My First Presidential Election...

I just realized that this year's will be the first presidential election I've ever voted in. I just missed 2009, I was 17 at the time. Some people may be against voting with their whole "I doesn't matter, it doesn't count" blah blah blah, and even more so this year because it's 2012 and Quetzalcoatl is going to devour our souls and Jesus is going to Rapture myself and my fellow Christians back to Heaven, and why should we even vote, cliche apocalyptic humor, blah blah blah. If I have learned anything about humans in my two decades of life so far, it is that they are sensationalist fiends with a horrible thirst for catastrophe. Humanity will ALWAYS find something to freak out about, no matter how unfounded or ridiculous the reasons they base their claims upon.

Anyways, this is my first presidential election, and really I'm a little excited. I'm also a little scared that in a fit of sarcasm I'll write in "Lady Gaga" in the blank space on the ballot and mark the circle. My political science teacher made such a big mistake in giving me that information, that there's a blank space on any ballot reserved for voters to write in anyone's name they choose, regardless if they've campaigned or not, and if they get enough votes they're elected to that office. At least they're anonymous. Okay here's the real deal now, before you political coyotes give me a lecture tracheotomy about how I shouldn't be so careless as I have a civic duty (we all know how I feel about civic duty) to myself and my countrymen to be a responsible and informed citizen and I shouldn't make such jokes...

First rule of Fight Club: Don't take me seriously.

Video Gaga...

I love film. I love music. So naturally I'm a fan of music videos. Well, good ones. Not ridiculous ones. Decent enough ones. Whatever. Anyways, I'd like to share with you some of my favorites in no particular order, with a short commentary on each.

*This list is subject to change, as I will add more to it when I see more videos I like.



"The Ghost of You" by My Chemical Romance

Not only does Gerard Way look incredibly handsome (like a young Ray Liotta...I think I've mentioned my silly girl crush on Ray Liotta. Well if I haven't, there you go) and show off his passionate stage presence in this video, his acting is also fantastic I think. This is a powerful song with an equally powerful video to match. I personally think My Chemical Romance are very overlooked as artists, and are too quickly written off as as "just another whiny emo band". I saw them live in 2007 during The Black Parade (one of my favorite albums of all time, by the way), and not only are they highly talented musicians, Gerard is one of the most exciting performers I think I've ever seen. Don't underestimate them. If you do, I think someone's got a case of fame envy.



"Unstoppable" by Foxy Shazam

I actually just stumbled upon these guys tonight, and I have to say I am amazed. This is definitely one of the coolest videos I've ever seen, featuring live visual illusions in a classy black and white. It's hallowed ground and potentially blasphemous in the music world to make a statement like this...but their music is quite remnant of Queen, and Eric Sean Nally (the charming singing mustache man) displays Freddie-like showmanship, as well as costumes even. His vocals though remind me more of Justin Hawkins of the Darkness. They are "here to save rock n' roll", and by gum I think they just might. Great job, guys.



"Lotus Flower" by Radiohead

Radiohead is one of my favorite bands, and some of the best music for a night drive and intensive study sessions. I do love this song even though the rest of the album ("King of Limbs") didn't appeal to me at all, and I love the video. Lead vocalist Thom Yorke's gracefully chaotic dancing is a lot of fun to watch, and enough to make anyone get up and dance with him; some of his early movements remind me a little of Cesare in the silent 1919 German expressionist film "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari". I also adore his Tom Waits-like ensemble.



"Conquest" by The White Stripes

We have here now my friends, my number one favorite band. The dynamic Detroit duo, pride of my home state, and two of the most adorable people in existence: The White Stripes. They recently split up for now (and I'm hoping to God that they don't stay that way), and this song is from their currently last album "Icky Thump". Meg's performance as the apathetic squire to Jack's pompous matador is great to watch, her expressions get me every time. The video is also very well blocked, especially around 1:17 towards the end of the first chorus, Jack and the bull twirl beautifully along to the descending note. The premise of the video is also fits the song very well, which is basically about a cocky man who underestimates the tenacity of a woman he perceives to be weak and vulnerable to his charms, then well "the hunted became the huntress, the hunter beca-a-ame the prey"!



"The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars

I always love 30 Seconds to Mars videos. They're all usually written by Jared Leto himself I do believe, and they're almost always written as short films rather than JUST music videos, complete with some spoken dialogue, and some parts of just silent acting; reflecting Jared's experience as an actor before going into the band full time. Film buffs and Stephen King fans will notice that the video is based on "The Shining". Tomo and the bear...I lose it every time.

"Civic duty" and other bullshit

I've never been summoned for jury duty yet, but I think the whole thing is bullshit. It's my "civic duty". What? It's my duty to sit in a chair for 10 hours and listen to some ivy league suit pricks rant about how each others' client is an immoral, malicious bastard spawn of the devil and should be lit on fire and throw under a bus? Sure, they're both guilty, guilty of wasting my time and the time of the other unfortunate souls on the panel. I'm journalist, not a lawyer or a political scientist. It's not my "duty" to sit around deciding the fates of strangers. Leave it to the professionals who spent however many years of their lives studying that kind of shit. Plus it's a free country, I should have the right to decline. But no, I get fined or thrown in prison if I refuse jury duty. Way to be a toddler, government.

The only case I've EVER found myself emotionally and nearly personally involved in is that of the West Memphis Three, but the Arkansas "justice system", fortunately saw the light last year and set the boys free after successfully robbing them of almost two decades of their lives by throwing them in prison for being different. And yes, anyone with a brain and a functioning ocular nerve can see that that was the REAL reason they were convicted. Conservative West Memphis, Arkansas doesn't take kindly to anyone who isn't like them. But that's another 11 page rant that will have to wait for another day, they're free and that's what counts. Anyways, bullshit. The WM3 case falls under that category.

In other bullshit, parking tickets. Really? You're going to punish me for parking in a designated parking area? Jesus Christ Superstar. I bet NEXT you'll give me a ticket for standing on the wrong crack in the sidewalk. Parking tickets make just about as much sense as excommunication and Converse boots, none whatsoever. Ooh I parked in a spot for too long, I'm a hardened criminal I am. I should be locked up between Charles Manson and the Uni-bomber for my unspeakable crimes against society. Impractical. B. S.

And scene.

Already 57 views?! JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR!!

I'm flattered, truly. I have not posted anything in a couple of days, anything good anyway, as my time, love, and attention has been devoted mostly to the Sims 3 lately. School and work as well, but mostly the Sims 3. And the beautiful people I create on that game...the absolutely fucking pretty beings I spend like 3-4 hours making. The time and effort is worth it. I'm so vain when it comes to video games. In the real world I really could care less what you look like, I look like a damn crazy bohemian gypsy so who am I to judge? Anyways, video games are a different story. If the game allows me creative liberty over my character's appearance, then I shall take full advantage of it...for hours. I just cannot play until they are absolutely STUNNING. I'm not sure why. The other things is whenever I create a male character, they always end up resembling either Johnny Depp or Jackson Rathbone, more so Johnny Depp though. It makes sense though, the man is my hero. For real. Everyone who knows me pretty much knows this. So much that I'm honestly considering getting the acronym "WWJDD?" tattooed on my wrist, standing for "What Would Johnny Depp Do?". At first it started out as a little joke, but now I feel that it's truly a concept worth applying to one's life. Johnny's incredibly wise, despite the very little credit he gives himself, and ever since I was about 12 he's been one of  the biggest (if not the biggest) influences on my life, as well as one of the top people I feel like I can relate to the most in many respects. During his "Inside the Actor's Studio" interview, a student in the audience asked him for advice on dealing with the world of show business, and he recounted a story in which his mom imparted some advice to him when he was little and another kid was bullying him at school. She told him that if the kid puts his hands on him, she wanted him to "take the nearest rock and lay him out". "And I did", Johnny admitted. This advice stuck with him throughout his life, not as a literal application like the first time, but as a general application on dealing with show business and life. His advice was this: "Never let anyone put their hands on you". To me it meant to not loose who you are for anyone, and don't let anyone change you. I'd already had the utmost admiration and respect for him before watching the interview, but this bit of advice probably did more for my personal well-being than any I'd been given in my life. He basically helped me realize that loosing who I am is not worth someone liking or accepting me. That's the message I'd taken from it. So thanks, Johnny. You've helped me more than you'll ever know.

2 Followers! DOUBLE BOOSH!

The spectacular Logan D. Lavack has boarded the crazy train. It's not THAT crazy yet, not like my first summer of the inner monologue in...2009 I think it was? I really should post some of those entries here, a few are actually committed to memory in case of...I'm not sure why, we'll just call it "thespian memorization syndrome". However the rest are in that first journal I kept, which is with Kelsey. There's a couple great narratives in there, I do say so myself, which I do. Especially the camping trip in Hell, Michigan that summer.

So I finally woke up at a decent hour this morning. I set my alarm for 7:30am, woke up at that time, drank some hot apple cider...then sat on the couch and fell back asleep for like 20 minutes I think. But I left at 8am, still an hour earlier than I need to be at school, giving me enough time to park, grab a coffee, AND finish the homework I was supposed to do for this class the night before but instead decided to kill my bank account on iTunes, restring my guitar, play the Sims 3, and talk to myself. All in a night's work for me.

And grade school grammar review begins again, see you soon.

Check the slips...

Thinking about starting a collection of these. I've always wanted to, but never had many disposable monies, but I do now so...yeah gonna start on that. Every check, get a new color, style; just don't know where I'm going to put all of them yet...

Intrigued by Jesstastic, I'm currently embarking on a quest to access my old Myspace accounts from back in the day, and get those old pictures back. I used to be quite a scene whore in me younger days, and as a recovering Myspace addict I can definitely say it's not worth it...Facebook is where it's at. A few years ago, before preteens were starting on the Book, Myspace was a fascinating place. A gateway drug, where each friend request, each picture comment, each w4w bulletin, was like a rush of cocaine, and that mythical cyber bastard know only as "Tom" was your dealer. You wanted more. And more. And more. Pretty soon an empire of over 50,000 or more was at your fingertips, and you probably only knew about 20 to 30 of them personally if that, perhaps much less. You didn't care, you were somebody. Ridiculous looking crazy kids like you were stopping you in the mall, "Hey, I know you from Myspace!" they would say. You were a celebrity, and all you did was take melodramatic, highly staged pictures of yourself and your fellow addicts. Every outing became a Myspace photo shoot, you spent the night at each others' houses, staying up conversing with your adoring public.

Then you hit about 18 years old, maybe 20. Myspace becomes a little ridiculous to your newly wizened adult self. The spark is gone, and the drug of pseudo-celebrity has worn off. You discover and gentler and simpler world called Facebook, and you start to make fun of these foofy haired, scrunchy faced, leg warmer wearing, fluorescent colored preteen psychopaths and their little "Myspace". You feel you've ascended, but there's always that part of you. That part of you that misses that rush of friend requests, and whore trains, and saucy picture comments. That part of you that misses those 30 question bulletins, like anyone cared who you were missing, what color socks you were wearing at the time, or if you'd ever passed out in an elevator. They did care, your fans cared. It was just Myspace, but to you it was an interview in Rolling Stone.

I remember those days, and I remember them fondly. Then I see the pictures...and laugh at that stupid kid with the hair in her face.

All my friends are strangers...

Sometimes during my break at work, people will just come up and talk to me. As much as I complain about some of the ridiculous and rude customers we get, most of the time I have the good fortune of personally speaking with cool and interesting people. I met this guy tonight, Christian is his name. Not to be confused with the Christian I already know. He saw me wrapping my sandalwood mala back around my wrist after a surprise corporate inspection, and inquired about it. We had a pretty great conversation; religion, society, acceptance of others, respect for all. This random conversation with Christian tonight reminded me how much I love learning about others, hearing their stories and such. Not just the usual "others" like celebrities and such, but just everyday people. Everyone has a story, everyone has their own world inside them, and I'm fascinated by it. I don't know, I guess this would go hand in hand with my previous post about getting out and exploring more, I'll get to meet all kinds of people. As shy and socially reclusive as I tend to be, I really do enjoy listening and talking to others.

I need to get out more...

Get out and explore, have adventures. Find places, talk to random people. Whether I'm solo or with others, I need to get out there. I realized this today when out with my friend Christian, hanging around campus. There's so much to do, see, and discover around there; and as a student of journalism I need to be more involved in the what's going on around me, become more worldly. And you know, despite having one of the highest crime rates in the United States, if not the highest, Detroit really is an interesting and beautiful city. We're right in the thick of Downtown at Wayne State, the best place to be, the best place to experience so many awesome things. Museums, theaters, bars, graffiti, architecture; Detroit is like one giant art project, a mural of culture. Unfortunately everyone writes us off as nothing more than a ruined city full of gun-toting crazies ready to blast one in your head for breathing our air, when celebrated cities like Chicago, New York or Cleveland can be just as bad. We aren't perfect, but we aren't Hell on Earth. Danger is everywhere, dysfunction is everywhere. No one neighborhood, city, or society is without it in some way or another. I'm actually from Taylor, but to everyone outside of the state it's a as simple as this: if you're from Michigan, you're from Detroit. And you know what? I'm proud of it. We've got our problems, but we aren't done yet. So don't underestimate us.

1 Follower! BOOSH!

Thank you to my lovely Taj for becoming my first follower. Though I get a decent amount of views, but few register. I can understand though, the fact that I'm viewed is enough.

So Friday night I was closing dishes at work (hence the pruny icky dishpan hand. Along with its partner it had been underwater in detergent and degreaser for about 3 hours already), and had cut my finger on the tomato slicer as I was washing it. I felt really lame as I had made sure to examine the slicer to see where the blades were so I could avoid them when I submerged it, and the first thing I do when I do that? I cut my finger. This is the second injury this week on the same hand, I'm a liability, but I get the job done. I start bleeding, for such a little cut it's leaking pretty well, and pretty quick. First aid kit, no bandages, I'm baffled. "Medical Macguyver" mode kicks in and I fashion a "bandage" out of a gauze compress and salad stickers. "Creep" by Stone Temple Pilots was playing on the radio, and as I returned to the sink Scott Weiland sang "take time with a wounded hand". This experience couldn't have been more perfect.

My manager walks into the back room a couple minutes later, and sees I'm cleaning the tomato slicer, telling me to be careful about cutting myself. I show her my salad bandage, "I beat you to it". She looks puzzled at my finger, then laughs.

The kicker: "You know, we do have real bandages in the office".

I've heard "awesome" gets you a book and movie deal...

And honestly, I don't have that kind of time. Time spent trying to be awesome could be time spent writing, or singing, or giving in to questionable unconscious desires. Um, what? Nothing.

Damn I only really started drinking coffee last Saturday when out with friends after work, at which time I had about four cups in a row. I never used to like it, never liked its bitterness, not even with creamers, but this time it didn't taste too bad. At first I took this as a sign of aging, at 20 years old I had finally acquired adult taste buds; now I fear it's becoming a little bit of a problem. Now I've been a caffeine addict for as long as I can remember, I'm no stranger to the rush, the shakes, the kidney scares, the pee. After reading the symptoms I've recalled that I've come close to about 5 or 6 caffeine overdoses, that was back when I used to drink about 4-5 liters of Mountain Dew each day, each bottle contains about 256/mg of caffeine per 12 ounces. I think, from what I remember from reading the side of the bottle. I don't know measurements, but that sounds like a lot. Plus the reaction of those I tell is almost always one of disbelief, so I'm guessing that it was not a good thing. A couple of days ago at school I had drank 3 mocha espressos from Starbucks, the next day I had 2. I find that I don't feel like complete shit after about 3-4 16 ounce cups of coffee as opposed to 3-4 12 ounce or liters of Mountain Dew, perhaps there's more caffeine and less sugar, I'm not sure. Plus I notice a significant increase in my cognition when I'm drinking a lot of coffee as opposed to soda. I can THINK. FAST. Though the jitters are worse. I've developed this thing (I'm almost certain from the caffeine over the years) where I'll tap my fingers quickly on the back of my head for a couple of seconds, I can't really explain it, you'd have to see it. It's just happens, like Tourette's or something, but I know it's from the caffeine. There's been speculation that people who drink a shit ton of caffeine like me can experience nerve damage as a side effect, maybe that's what it is, there hasn't been any solid correlation made yet, but it makes sense.

It's still an addiction, every time I thought I could quit I can't. But hey, at least it's not heroin.

Shit I Wrote Pt. 2

I'll be driving in my car, sitting in my room, or taking walks listening to music; and occassionally the plug in my brain will eventually find the outlet in my imagination, and I'll put my own twist on certain songs. I'm not sure how I come up with this dumb shit, but it happens. This is only one of several.

"Whiny Rich Kid" a song parody of "Beverly Hills" by Weezer

Where I come from is really great
My automobile is fantastic
My fashion sense stops traffic
And my friends are super cool
They love me
I've never had to work a day
Everything's been handed to me
Still I brood up in my room
No one understands me

Whiny rich kid
I get everything for free
But I'm still unhappy
Whiny rich kid
It's so very hard to be me
I'm just a whiny rich kid

I wear $400 shoes with pre-ripped $100 jeans
I complain about Mom and Dad while playing my brand new PS3
I know that most kids in the world
Are not as fortunate as me
I've still got my arms and legs
But still I'm sad as can be

Whiny rich kid
I get everything for free
But I'm still unhappy
Whiny rich kid
It's so very hard to be me
I'm just a whiny rich kid

Truth is
I'm a no good, spoiled brat
Ungrateful for what I have
And I just need my ass kicked

Yes I do
I'm just a high class, petty tool
Who needs a day in different shoes
Just to see how damn lucky I really am

Whiny rich kid
I get everything for free
But I'm still unhappy
Whiny rich kid
It's so very hard to be me
I'm just a whiny rich kid

Kind of feeling checkerboard Vans...

I've had a pair before, tan and mocha. Not the classic white and black, because I'm a loser like that. I should have a giant check this week from all the extra hours I worked over my winter break (note to self: do not ruin spring break by being an eager beaver manager pleaser), well maybe not a GIANT check, but more than I usually make. I spent a shit ton over the past couple of days, the most being on school books, over $300. And they were USED books, I'd hate to see the brand new price. Anyways, as a present to myself out of my fancy big check, I'm thinking checkerboard slip-ons.

Towards the end of my shift tonight I was helping catch up on dishes in the back room (my new favorite place to be), when "Icky Thump" by The White Stripes came on the radio. I had to fight every fiber of my being to not rock out right there in the back room to that amazing song. I honestly love the White Stripes, they are my favorite band, hands down. Not to mention Jack and Meg White are two of the most adorable people in existence, in a non-creepy way. My friend and co-worker Louis and I also discussed what our Wendy's would be like if it were a reality show, I imagined it'd be like a cross between "The Office" and "The Shawshank Redemption", moreso like "The Office" though. You know, as much as I tend to dislike the work I have to do and some of the churlish assholes who pay me to help hasten them toward a cholesterol filled grave, I do enjoy the people I work with. I suppose you have to at some point, we're in a tiny kitchen together for 8 hours, but I do genuinely like them. I'm such a social recluse though, I really can't stand it sometimes. I'm so nervous around people, it's ridiculous, it's a wonder I have any friends. I mean, I do tend to get along with others right off the bat, but I know that at times I drive them away unintentionally because I'm so shy, and they sometimes mistake my shyness for snobery. The only way I've been able to combat this is to hide behind sarcasm. When I don't take the situation completely seriously, the cause for nervousness becomes less. I can't really explain it, it just is what it is. And I'm becoming a journalist, the irony. If I keep plenty of alcohol and Flexerol on hand I think I'll be fine though.

Shit I Wrote Pt. 1

"Letter to the Pope"

I myself am a Christian, raised Roman Catholic. When I wrote this I didn't mean it to be offensive in any way, and so far no one has found it as such. "Letter to the Pope" is one of my more popular writings, and one of my personal favorites of what I've released to others. I originally wrote it in 12th grade as a humorous monologue inspired partly by a dream my friend Alex had told me about in middle school in which Satan had attacked her from her clothing dryer, and a story my friend Meg had told me that year in 12th grade at one of our drama practices in response to me telling her of Alex's dream, Meg told me jokingly that her refrigerator like Alex's dryer in one of the nine gates of Hell. Anyways, enjoy.

Dear Benedict,

What's up? Not too much here just wondering what to get you for your birthday. I can't remember if you're allergic to polyester. This stole I'm looking at for you here is green, I'm assuming that ordinary time? I figured I'd get you something you can wear on more days of the year. Anyways, I digress the real reason for this letter is really rather urgent. I have reason to believe that two of the nine gates of Hell lie within two earthly vessels currently in the possessions of two of my friends here in the United States. I know we've already destroyed the obvious ones like the one under the Reichstag and the one inside Dick Cheney's man-sized safe, but I fear that the gates are getting to be in more unassuming places. The Dark Lord's trickery and deceit indeed knows no bounds, and I think he's starting to catch on to what we're trying to do. I suggest we act fast, before Donahue rats us out again. The bastard. Oh and while I'm thinking about it...considering that one of the gates is a refrigerator, Hell did in fact freeze over, in one spot anyway, so I'd really like that million dollars you promised me if that ever happened. You remember? I was over at the Vatican that one time and we were playing Catholic Monopoly, then right after your Knights Thimblar took Jerusalem Avenue you asked if there was anything you could get me, and I said "Yeah, a million dollars", then you said "Sure, when Hell freezes over". Guess what? It did! So yeah I'd really appreciate it if you could get that to me, I accept PayPal. Anyways, see you at the Dance Dance Anti-Evolution tournament next Saturday? Looking forward to it, dude.

Much love,

Mooney

This 9:35am class will be the death of me...

I'm not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, so I'm not sure why I thought I could do this every Tuesday and Thursday. On Tuesday I woke up around 8:30, blasted down I-94, found a parking spot, AND got a coffee with 15 minutes to spare before the start of the class, I was impressed with myself. This morning went a little the same way, except I woke up at 8:50. I didn't leave the house until about 8:55 because I couldn't decide on a shirt. I must suffer from minor body dysmorphia, as I think my shoulders are bigger and wider than they really are, thus making shirt choosing hell for me. Perhaps I just need better posture, the fact that I'm hunched over all the time could make my shoulder appears to be bigger.

After my wardrobe episode I dash out of the house, a little repeat of Tuesday, hair a tousled mess, eyes dark with exhaustion. 70mph down 94 towards Detroit, it's raining so that means speed will not be an option of other drivers, to me it is a minor setback. I'm impressed with the quickness and control of my driving, at my skill level two years ago I would have already added a mural of steel, blood, and guts to a side road wall. "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John shuffles on the iPod, the only thing holding me together.

It's going well until I pass under the Wyoming overpass, where the speed limit drops from 70 to a staggering 55, or just about around there. I'm in Detroit now, and we're close to the exit ramp to the bridge to Canada, so there's no shortage of semis holding things up.

"Made for TV Movie" by Incubus.

It was actually going pretty smoothly, then about one exit away from Trumbull (and Wayne State), a gas tanker slows the entire right lane to a crawl, and I'm so close to my exit that I'm not even going to attempt to get over and around via the center lane. The attempt would be futile anyways as these are Metro and Detroit motorists, and we are selfish sons of bitches on the road.

I reach the campus at last, and just as suspected, clustershit. This is a university, America's best and brightest in a collective of knowledge and excellence, but once a traffic light starts blinking they have no fucking idea what to do. Plus it's raining, which makes their anxiety worse.

"Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park

9:30, fuck. I take strategic action and park at a closer structure on Anthony Wayne right next to Manoogian Hall, and will probably start parking at that one from now on considering that 3 of my 4 classes are in Manoogian. I haul ass down the sidewalk, through the doors, up the stairs, and into my seat. I sit down, 9:34 Mission accomplished. I need a mocha espresso after this...

"The Devil Inside" Review **SPOILERS**

 *"The Devil Inside" and all images and other material regarding are property of Paramount and Insurge. Please don't sue me.*

Demonic possession. Scary shit, right? Guttural speech in tongues, unnatural contortion, spontaneous bleeding, pea soup. Ever since Reagan told Father Damian to fuck his mother and other various obscenities in 1973 in perhaps the most important film of the horror sub-genre "The Exorcist", demonic possession  became and has remained one of the most frightening and disturbing horror sub-genres. Demonic possession scares us because it suggests that we as humans are nothing but vacant flesh vessels, vulnerable to the manipulation of unimaginably evil forces beyond our world, at any time and any place. It's especially disturbing to religious folk, as it suggests that the protection of God has the potential to fail. In other words, it makes for great entertainment and an excellent sleep deterrent if Starbucks is closed and your dealer's in the slammer. Anyways since "The Exorcist", there have been many filmmakers following in its infernal footsteps, the most recent being William Brent Bell with "The Devil Inside".

I haven't really been intrigued by many new movies lately, but "The Devil Inside" was an exception. I decided to go see it last Tuesday night, after being enticed by the wonderfully sinister previews (which I suppose they're designed to do). Now I've been conditioned from a young age to embrace everything frightening, thrilling, and otherwise unnerving. I grew up on horror movies, and have been watching them for so long that my "threshold of fear" if you will runs far and wide; in other words, when a horror movie can genuinely scare me, startle me, or occasionally make me shout "MOTHERFUCKER!", I know it's a good one. "The Devil Inside" did just that. The exorcisms in the movie of course were will breaking, and I found myself more than once staring at the screen mouth agape in terror, tearing the skin from my fingertips at times (that's another way I know the scary is good, it commands my attention and respect). However there were many points in the movie which operated on the the good old fashioned "BOO!" technique, and it worked, or perhaps I just scare easily.

The movie features handheld camerawork and is shot as a documentary style film, similar to that of other such horror movies as "The Blair Witch Project" and "REC". I personally am a fan of handheld when it comes to horror movies, simply because I think it adds a little something to the fear factor. A little more chaos. A little more uncertainty. A little more reality. A human element, any one of us could be behind that camera, it puts you right in the thick of it. It's as if you're no longer just watching a movie, you're involved. At least that's how it is for me, then again I am a bit theatrical.

So the overall scary of the movie and the handheld camerawork won me over, but there were some things that I thought were a little ridiculous. And when things get ridiculous, the scary begins to dissipate. Now I'm not an expert on demonic possession, I'm not really in a position to say if this is how it really goes down or not, but towards the beginning of the movie when our protagonist Isabella visits an exorcism class at the Vatican Academy while in Rome filming a documentary about demonic possession and the case of her mother Maria (who is thought to be possessed, and was sent to a mental hospital in Rome after killing three people during her own exorcism when Isabella was 8), the instructor of the class mentions multiple demonic possession (the possibility of more than one demon to possess one host) and transference (the possibility of a demon or demons to transfer from the current host to a new host). And the plot device has landed, he mentions this specifically because it will be important later, very important, which it is. These two concepts come into play when Isabella and her rebel priest friends David and Ben get the green light to examine Isabella's mother in the mental hospital to determine if she is the victim of demonic possession. Turns out she is (surprise), and not only is she possessed by a demon, but others as well. Enter multiple demonic possession plot device. That's not the ridiculous part, the transference is the ridiculous part, we're getting to that. So after Maria flips out, flies across the room and tells the dynamic trio to fuck off in several languages (she doesn't really say that, but for the purpose of humor she does), David is the first that starts to act a little weird. The day after the Maria episode, David is scheduled to perform a baptism on a baby, then the devil inside (heh heh) makes him almost drown said baby in the baptismal font. Turns out after being close to Maria the previous day and holding her down during the flip out, her demons transferred to him THROUGH TOUCH. Like it's the fucking flu. Like we're playing fucking demon tag. David realizes he's possessed, and shoots himself. Isabella collapses in shock after witnessing the event and is rushed to the hospital by Ben, who finds out that she has had been possessed apparently when David shot himself, and she was like right there. So with all this contagious possession going around, Ben decides to get Isabella out of the hospital immediately, right after she rips a nurse's throat out (and not getting a drop of blood on her, continuity conundrum). So the cameraman Michael and Ben speed off down the Italian highway, Ben trying his best to restrain Isabella in the backseat. She escapes his grasp for a couple seconds and grabs a hold of Michael's face and, you guessed it, TAG YOUR IT!!! DEMONS!!! The demons are transferred to him, so far Ben is unaffected for some reason by the way. We see that sinister distant look in Michael's eyes, he swerves into the oncoming lane and a semi hits the car head on, killing the three of them presumably. We're going to have to go with that because THAT'S where the movie FUCKING ENDS. I was pissed. I hate sudden endings like that, seriously it's like one of those endings where it just seems like the writers ran out of ideas, so they kill everyone off instantly. Quick fix. Oh well, no room for a sequel...yet.

Yesterday...well, now it's yesterday. 11 Jan 2012

Subway is always packed in January, at least until the high of New Year's resolution wears off. This year was the first year I really considered a list of resolutions, but on the other hand I thought about it and I really don't know why someone should need a holiday to make positive changes to their life, "but New Year's is a new beginning. A chance to start fresh" and all that other crap. Each day, each hour, each minute has the potential to be a new beginning. As cheesy and cliche as that sounds. It's so quiet here in State Hall, and I'm willing every part of me to not tap on the police siren app on my iPod, hysterical as the result might be. I'm 5, I really am. Heh, I like how this paragraph began and ended in different ages of mind.

Never mind. Vending machine kicking assholes ruined the silence for me. Thanks, part of my tuition is paying for the machine you just broke to get your Twinkie. Fantastic display of masculinity, I'm all a tremble at your ability to knock a bag of chips loose from the dispenser. Wow, I'm a bitch, but a bitch with principles. I mean, come on.

Hello, and stuff.

So I finally broke down and made a blog. Well, actually I had one briefly before on Tumblr, until it was overrun by scenester Myspace refugees. So I'm really just rejoining the blogging world, maybe because when I try to write this down in an actual notebook my hand trembles too much. Damn those mocha espressos...for as much as Starbucks charges for them it might as well be liquid cocaine. Anyways my name is Amanda, hence why I named this blog "The A Word". It's sort of a double entendre, well it is a double entendre. It's also what I told myself I'd name my radio show if I live through the Mayan apocalypse to graduate from broadcasting school. If you're unfortunate enough to stumble upon this collection of fever babble, you'll notice a couple of things about me:

- Self-depreciating humor
- Bone dry dark sarcasm
- A loose internal monologue
- Opinionated rants
- Well-meaning and good-natured weirdness
- Rampant sailor mouth

Many have enjoyed my writing, many have not not, others have been indifferent. Funny how that works, huh? There should be a link to my Facebook somewhere around here if you enjoy my nonsense enough to want to become impersonally acquainted with me via the Interweb. I will usually accept anyone, unless you're like, mean and stuff. As it says next to my mugshot I am currently a broadcast journalism student with a focus on pop culture, specifically and preferably film. I will from time to time write my own movie reviews/rants here, as being a movie nerd means I love discussing them.

I am who I am, you are who you are. It's very rare that I don't get along with someone, passed the craziness I like to think I'm a decent and kind individual. If at any time I joke about someone or something, know that I do not do it with malicious intent. Just in good fun. However I will never joke about race, personal beliefs, or sexual orientation. I find such jibes to be too easy and just distasteful. A good sense of humor is essential for this blog experience. If you can't take a joke, you needn't read any further. If you haven't elevated past an 8th grade mentality, you needn't read any further. There, disclaimer over.

Anyways if you decide to read this crap, I'm flattered. Have at it and enjoy at your own risk.