Colored Ink
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miss something? check the archives name: n/a aliases: kit, kitsuki de kage (don't ask), hey you, the smart girl, foxay, kitkat, kittykat location: southern california contact: coloredink@mailcity.com you have to add the .com age: 17 hobbies: anime, manga, drawing, reading, writing, video games, French horn likes: all of the above, being lazy, laughing loudly in public, animals, mushrooms dislikes: bugs and insects (especially the stinging kind), ignorant people, religious fanatics who attempt to convert everyone in sight, violence, olives playstation 2 20-30 gig hard drive car summer job a good night's sleep money stress-free life dip pen + ink dayworld by philip josé farmer kabuki by david mack over the rhine cd moxy fruvous cd anime/manga yaoi/shounenai clamp music animals life and living candles video games my mice school (**cries**) ffx the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald ff6 ffx galerians (sieangame) hana yori dango (16) gravitation oav (1) fruits basket (17) ayashi no ceres (11) utena (15) rayearth (8) gto tv (4) ccs tv (8) blaze of mirage (3) |
Thursday, June 13, 2002 09:25 p.m. listening to: "Mr Tambourine Man" - Bob Dylan Social blogging! Amber: I don't think you're boring. You just don't blog about what makes your life interesting. Eggie: Quiet, you! One of the teachers at my school died of skin cancer. ^^;;; Kels: Two minutes? Christ, no professional lockpick takes two minutes to pick a lock! My teacher can pick a lock in thirty seconds! Combination locks are slightly different, though. This has to be one of the coolest flash movies I've ever seen. Wednesday, June 12, 2002 08:06 p.m. listening to: "Tears in Heaven" - Eric Clapton I guess I'm what you'd call an optimist. When I was younger, it was "cool" to be an alienated, cynical teen. Now that I'm older, I realize that I was pretty dumb back then. For the most part, I look at the bright side of things. Yeah, there are days where I just feel incredibly down and cranky and mean and pessimistic, but for the most part I try to be an optimist. An idealist. Because the world needs more, you know? But sometimes it's hard. It gets tiring, always being the one who hopes for the better. I get frustrated. I give second chances, and third chances, and fourth chances, always hoping that maybe this time it won't screw up. It does screw up, 99 percent of the time, but I guess it's that 1 percent that keeps me going. It's distressing, you know, when you're outraged/appalled/horrified at something that's happened, and all people do is look askance and you and say, "I thought you already knew that people are shit" or "C'mon, you know it's all fucked up anyway." Yes, goddammit, I know that people are shit. I know that humanity is sewage. But I can't help hoping that someday, somewhere, people won't be shit. Like I said, that 1 percent. Eventually, it all comes down to "Why bother?" And the only response to that I have is a story. It's a cheesy story, kinda, and it's been told a million times and there are hundreds of versions. But here's the one I know and like. I must thank Jasmine, because I think she was the one who first introduced it to me. Once there was a young man who, feeling wise beyond his years, decided to take a walk along the beach. The tide was low and the sun was out, and he saw an old man performing some kind of bizarre dance in the sand. As he got closer, the young man realized that the stranger was not doing a dance at all. There were hundreds of starfish washed up on the beach by the tide, and he was picking them up one by one and gently tossing them back into the water, beyond the waves. After seeing this performance repeated a few dozen times, the young man interrupted: "Excuse me, sir, what are you doing?" With nary a glance, the old man replied, "I'm throwing the starfish back into the ocean. Otherwise, they'll die." "But don't you see that what you're doing is futile?" the young man persisted. "There are hundreds of starfish up and down this beach, and up and down hundreds of other beaches. What difference can you possibly make?" Before he answered, the old man stooped again and flung another starfish into the water. Then he replied, "Made a difference to that one." Wednesday, June 12, 2002 06:31 p.m. listening to: "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Simon and Garfunkel Amea: Just to blah blah blah on the homeschooled issue (I'm sorry if I repeat you or anyone else), it really depends on what kind of environment you're raised in if you're being homeschooled. Your parents have, basically, all the influence over what you learn, which can be both a good or a bad thing. It depends on the parents. So, really, you can't lay all the blame on the children, because they're only the product of what their parents taught them. If they seem very "into" pop culture, it's usually because they're so desperate to fit into what they perceive is the "real world." I have some amusing stories to tell about the crazy immigrants that occasionally inhabit my house that are just barely relevant to my babbling about homeschooled kids. But that'll be for another day. Eggie: Don't do that. It's bad for your skin. It's called UV radiation. Did you wear sunblock, at least? In other news, I have something in my eye and it's driving me insane. Tuesday, June 11, 2002 09:27 p.m. listening to: "Zoot Suit Riot" - Cherry Poppin' Daddies Charter seems to be working again! So now I can, you know, check my mail and stuff. Let's see how long this lasts. Tuesday, June 11, 2002 06:59 p.m. listening to: "The Boxer" - Simon and Garfunkel So wrong, and yet so funny. Just wrong. So now I'm going to be semi-meaningful about achievement and the recognition thereof. My tutee, Kevin, is basically obsessing over getting a 4.0. Not that I think there's anything wrong with in in and of itself; I'd be hypocritical if I did, since I'm often the same way. And it's not outside of his capabilities. He's perfectly capable of getting a 4.0, presuming he does all his work, doesn't procrastinate, and works very hard. He wants one of those medals for academic achievement (aka getting a 4.0). Recognition for his achievement, you know? And that's fine, I understand; I was pretty fucking proud, the first time I brought home a trophy from Speech and Debate. It didn't matter that it was a fourth place trophy (or not; I don't even remember what place I got), it was an indication of my achievement. But you know what? You shouldn't need a trophy to feel good about yourself and what you did. I have a gazillion medals, and none of them mean a damn thing to me. The thing is, what is the practical worth of a medal? Nothing. It's a cheap hunk of brass. I'm always saying that when I get enough medals, I'm going to melt them down and make a mug. At least I can drink out of a mug. I can't do a blamed thing with those medals. I'd look pretty silly, wearing them around all the time. Although I guess I shouldn't talk, with the fuss I made about not getting into NHS. It's pretty bitter, watching everyone else get recognition. That's why I don't attend the award assemblies anymore. It's depressing. Maybe I just take it all for granted, since I have enough certificates to kill a cat and a drawer full of medals. To someone who's never gotten anything for his/her hard work, I'm one lucky bitch. But that just brings me back to how you shouldn't need a pretty piece of marble and plastic to indicate how good you are at something. You should know. Heaven knows I don't get any recognition from my father. And that's pretty depressing too, until I remember that I'm able to motivate myself. I shouldn't need someone to tell me how proud they are of me; I can be proud of myself. But it is nice, sometimes, to have someone clap for you. I'm going to stop now. I'm confusing myself. Monday, June 10, 2002 07:36 p.m. listening to: nothing I forgot to mention that I have an A in math! And I got 107% on the last math test! See, dad? I'm not a complete idiot! No, nothing meaningful today, I'm afraid. I'll try to be deep and profound tomorrow. Monday, June 10, 2002 04:07 p.m. listening to: "Down From Above" - Moxy Fruvous I just installed something in DOS! Aren't you proud of me? . . . I'm a Windows whore, okay? Sunday, June 9, 2002 09:15 p.m. listening to: "Horse With No Name" - America I am going to slaughter Charter Pipeline any moment. I can't check my email, I can't check my messageboards, and I can't Google. This fucking sucks. This happened to me for about a week and I lived with it, and yesterday it looked like it was fixed but apparently it isn't. RAR. Sunday, June 9, 2002 06:21 p.m. listening to: "Piano Intro" - FFX OST More FFX blabbing. I am currently halfway across the Thunder Plains. God, I hate hate hate the Thunder plains. Not only are the enemies hard (okay, so maybe I've gotten too soft), I can't *#%^$@ dodge the lightning correctly. I find myself loving Yuna more with every passing hour, much to my (pleasant) surprise. Maybe because she's so absolutely human, yet not whiny or passive. Watching her run around the room in the Temple of Djose was a huge laugh. And hearing her imitate Wakka's accent in battle "Sure are a lot of fiends around here, ya?" was one of the most hysterical things I'd ever seen in my life, along with Lulu's answer. ". . . don't talk like that." Actually, I love Lulu and Rikku, too. Rikku's peppy without being unbearably annoying (but I'm one of the four people in the world who actually kinda liked Yuffie) while Lulu's. . . Lulu. She's big sisterly without being overbearing and taciturn without disappearing into the background à la Quistis. Luzzu. . . waaaahhh. . . **cries** I didn't think I was so attached to Luzzu and Gatta, but I was. They were so--sincere, they meant so well, just the bumbling Vicks and Wedge of the game. . . well, Gatta's still around, but he's different now, and Luzzu. . . **bawls** The scene at the Farplane was one of the most heartbreaking I've ever experienced. Seeing Wakka talking to Chappu. . . it was just. . . just. . . gargh, I'm going to start crying any second. And Lulu, too. . . **gurgle** NEED. FIND. MORE. ABOUT. AURON. NOW. RAAAAAARRRR. Why didn't he want to go into the Farplane? Why did he almost keep over when Jyscal tried to leave the Farplane? What happened when Rin found him sorely wounded? How did he manage to leave? **gnaws on her hand** I WANT SOME ANSWERS! I really, really love the music in this game. I almost didn't want to step off the Djose Highroad because I liked the music so much. Seymour is so gay. And that's it, really. Friday, June 7, 2002 10:31 p.m. listening to: same So today I finally gave in and went to theria.net for Yami no Matsuei translations (thanks, Ashlea!). Since I've started learning Japanese on my own, I've been trying to stay away from such temptations. ^^;; But it had gotten to the point where I had read enough to be intrigued about the rest of the plot, but too frustrated and impatient with my slowness and lack of vocabulary/grammar knowledge to try and translate the rest of it myself. It's so incredibly cliché (I mean, the self-denying I-can't-make-her-happy-because-I'm-poor story is not exactly new), but it's still sniffly and WAFFy. Gyargh. I'm such a girl. Friday, June 7, 2002 03:52 p.m. listening to: "The Boxer" - Simon and Garfunkel This has been the longest week of my life. Kels: Cropping refers to actually cutting pieces out of a picture, so I assume you're referring to resizing. To resize an image, you go to. . . er. . . it's the third or fourth one in the menu, I think it's "Image" and scroll down to "Image Size." There you can resize the image according to percentage or pixels; I recommend setting it to percent unless you're familiar with counting pixels. Becca: I hate you, like, soooooo much. No recommendations for a domain name, unfortunately. I mean, I have no idea what kind of domain names you like. Friday, June 7, 2002 07:11 a.m. listening to: nothing I had a wacky, wacky dream last night. It was kind of like X. Kamui was there, and Fuuma was there, but there wasn't a shinken, there was some sort of strange mask. It was stolen by a little girl (no, I'm serious; I think she was a girl from my school) and Kamui and Fuuma went larking off to retrieve it. Auron was one of the Dragons of Heaven and went with Kamui. And there were these two assassins who were after Kamui, and one of them was really dumb but he had impossibly good aim. I think I saw him dialing a telephone with bullets. Yeah. It was strange. |
Y = YAOI amber amea ashlea d eggie f4 gen gwen jasmine jen [poemblog] kelsey phung rachel rebecca reny suze technomancy walker will whitney bishounen diaries katherine lex mooncalf natalie neil gaiman otherpeople talya firedancer whitecat llamajoy / tenshi shameless plugs casm hogwarts post rpg role-play network srb my side7 gallery book of genism hanaeda's corner snag studios swashbuckle technicolor rainbow technomancy productions (Y?) willf.org yaoiville (Y) air raid bishonenink (Y) bunnybass casualvillain.com crimson tears (Y?) firecat fanfics (Y) oki doki rabi's headquarters scribbled spaghetti sekai seifuku (Y) the void (Y?) twoflowerian fiction whitecat's world (Y?) sinfest boy meets boy (Y) the boondocks foxtrot for better or for worse something positive bruno japanese beetle class menagerie pixelface megatokyo penny arcade faux pas dakota's ridge jack suburban jungle academy vale mac hall wild life this modern world my life in blue demonology 101 return to sender bite me strings of fate your wings are mine (Y) spellshocked never never sabrina winter electric sheep anime news network anipike dictionary.com explodingdog elfwood epilogue kekkai.org myplay otakuworld side7 themeworld the onion yerf zany video game quotes i owe my stress to pitas.com |