally worth it.

Title: Variable
Fandom: Fringe
Characters: The whole cast. A faint inkling of Olivia/Peter if you really squint. Like, hard.
Rating: PG-13; dead people and one bad word but mostly dead people.
Summary: But they get too single-minded on one enemy, on one villain, when the reality is that there is so much more out there. (The Pattern is changing.)
A/N: Critique. Review. Read and enjoy, or read and hate. Obvious disclaimer is the same as with everyone else's work. I tried a different kind of writing style here and I'm not quite sure it worked as well as I really liked. So anyway. Hope you like. The LJ cut better work or I'm going to flip a bitch.

( Read more... ) </div>

TWO HOURS OF SHOVELING = PAAAAAIN.

However, our sidewalk, front drive and curb now look rather fantastic.




In other scintillating, less back-breaking topics:

THIS EVENING, I SHALL PARTICIPATE IN WHAT IS KNOWN AS TWILIGHT SLEDDING. IT'S LIKE DRIVING AT NIGHT WITH YOUR HEADLIGHTS OFF, ONLY MORE EXCITING AND DANGEROUS.



I PROBABLY SHOULD GO BUY GROCERIES FOR DINNER NOW.

The Before:

Uneventful.

The Voyage:

Good down to Denver, mostly dry and only cold. Yaaay.

Bad up to Wyoming -- 60mph gusts up 'til Casper. Times like this when I really do appreciate small cars and their lower centers of gravity. It's no fun being pushed around the highway like a giant, Detroit-steel punching bag.. And then we had a New Year's party with sushi and Trivia Pursuit. Up until 3 cleaning. Woot.

(The In-Between:)

I can never go wrong with A-Basin, 5inches of powder and an almost flawless day of skiing. And some black diamonds.

I can also never go wrong with money, giant after-season Christmas shopping where more presents for others (and myself, of course) are found, and speed limits above 40mph. Yay for poker, more shopping and the most badass hat ever in Boulder.

I can, however, go without bitchy stepmothers and an irritating weiner dog named George.

Always has to be a pay-off.


The After:

FAFSA paperwork, scholarship scrounging, belated-Christmas-present-drop-off.

No New Year's Resolutions, because I find them silly. The best resolutions come when I'm not expecting them.

AND , FINALLY, PRESENTS
An 120gb external hard drive that doesn't seem to be working. :( Will explore possible errors.
The Dark Knight, which it totally baller because it has Joker doodles on it.
Iron Man . Yaay.
Transmetropolitan: Dirge .
Mucho iTunes cards that have been put to excellent use.
2 very nice knives, and pepper spray.
Clothes
Plato and Platypus Walk Into a Bar: Understand Philosophy Through Jokes
Best Buy gift card, which evolved into In Living Color, Season 1
Life, season 1. 8D
Adobe Photoshop
Socks. Lots and lots of socks. I love getting socks for Christmas. 8D

Yup.

I also enjoyed buying a lot of stuff for people around me. That was nice. :) 

 Oh, Frank Miller was on a role with 300 and Sin City. They were fun, but gritty, and they weren't so hammy that I felt myself snorting into my popcorn.

But he  kinda flew in on the FAIL! Plane with The Spirit.

The graphics were -- as always -- interesting. Costumes were bad-ass, etc. etc. But the plot would've made old Eisner cringe, and the acting (beyond a few select scenes) was not NEARLY what I was expecting.

I mean, yeah, it's the Spirit, and yeah, he's a sexy beast who loves every girl (no kidding, here) and beats up every baddy he can. But what the hell happened in this? The story was boring and not nearly as fascinating and faceted as Eisner's stuff -- even with good ol' Octopus, realizing he was behind a scheme took a while and a lot more detecting.

This made me sad. ;_;

So, the good news:
( Text Cut )

ANYWAY:
Felis Navidad
Joyeux Noel
Merry Christmas. I hope all of your holidays went well. :)




And, no, I'm not fiddling with text styles. Why do you ask? 

Life Drabbles. Based on lyrics from the fanmix you can find here, and at the bottom of this page. Because I'm evil, and I want you to read first. Even though you can scroll through and get to the bottom, anyway.

Title: Turtables and Back Rooms
Fandom: Life
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Charlie Crews, Dani Reese, Constance Griffths, Ted Earley
A/N: Enjoy. Critique if found necessary. :) 
Disclaimer: Don't own. This is purely an NBC baby.

( So, really, what changes his life? )

Mememe, ordered from a crazy Canuck known as inactivism .

The first five people to comment in this post get to request a simple sketch of a character (or whatever) of their choosing from me. In return, they have to post this in their journal, regardless of their drawing ability level. If you absolutely can't draw, I don't see why you wouldn't be able to offer drabbles or icons or something instead.

Can be a fandom character or whatever. I will draw, but really, it's best you ask for writing. That's somewhat less scary.
( And she wonders, why is everything getting cut? )

</lj>

Teacher: So, we need you to write an editorial by tomorrow. *
Me: On the Big Three?
Teacher: Yes.
Me: By tomorrow
Teacher: Um, yeah. Because we're not going to do Cass's editorial on Prop 8 until next issue, so...
Me: Okay.
Teacher: Cool.
Me: *inner synapses combusting* Um, how shall I go about this?
Teacher: I was thinking discussing where the industry was going, why it is where it is. Why this is important. You know -- the 'end of the American automobile as we know it.' You think you can do that?
Me: ...
excuse me while I go curl up in a corner and die.

*Not a word-for-word account

( Rant and Epilepsy-Inducing Text Below the Cut )




Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to try writing my editorial. It's very distracting. I'm beginning to hate the internet.

THESE ARE SO FUN, IT'S INSANE.

I should probably get to bed, like, now.

Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

Here he walks again, the last of the bad men.
Man, it's a hot one.
I've hypnotized with alibis and fingers made of lead.
I gave you everything.

Watch the weather change.
You burden me with your questions -- you have to tell me lies.
Clean shirt, new shoes...I don't know where I'm going to.
In a house by the tracks, I want you back.

Hey, dude.
Well, you must be a girl with shoes like that.
The night I lay my eyes on you,
I am Iron Man.

He's being trying (without any success) to get into this girl's dress
I can watch you from my room -- it's easy and free.
Oh, my my.
All aboard, hit the road.

All my friends are skeletons.
Boogie!
In my solitude, you haunt me.
Ladies and gentlemen, please, would you bring your attention to me.

(1: Loss of the Badman -- The Strike Boys; 2: Cool -- Santana/Thomas; 3: Waste -- KMFDM; 4: Down -- ?; 5: Disposition -- Tool; 6: You're Unbelievable -- EMF; 7: Sharp-Dressed Man -- ZZ Top; 8: Striptease -- Hawksley Workman; 9: Soccer Practice -- Johnny Mahone; 10: Chelsea Dagger -- The Fratellis; 11: Rapture -- Iio; 12: Iron Man -- The Cardigans; 13: Shores of California -- The Dresden Dolls; 14: People Like Me With This Gun -- Mesh; 15: Monkey -- Low; 16: Straight to Video -- Mindless Self Indulgence; 17: Danse Macabre -- Wintersleep; 18: Drum Boogie -- Dizzy Gillespie (?) 19: Solitude -- Billy Holiday; 20: Ladies and Gentlemen -- Saliva; 21: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor -- Drowning Pool)

My emo band's name is Some Kind Of Helicopter Application.
or
Projected Swinging Valentine
or
Loveless Immaculate Addiction
though, quite frankly, I find that my pitiful self is rather attracted to
My Resplendent Desert
and
Loveless Soaring Happiness

Take The Emo Band Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.

A meme. Viewed from both inactivism and -- I believe -- kamikazescot 

Put your MP3 player on shuffle, and write down the first line of the first twenty songs. Post the poem that results. The first line of the twenty-first is the title.


Is Dexter ill today?
I'm happy, I'm feeling glad
Do the D.A.N.C.E.
I'm a jealous man
If I keep moving, I can hold off the pain.

Will you lend a caring hand?
Something so benign from me, construed as cruelty
I have often dreamed of a far-off place
Round up the cables and take off the caps
I hate a lot of things --  I hate a lot of people

When the heart breaks open so much you can't hide
Waiting line 'til your time
My body is a cage
It's you that I adore
Dear, I fear we're facing a problem

I find the moment that a woman makes friends with me, she becomes jealous,  exacting, suspicious and a damned nuiscance
Beat me up, beat me down, mess me up beyond all recognition
Everybody, look at me, me!
Don't hold back.
I'm your boogeyman.




(1: Frontier Psychiatrist -- The Avalanches; 2: Clint Eastwood -- Gorillaz; 3: D.A.N.C.E. -- Justice; 4: Sweet Troubled Soul -- Stella Stoner; 5: Sparks -- Overseer; 6: Caring Hands -- Felicia day; 7: Straitjacket -- Alanis Morissette; 8: Go the Distance -- Hercules; 9: Kid on My Shoulder -- White Rabbits; 10: Cool to Hate -- Offspring; 11: Goody Two Shoes -- Adam Ant; 12: In the Waiting Line -- Zero 7; 13: My Body is a Cage --  The Arcade Fire; 14: Ava Adore -- Smashing Pumpkins; 15:  Lovefool -- The Cardigans; 16: An Ordinary Man -- Rex Harrison; 17: What Do They Know? -- Mindless Self Indulgence; 18:  Maneater -- Panic! At the Disco; 19:  Galvanize -- The Chemical Brothers; 20: I'm Your Boogeyman -- Rob Zombie; 21: Slipping -- Neil Patrick Harris)

Naw, not really. Just a backpatting for a flist if it's out there.

Reply to this post, and I'll tell you one reason why I like you. Then put this in your own journal, and spread the love.


May your day of a food coma and turkey be happy and full of food. <3