Upon returning home one day, I discovered a white envelope with some handwriting under my doormat. It simply said “Since I have not been able to catch you at home, I thought I would leave this for you.”

My mind began to calculate. Out of those who know where I live, who would stop by my house and leave something at my door? There are a few. Instead of pondering it further, I simply opened it up.

It was of course, a religious pamphlet. I threw it in the trash and giggled to myself. I had been fooled by the handwriting on the envelope. What is it about a handwritten message that catches my attention? All the other junk mail deposited at my door or in my mailbox is easily identified and disposed of.

I often wonder if handwriting will become extinct. I miss it as a common form of communication. Handwriting experts believe personality traits and other things can be presumed by analyzing one’s handwriting. I don’t much care for those theories, I just find each individual’s interpretation of the standard alphabet we are taught to be interesting.

I was going to illustrate my point by handwriting, scanning and linking this entire post. I soon remembered how annoying handwritten documents are. I appreciate the readability of typewritten text. I appreciate the thesaurus, spell check and grammar features of most word processing programs. I appreciate the fact that the 25 failed attempts to create an adept sentence are simply deleted from this document without much effort. I believe all of these things contribute to more effective written communication among people.

However, I still miss those handwritten letters from friends and family. I feel deprived of a kind of individual art created by the writer. Perhaps I’m just easily amused.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to respond to a text message on my cell phone.

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I hadn't intended to watch this movie. It was about 4 AM, I had finals in the morning, and I was exhausted. The moment I saw James Le Gros' name in the credits, I knew there was no hope. He is, without a doubt, one of the most underrated actors in the 90's, appearing in several B movies and little else.

The film revolves around a slacker named Jon Boyz and the aftermath of the L.A. race riots. Within 24 hours, Jon's life gets turned entirely upside-down and he snaps, culminating in the kidnapping of a woman and planning the murder of a police commisioner.

While occasionally heavy handed in it's philosophy, the acting is excellent and the film leaves you thinking about who you are and what your place is. Highly reccomended

Last year when I went to stay with Homer, I got lost while trying to find their house. This year I've thought ahead and found a map...

The Map of Springfield

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Have you ever wanted to know everything you could about your favourite cartoon character. I have and now my search is over!!

The Scooby Doo Character profiles!!

Enjoy:)

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Okay, the fact that your internet activity is constantly monitored is not news in itself, but click here for a disturbing, specific example. Also, if you don't have AdAware I very strongly recommend you download it and run it regularly.

Keep it real.

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//Begin.//

Fade in. Three students in a small room. A young woman, "A", lies on a bed, reading a magazine. A young man, "J", sits at a desk, facing away from the woman, operating a computer. A second young man sits in a very low inflatable chair, holding an unopened bottle. He faces the young man at the computer, with a line of sight parallel to that of the woman. All three face away from the audience. All are dressed very casually (ie: pyjamas, etc.)

Long pause; "A" occasionally turns a page; "J" continues to use the computer, tamely; the second young man seems content to stare at his unopened bottle.

(I)

[J, turning head very slightly towards A, behind and to his left] Hey, what are you reading?

[A] Cosmo.

Pause. J turns his attention back to the computer; A turns a page.

[J] How can you read that garbage?

[A, without looking up] ... Never read it before today. It's not too bad.

Long pause, as before; the second young man raps the bottom of the bottle, methodically, and stares at the bubbles in the liquid.

(II)

[A, apparently noticing the other young man for the first time; confusedly] Hey, what are you doing?

Second young man looks up very briefly, mutters "Trying to piece it all together" (incomprehensibly), then looks back down at the bubbles.

A tuts

[J, monotonous] ..... oh.... that's what I was supposed to do.... I got the key and....

[A, without looking up from her magazine] How long have you been playing for?

J looks around as if for his clock, then focuses back on the computer.

[J] Oh, I don't know... a few hours maybe.

[A] You're losing track of time on that thing.

[J] I just want to beat this level.

Second young man raps bottle again.

[A] You said that an hour ago.

[J] Did I?

[A, nonchalantly] Ya.

Long pause, as before. Second young man begins gently swirling bottle, occasionally inverting it.

(III)

J hums odd fragments from different songs intermittently; A continues reading until she finishes her magazine, then she reaches over to the bedside table and exchanges it for a new one.

[J] What one's that?

[A] Maxim.

[J] That's mine.

[A] Yeah.

A skims through the magazine. Second young man sets the drink down on the floor in front of him and sits forward with his hands clasped and his elbows on his knees. A finishes the magazine and pushes it aside.

(IV)

[A] What time is it?

[J] I dunno.

[A] It's late.

[J] Is it?

[A] I'm going to bed.

[J] 'Night.

A sits up on her knees very slowly, stretches her back, rubs her eyes, slides legs out from under her and over the edge of the bed, stands up, and slowly walks out into the darkness beyond the room.

(V)

J continues gaming; Second young man sits back in his chair, holding the bottle vertically but inverted.

[J] ....... I'm close .......

[Second young man, slurred and muttered but not drunkenly] To what?

No answer. Another pause.

[J] There.

Second young man makes a "hmm" sound of upward, questioning, inflection.

[J] Done.

Pause.

[J] 'Night.

J turns the computer's monitor off, stands and stretches, and exits as A did.

(VI)

Long pause. Second young man sits motionlessly.

Eventually, second young man removes lid from the bottle... stares at it for a while... drinks a sip... replaces lid... stares at bottle for a while... puts bottle on nightstand to his left, on top of the magazine from earlier... sits forward with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on his knees... stares at his hands...

Fade out.

//End.//

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Howdy. I hate my job. I decided to write something about skills, because that is a topic that pollutes my mind like a mental disorder.
Work. You know, the thing you do that causes you to get paid? It's a bitch. I am a floor covering installer...which means I am a carpetlayer, vinyl installer, ceramic tile technician, wooden floor professional...whatever you wish. I work for my uncle, and I am easily as skilled as he is. I work with one white guy, two Hondurans, one Venezualan, and one Mexican, which has caused me to learn Spanish. I have conformed myself to my vocation, which is probably the best thing I could have ever done, other than go to school. I learned to speak a foreign language (something other than Latin, which is fundamental yet unneccessary.). I have learned to read, write, and work mathematical problems over public-school levels. thanks to private (Episcopal) school.
And I thank nobody, because no one has really helped me. I am where I am because of myself. I am mine. Even though I am a student at a public school now, I still realize one fact: High school is NOT a true test of intellect. It is only a matter of repeating procedures and structures taught by teachers that are either socially inept or good at what they do. I want to know if anyone else contains or has experienced this degree of individualism and how society has shaped(or twisted) you. Respond, if you will.

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Chapter 4
After a few hours Gabriel stopped writing and looked upon the disorganized mess in his little room, the beer-cans, the newspapers and the all the old and rotting take-away food suddenly annoyed him. He grabbed a bag and started cleaning. It took him about one hour to clean the whole room, and then he stated to vacuuming the floor and the bed. When he was done the room actually felt nice and a bit more like a home. Now he felt good, and the ideas to the novel had sprung into his head. But before he began writing he would get something to eat, he remembered that he hadn't eaten for 36 hours now, and he could feel the hunger in his stomach. But he decided that he wouldn't go for the easy way and just order a cheap pizza, but he would go to the store and buy some healthy food.
He hurried out the door smiling and he felt like laughing. But somewhere in his mind something else were waking, something different something unnatural.
He rushed over a small road and the last thing he heard was a car honking vary loud and he could hear the empty dump of his body hit the sidewalk in front of his own room. Then it all turned dark.

"It was beautiful; the way it turned around all the small imperfections in the wallpaper, making its way down, like it was its sole purpose in life. He hoped, that the drop would somehow reach the floor, before it ran out of sustenance, though he knew this wasn’t possible, and exactly as that thought passed through his head, the blood line came to a stop.
His eyes ran up and down the line, admiring how perfectly it reflected the light form the small yellowish bulb hanging somewhere over his head. He imagined that he could see himself reflected in there, somewhere."

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