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Jack Handey's got a new book out! Glory! It's called "What I'd Say to the Martians." I haven't read it all yet--I'm trying to savor it. But so far it's marvelous, of course.
BUT DON'T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT...
May 4th, 2008
February 5th, 2008
It is wickedly hot in my room now. I am dying of heat. Or maybe I died already and this is hell? C'est l'enfer. Some Sufjan Christmas song is playing in hopes that the weather will be fooled by the seasonal joy and cool the eff down. I went to Lake Charles Mardi Gras, which is very familially-oriented and not severely dirty a la New Orleans/Bourbon St.
I haven't posted on here in forever and five days. I am fully collegiate now and "In a Relationship" if Facebook be accurate. Hollerrrrr.
No one on my friends page really posts any more, so is anyone going to read this? (Something-d-o-o economics.)
May 21st, 2007
I'm freshly graduated and have "just" crashed through the door from Disney World. I didn't have a camera, so I don't have visual aids for my dashing tale of adventure, wonder, and extreme birthing, but it brought the funk for sure. We went to all the parks yada yada. I bought some weird Chinese no-stress balls or something. I imitated the Pied Piper at Blizzard Beach, but I couldn't quite convince the dancing. fat-cheeked children to seal themselves within Summit Plummet. Mainly I fluctuated between exhaustion and biting, insightful hilarity.
But here's what I want to talk about.
We had this waiter at the boardwalk last night. His gums were prominent and I suppose there were even freckles on his soul. When he failed to appear with the food, Brooksie's mom suggested that he fell in the water. Her comments were corny and frequent, so this elicited no more than a polite chuckle. But then I started to explore the possibilities of this scenario. Unnoticed, Paul swaggers by with a teetering tray of Atlantic Salmon and Brew Burger, flipping without abandon over the rail. Never to be seen again. The sudden loss of Paul wrenched uncontrollable giggling out of my esophagus. I drew stares. Paul...tumbling into the water. Paul...gasping beneath his bowtie. Paul...a whisper in the air. And all the while, we sit there, tapping our wristwatches. "Where is my refill?" Why, it's with Paul beneath the waves!
The more I thought about it the heartache of it all, the bubblier my giggles became. No one joined me. This only worsened the situation. Hours later, just the thought of Paul and his freckles strolling merrily into the horizon transformed me into a wreck. I can't explain just why it's so funny, because such a large part of it is that it isn't.
I'M OUT OF SCHOOL. FOREVER. I HAVE MONEY FOR ONCE. I HAVE LOTS OF BOOKS.
Oh, and also, the one uplifting part of the Lilo & Stitch ride was the insanely sculpted Colombian dude by whom I attempted to plant myself. I ended up sitting by his friend, who does not speak much English and hopes my friend Gabriel Garcia Marquez isn't too lonely these days. Either way, we got a picture and I will try to post that shortly. Huzzah!
But here's what I want to talk about.
We had this waiter at the boardwalk last night. His gums were prominent and I suppose there were even freckles on his soul. When he failed to appear with the food, Brooksie's mom suggested that he fell in the water. Her comments were corny and frequent, so this elicited no more than a polite chuckle. But then I started to explore the possibilities of this scenario. Unnoticed, Paul swaggers by with a teetering tray of Atlantic Salmon and Brew Burger, flipping without abandon over the rail. Never to be seen again. The sudden loss of Paul wrenched uncontrollable giggling out of my esophagus. I drew stares. Paul...tumbling into the water. Paul...gasping beneath his bowtie. Paul...a whisper in the air. And all the while, we sit there, tapping our wristwatches. "Where is my refill?" Why, it's with Paul beneath the waves!
The more I thought about it the heartache of it all, the bubblier my giggles became. No one joined me. This only worsened the situation. Hours later, just the thought of Paul and his freckles strolling merrily into the horizon transformed me into a wreck. I can't explain just why it's so funny, because such a large part of it is that it isn't.
I'M OUT OF SCHOOL. FOREVER. I HAVE MONEY FOR ONCE. I HAVE LOTS OF BOOKS.
Oh, and also, the one uplifting part of the Lilo & Stitch ride was the insanely sculpted Colombian dude by whom I attempted to plant myself. I ended up sitting by his friend, who does not speak much English and hopes my friend Gabriel Garcia Marquez isn't too lonely these days. Either way, we got a picture and I will try to post that shortly. Huzzah!
April 27th, 2007
I stepped out into the hallway yesterday morning, catching Jack en route from my parents' bathroom. With earbuds firmly in place and iPod clipped to his belt, his arms drifted through the air, marionette strings to his tapping feet. I felt my hands leave my side, like I had been pressing them against the door frame for forty seconds before breaking free to enjoy the magic. The disease spread, infecting Jim as he exited his room. For a moment, we all swayed in unison, defying gravity and entropy and school bells.
Then the air broke. Jim pushed past, heading down the stairs. My shoulders shrugged back into place and Jack grinned up at me. "What song were you listening to?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing." And he pivoted, returning to the bathroom.
Then the air broke. Jim pushed past, heading down the stairs. My shoulders shrugged back into place and Jack grinned up at me. "What song were you listening to?" I asked.
"Oh, nothing." And he pivoted, returning to the bathroom.
March 28th, 2007
I've been thinking...what if I were genetically designed for only one purpose? Vengeance. My parents unearthed their life savings in order that they might one day unleash wrath upon their dearest enemy, which, for reasons Dad would refuse to explain, would be Mike the Tiger, the LSU mascot.
"Mom?! DAD?!" I'd wail upon discovering the truth of my computed existence. "I can't defeat a tiger!!"
"That's not what science says!" they'd chorus jovially.
Off to LSU for spring testing! Maybe if I get to close to the cage, the metal plate in my head will send me soaring into the den, whereupon I'll discover that blades exist between my knuckles and my spit tastes of fury.
"Mom?! DAD?!" I'd wail upon discovering the truth of my computed existence. "I can't defeat a tiger!!"
"That's not what science says!" they'd chorus jovially.
Off to LSU for spring testing! Maybe if I get to close to the cage, the metal plate in my head will send me soaring into the den, whereupon I'll discover that blades exist between my knuckles and my spit tastes of fury.
February 27th, 2007
I just found the abstract for Jack's Social Studies Fair project on soccer. It's definitely worth a read (and a blue ribbon?)
In my project, I will include a few facts about soccer, and how things have changed. In this abstract, though, I would like to explain soccer's good points. For one, soccer requires no height, or anything like that. What you need is speed, dexterity, and good reflexes. You also need eqipment like a ball, clothing (obviously), shoes, and soccer socks. You also need to be kind of cheerful. If you become a serious jerk about it, you'll crush your team. Try to be cheerful and positive, not negative and depressing. I'm not trying to boss you around but you can't be too perky and delightful. That can be annoying. Also try to view the other team and study them throughout the game. Find their weak points. Then near the end of the game you'll be able to score a few goals. It also matters to have fun. Try to cheer others up. It's important to do these things. In my project I'll also have a Wilson black and white soccer ball with company logos on it. I personally use Diadora balls. Basically try your best to be supportive but not too supportive, get the right gear, and don't try anything dumb in a game. If you mess up, it will be bvery costly to your team. This is the overview of my paper. THE END.
This kid.
In my project, I will include a few facts about soccer, and how things have changed. In this abstract, though, I would like to explain soccer's good points. For one, soccer requires no height, or anything like that. What you need is speed, dexterity, and good reflexes. You also need eqipment like a ball, clothing (obviously), shoes, and soccer socks. You also need to be kind of cheerful. If you become a serious jerk about it, you'll crush your team. Try to be cheerful and positive, not negative and depressing. I'm not trying to boss you around but you can't be too perky and delightful. That can be annoying. Also try to view the other team and study them throughout the game. Find their weak points. Then near the end of the game you'll be able to score a few goals. It also matters to have fun. Try to cheer others up. It's important to do these things. In my project I'll also have a Wilson black and white soccer ball with company logos on it. I personally use Diadora balls. Basically try your best to be supportive but not too supportive, get the right gear, and don't try anything dumb in a game. If you mess up, it will be bvery costly to your team. This is the overview of my paper. THE END.
This kid.
February 21st, 2007
I just turned 18 with a Rockstar energy drink, Brown-Eyed Girl, I Love Lucy, Cookie Monster, and candy corn. My original plan was to go around shattering the ethics of Randy Roach's paradise (Lake Charles), then allowing the fuzz to hunt me until the stroke of midnight, upon which I would bellow, "SHAZAM!" and the pleasemen would wander off in a daze. Where had that little hooligan gone? Clean slate! It's like first reconciliation all over again. I wonder if I can get tried as an adult for my physics grade...
February 14th, 2007
So this week, St. Louis held this "Literature Lives" jag in which students dressed as characters or authors from various literary selections. My AP class was confined to the poems within our book, whose characters lean more toward pleasure domes and west winds than anything easily mirrored. I picked Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn." Last night I dreamt that I had no clue what to do for the presentation (not so much a fantasy), so I turned to my thrifty dad for help. Confidently, he assembled a sleeveless hoodie, a plaid shirt, and tattered blue jeans for me to wear. I was not so assured when it came time for my words of wisdom at school. "Um, I'm not exaaaactly sure how this outfit relates to my poem..." I hesitantly told my class.
They gaped at me, then cried out in unison: "Lucie! You're LANGSTON HUGHES."
Gardner, of course, was pissed because of my lack of attention to detail. Thanks a lot, DAD.
They gaped at me, then cried out in unison: "Lucie! You're LANGSTON HUGHES."
Gardner, of course, was pissed because of my lack of attention to detail. Thanks a lot, DAD.
January 23rd, 2007
I got on an hour and a half ago to update my iPod, and here I am.
This is what Minesweeper does to kids from good neighborhoods.
While I am updating the best journal ever, let me relate an anecdote I've had the occasion to tell a couple of times over the past few days.
My grandmother's funeral was held a couple of years ago this month. Jack was eight at the time and one of the pallbearers. I know I definitely wasn't well-equipped to handle death at that age, so I watched with wonder as Jack carried himself maturely throughout the day. At the wake, he even took a moment to stand beside my grandmother's casket. A few moments later, Jack was still there, stroking my grandmother's hand. Such a brave kid.
We began to worry when another minute still found him paying his respects. My mother approached him, and Jack proudly pointed out the popped collar of the deceased's refined black suit. "Look, Mom," he announced, "she's a vampire!"
If only we could all have that constitution.
This is what Minesweeper does to kids from good neighborhoods.
While I am updating the best journal ever, let me relate an anecdote I've had the occasion to tell a couple of times over the past few days.
My grandmother's funeral was held a couple of years ago this month. Jack was eight at the time and one of the pallbearers. I know I definitely wasn't well-equipped to handle death at that age, so I watched with wonder as Jack carried himself maturely throughout the day. At the wake, he even took a moment to stand beside my grandmother's casket. A few moments later, Jack was still there, stroking my grandmother's hand. Such a brave kid.
We began to worry when another minute still found him paying his respects. My mother approached him, and Jack proudly pointed out the popped collar of the deceased's refined black suit. "Look, Mom," he announced, "she's a vampire!"
If only we could all have that constitution.
January 8th, 2007
That cow stole my idea to go as Zenon, Girl of the Twenty-First Century for space-themed TWIRP. Like she could ever save the space stay.
December 16th, 2006
In-depth analysis of the human condition. Why are humans HUMAN? inquiring minds want to know. Here now the answer.
December 10th, 2006
tangiblefaTHomlo: ugh, i can't look at grace's facebook
tangiblefaTHomlo: stupid whore
daisyduke611: add her
tangiblefaTHomlo: um, no thank you?
daisyduke611: why not?
daisyduke611: it's just facebook
tangiblefaTHomlo: hahah
tangiblefaTHomlo: "hannah take this super cool pill"
"um, no thank you"
"why not? it's just a pill"
daisyduke611: hahahah
tangiblefaTHomlo: stupid whore
daisyduke611: add her
tangiblefaTHomlo: um, no thank you?
daisyduke611: why not?
daisyduke611: it's just facebook
tangiblefaTHomlo: hahah
tangiblefaTHomlo: "hannah take this super cool pill"
"um, no thank you"
"why not? it's just a pill"
daisyduke611: hahahah
November 27th, 2006
Argh, the holidays aren't long enough. Who needs these few weeks in school? They should just combine Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays for one big extravaganza, because I'm not really jazzed about going back tomorrow for the gorgeous AP trifecta. Have I mentioned how lost I am in Physics? And Calculus? English I'm rather clear on, but she's gotta cut out all this homework and style analysis crap sooner or later. I really don't think 40 style analysis essays are necessary for me to grasp the concept.
We have to give these presentations in English tomorrow for our books. Mine is One Hundred Years of Solitude. I think for my visual, I'm going to bring a caricature of my 7th grade self I had done at Universal Studios and paste on word bubbles containing my thoughts on the book ("Two thumbs up!" raves attractive middle schooler.) Or I'll dress as a banana. And maybe bring along an increasingly satanic mix of banana related songs. So far I've got "Apples and Bananas" and "Bananas in Pajamas." Time to download some Gwen.
Oh, Margaret and I have to decided that J.K. Rowling is going to run into some serious writer's block before she can finish Book 7 and is going to fake her own death by Voldemort's hands, and, in the most bizarre and confusing mental breakdown ever, will attempt to convince her reading public that everything she ever wrote was real. Or she'll let the writer's block play an active role in the novel itself, titling it "The Epic Battle at the End of This Book!" It will then become a picture book in which our Scottish heroine frantically begs the reader to stop turning pages--even constructing brick walls to halt this process--lest they be confronted with the demonic wizard lurking in the last chapter.
Oh, Jim taught me the healing process of singing Dido's "White Flag" when you play the delightful basketball game of "Whores." It's wondrous.
We have to give these presentations in English tomorrow for our books. Mine is One Hundred Years of Solitude. I think for my visual, I'm going to bring a caricature of my 7th grade self I had done at Universal Studios and paste on word bubbles containing my thoughts on the book ("Two thumbs up!" raves attractive middle schooler.) Or I'll dress as a banana. And maybe bring along an increasingly satanic mix of banana related songs. So far I've got "Apples and Bananas" and "Bananas in Pajamas." Time to download some Gwen.
Oh, Margaret and I have to decided that J.K. Rowling is going to run into some serious writer's block before she can finish Book 7 and is going to fake her own death by Voldemort's hands, and, in the most bizarre and confusing mental breakdown ever, will attempt to convince her reading public that everything she ever wrote was real. Or she'll let the writer's block play an active role in the novel itself, titling it "The Epic Battle at the End of This Book!" It will then become a picture book in which our Scottish heroine frantically begs the reader to stop turning pages--even constructing brick walls to halt this process--lest they be confronted with the demonic wizard lurking in the last chapter.
Oh, Jim taught me the healing process of singing Dido's "White Flag" when you play the delightful basketball game of "Whores." It's wondrous.
November 19th, 2006
So for the Dean's Honor Scholarship application, they present you with a piece of paper with a little box in the middle. Inside the box, you have to display your creativity or whatever in some manner. I find myself sufficiently stuck for ideas. In desperation, I turned to Jim.
Lucie: So I have to do something creative with this paper.
Jim: You should use it as toilet paper.
Lucie: So I have to do something creative with this paper.
Jim: You should use it as toilet paper.
November 18th, 2006
There's a big rip from the ESE side of my Tulane acceptance letter towards the northeast corner. But I got accepted! And offered the Distinguished Scholars Award! $22,000 annually! That's about half the tuition, but I'm going to apply for the other merit scholarships over the holidays, and hopefully, hopefully it will all turn out awesome.
I was really leaning toward LSU until just now. It's all up in the air again. Oh, New Orleans. Smooth said it's a good thing I took that college day last spring for Jazzfest, so I could come to the full realization that Tulane is the place for me. Bob Dylan played a key role in my academic life...wicked.
I was really leaning toward LSU until just now. It's all up in the air again. Oh, New Orleans. Smooth said it's a good thing I took that college day last spring for Jazzfest, so I could come to the full realization that Tulane is the place for me. Bob Dylan played a key role in my academic life...wicked.
November 14th, 2006
That vicious whore scheduled me for a 6 AM dermatology appointment--a fact which I learned upon being roused at 5:30. The only reason I didn't lose my mind is because I knew I was later going to exact my vengeance in a cold, calculating manner. That wasn't a happy thought, so the dermatologist couldn't suck it out of me...but it kept me sane and knowing who I am...helped me keep my powers...so when it all became...too much...I could transform in my cell...become a dog. Dermatologists can't see you know...
Anyway, the bright side of the road is that they give out school excuses without times on them. It's a loophole in the system that the wrong guy discovered. Guess where I won't be going this morning?
Anyway, the bright side of the road is that they give out school excuses without times on them. It's a loophole in the system that the wrong guy discovered. Guess where I won't be going this morning?
November 10th, 2006
The hearty skip from the Corolla up the sidewalk to my porch seemed opportune for a ballad off the top of my head.
IIIIII'M NOOOOOT IN SCHOOOOOL RIIIIGHT NOOOOW
I B'ED MY PHYSICS TEST--SURE DON'T KNOW HOW
PEPSI'S LOVELY AND I AM TOO
LOVELY THIS DAY WITH THE SKY SO BLUE
GLORIOUS!
GLORIOUS!
SOMEWHAT UPROARIOUS!
WHO'S THE WHORE OF US?
SHE'S GLORIOUS!
I SAY, "THERE'S MORE OF US
YOU WON'T BORE OF US"
I'M ABSOLUTELY EUPHORIOUS
HOW GLORIOUS
What took it from your average smug shit-slinging was the cherubic tones employed in the vocalization. To be truthful, it leaned more towards an old broad giving her all to "Table of Plenty" at 9:30 Mass. But my goodness, I myself was touched, and we (we all of us!) know how hard it is for me to be amused or moved to tears by anything I've done.
IIIIII'M NOOOOOT IN SCHOOOOOL RIIIIGHT NOOOOW
I B'ED MY PHYSICS TEST--SURE DON'T KNOW HOW
PEPSI'S LOVELY AND I AM TOO
LOVELY THIS DAY WITH THE SKY SO BLUE
GLORIOUS!
GLORIOUS!
SOMEWHAT UPROARIOUS!
WHO'S THE WHORE OF US?
SHE'S GLORIOUS!
I SAY, "THERE'S MORE OF US
YOU WON'T BORE OF US"
I'M ABSOLUTELY EUPHORIOUS
HOW GLORIOUS
What took it from your average smug shit-slinging was the cherubic tones employed in the vocalization. To be truthful, it leaned more towards an old broad giving her all to "Table of Plenty" at 9:30 Mass. But my goodness, I myself was touched, and we (we all of us!) know how hard it is for me to be amused or moved to tears by anything I've done.
November 8th, 2006
Today at swim practice, a jigsaw puzzle led to a protest song which fed into a discussion on husky soul voices, which, in turn, opened up a well of desire to hear my Louis Armstrong interpretation of the Honey Nut Cheerios theme. Man, I used to be amazing at that, back when it was my private cerealtime ritual. Now, though, as times have changed and everything's fodder for a guffaw, I've lost the magic. I can't even get to the snapping without cracking a smile and falling out of character! Don't even get me started on the horrible tapering at the end...I think I'll forfeit swim practice in favor of brushing up on my One True Talent. And finishing that jigsaw puzzle.
Billy wants to coauthor "The Shit I've Received and Why I Didn't Deserve It," with an unwelcome contribution of factual footnotes. I asked if it would be all right if I had his portion printed in Wingdings, but he didn't seem especially amenable to that proposal.
November 7th, 2006
Britney filed for divorce! My grief is unspeakable. I really thought K-Fed would cling on till the finish. But noooo, Britney's all back in shape and having cute kids and only 250 people came to the first concert on K-Fed's tour! Why do bad things happen to good people? Why does everything I love go up in flames?
October 30th, 2006
Missed state by 2/25 of a second. If I didn't crack the top 24 (of tonight's meet and the large school district meet), then I had just my last swim meet, which is both depressing and an immense relief. Taylor didn't make state either, so it's not quite as pathetic as it could be.
Still, though! 2/25!!!