I'm a rookie: Still getting the hang of Windows Movie Maker ProTools, which causes lil' mistakes like the sound cutting out about 3 times.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Not quite down the same observant vein of the previous "Ramblings", but certainly a rambling. As you'll see, these are my disjointed thoughts when I should've been dead asleep.
For all you amateur philosphers; the trick to a proverb isn't obscure wisdom or interesting articulation. It's all about the visual/audio symmetry of the proverb itself. Here's a random one that pompously occupies my Facebook status:
"Zeal lies in the unstable."
The "the" makes things a little awkward, but it appears about even and is likable to say.
"A banker is someone who will lend you an umbrella when the sun is shining, and who asks for it back when it start to rain."
So the next time you practice your Facebook status philosophy, make sure it doesn't feel like shrapnel in your mouth.
The deadpan terraforming that occurs in my brain when I'm sleepy is incredible. With a solid face, I can deliver biting lines of criticism and humor, all the while legitimately not giving a fuck. Not that I'm proud of this, but that it's quite the opposite of what I am normally. Which is to say I'm unfunny, unimpressive, and sharp like a pound cake.
One day, or tomorrow (But probably never), I'm going to post to you guys the worst shoes I have ever seen in my life, courtesy of Urban Outfitters. I love the place as a clothing store, but wow, "Made in China" is indeed the exact opposite of "Sturdy".
I've recently decided to dedicate myself to a somewhat "Scene" look. Scene. I hate the very thought of it. But honestly, I do feel I look awesome, and that it best expresses who I am. If I didn't, or if I felt I was merely following a temporary trend, I wouldn't. So far I've avoided those blazingly queer half-pants and slip-ons those indie Williamsburg kids flame around in. So I think I'm okay.
Hispanic women are the worst customers. It's like their hands have a homing device directed at the counter when they exchange money. And they practically avoid pleasantries. I've honestly looked into the eyes of these 5'3'' 3-toddler-having-crib-pushers and wondered to myself, "Are they afraid I may deport them?". With legitimate reason to believe so.
None of that was racist, just honest. Why? Because my mother is one of them. She's a total bitch as a customer. I love you though.