Mah Bedrooms (I actually only have 1, but the S is for emphaSIS)

I was browsing the internets as I usually do when I stumbled upon this:



I obviously cannot have that room with those shelves and that deep blue wall paint. Still, I WANTED IT. I was like Veruca - which, incidentally, DOES mean wart in Italian - Salt in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Grand movie, that is.

SO I DID IT. Sorta - I don't have that many books, unfortunately. I had to dust my shelves anyway - for some reason, having an outdoor room seems to invite a whole lot of dust and fuss balls into my sleepin' space. Or maybe my air filter doesn't work like it should.

Steph Meyer wasn't allowed on the shelf - too big, too black.

I love that picture of the girl.

Dumbledore!

Why yes, that is a Charlie and the Chocolate Factory collectible card. Jealous?

A gift from mah grandma. I love her. And my spelling bee trophy - strictly a "you participated!" trophy but still.

It's only taken me about three years to put crap up on the plain white walls. DESPICABLE. And it's still sorta plain. EVEN MORE DESPICABLE.

You like blur? I LOVE blur.

Piggy bank, courtesy of my ol' crazy aunt in Mexico.

Even is she is a child-hating BASTARD. I haven't forgotten, Snow White...

Snickerdoodle the Hickory Pirate. He's been on TV! On Drake and Josh, he got thrown across the room in one episode. Twas a sad day for Hickory Pirates EVERYWHERE.

Lollipop from Disneyland, licked by nobody... 'cept Clark Happy Boxx.


Consider that a Blur gift from the GODS.


I've been steadily skipping around my collection of Potters. Yay!



Who knew California Strawberries spoke French? I won't lie - I'm impressed, Stawberries.

I've never been much of a cereal person, so obviously me and oatmeal are little more than aquaintances. I love the smell of oatmeal - the problem with oatmeal is that every bite I've ever taken of it tastes like flavorless mush. I like my mush FLAVORFUL, thank you very much. Still, I decided to give oatmeal a chance because it lowers cholesterol and the idea of stuff clogging up my arteries REALLY FREAKS ME OUT. Not nearly as much as the idea of osteoporosis, which is FREAKING SCARY, if you ask me, but still freaky.


I have a feeling oatmeal and I will become the greatest of friends. Nearly as friendly as Ophelia and I. Ok, maybe not, you get the idea. (I mean, how could we be that close? Oatmeal doesn't even have a fine mustache!)

Also, today I heard about this dude who was having marriage troubles, so he hired a dude to kill his wife. Totally effing gangsta.

Ophelia Is My Golden Star

Welcome the newest addition to my family of furniture! I've yet to name the beautiful thing, though I do believe I may call it Ophelia. Or something.



Ophelia is replacing my old chair, which received no name because it deserved none. No, really.



Cheapie thing, that. The back of it broke off, its pleather ripped, and then it unceremoniously tossed me from its wobbly self one evening as I was browsing the webs. Oh, the audacity!

Ophelia, on the other hand, is sturdy and encourages good posture for my developing spine. Best of all, it was free! My uncle found it while working and brought it back to my house. He believes he's going to be taking it home tomorrow; unfortunately for him, I have claimed dearest Ophelia as my own. We've already become the best of friends - we gossip and paint each other's toenails and braid each other's hair and even groom each other's fine mustaches!

...

Eh hem... Yes.

While following links on youtube yesterday, I stumbled across My Brightest Diamond. It's a band? The project of singer-songwriter multi-instrumentalist Shara Worder? That's really all I know about it.

While I know next to nothing about music, I do know I love this chick/band. I'm just feelin' it, ya know? I mean, look at her:



And now, listen:



It doesn't hurt that "Ads by Google" keeps asking me if I love lucid dreaming. (Your ads by google may ask you other questions like, "Are you secretly a rapist? Find out now!" I don't know how Google works...) I thought that was kinda cool (not the rapist thing, which didn't actually happen, but the lucid dreaming thing. KEEP UP). By the way, yes, I most certainly do love lucid dreaming. I'd tell you about this dream I had last night but I fear you're already bored.

Actually, I don't really care.

I dreamt I was going to Mexico and my family was leaving without me. They were acting like it was a trip to the grocery store and everyone was ready to go, all packed and everything, while I rushed around my room picking things that would be useful on a month-long vacation to the land of the Aztecs. For some reason, my dream self decided I needed tons of cameras, books, film, and my wall decorations to properly enjoy my trip.

I forgot to pack clothes. Apparently, my dream self felt that clothes were IRRELEVANT. I can wear the same pants for FOREVER, right? No big deal.

AAAAND while drawing my curtains today - yes I do have heavy curtains, sorta - my curtain rod fell. THE EARTH HAD ENDED. Until I fixed it. With much slow maneuvering - and a few chips in the plaster/stucco round my door - I got the ladder into my room and fixed the fine mess I'd made.

Be proud of me, because I am.

Let's MOVIT!

Just a few things.

1. Guys with V-neck t-shirts sorta freak me out. They should stop wearing V-necks.

2. There exists someone in this world named Dr. Orly. I don't think her parents hated her - I think they were just foreign. And the term, "Orly?" probably didn't exist yet.

3. If you can't tell by number 2, I've been watching the Colbert Report. The following is one of the things I saw. I enjoyed it thoroughly, though I was bothered because I couldn't figure out what language they were speaking, and I'm usually quite good at that sort of thing.

I'm still not too sure whether it's German or something else. My mother's rudimentary German, the one she didn't properly learn in High School because she was too busy not paying attention, is rudimentary and doesn't help AT ALL. Obviously.

HERE THEY ARE. MAH GOODNESS, THEY ARE SO CATCHY.



They make me MOVIT!

[EDIT]: Nett says they're Swedish. I believe her.

4. Saw The Haunting in Connecticut last night. First scary movie I've seen in a LOOOOONG time. And, maybe it was the fact that I was with people, or that I had food in my belly, but I didn't find it all too scary. Mostly QUITE INTERESTING. I couldn't help making Jesus jokes throughout the movie. I also couldn't stop comparing Kyle Gallner (I think that's his name), the actor who played the main dude, to Robert Pattinson.

Kyle plays Matt Campbell, a kid with cancer who has to get radiation treatment or chemo or whatever it is. Thus, he is sickly and pale. PALE. Keep that in mind. Thanks to the radiation, his neck and chest take on this strange reddish color.

Edward in the Twilight movie is pale. In one picture I saw of him, his stomach was strangely pink, as if the Twilight crew didn't have enough money to powder his treasure trail.

COINCEDENCE? I THINK NOT.

I now have conclusive evidence that Edward is not, in fact, a vampire but a CANCER PATIENT. Stephanie Meyer obviously cannot tell the different between the two. Weirdo.

Kyle Gallner/Matt Campbell sorta looks like Robert Pattinson/Edward Cullen. I'm obviously not the first person who thought of this, because some other chick made this picture:



LOLWHUT. I think I'm done with this shiz.

I Wept Into My Salad

I heard that Rupert Grint owns and operates his own ice cream truck. He apparently also took two tries to pass his driving test. Obviously, I now love Rupert Grint just a little more.

IN ADDITION, Evanna Lynch, the actress who plays Luna Lovegood, is even more loved by me than she previously was. I read her Wikipedia page and really, there's no way I couldn't love her. It's just... so much HP love still floating around my household. It's darling.

I went to see Ice Age 3 today: enjoyed it. A lot. It was cute! And funny, as these types of films tend to be.

Then I ate at DA YARDHOUSE. MMMM that place is delicious.

Unfortunately, my good day was slightly tainted by the fact that USA lost against Mexico in the final for the Gold Cup. Can you believe it, Mexico made in FIVE GOALS. Do you know how many the US made?

None.

I was greatly bothered. I wept into my summer salad. I dribbled mucus into my mu shu egg rolls. I slopped saliva onto my father's pan seared ahi tuna (that's what you get for rubbing your win in mah face, old man!). And I'd rather not even mention what I did to my siblings plates of fried calamari. Or what happened to the waiter - I promise that was purely accidental. The man understood - he too was despairing over the great loss.

I'm not sure if anyone knows this, but one of my life dreams is to go to a World Cup, preferably one in a foreign country. I got so excited for the 2006 Germany World Cup and I'm looking forward for South Africa 2010. Before, I didn't truly care about soccer. The thing that changed it was HP and the Goblet of Fire and their Quidditch World Cup.

The World Cup of ours is the closest thing to it. God forbid I never get to experience the undiluted levels of fanaticism that revolves around a world sport.

Really, if I never get to join in that level of sports fun, I might as well never have existed.

I noticed that most goalies seem to love yelling at their team when the ball gets too near. Like, "What the hell do you think you're doing? Aren't you supposed to be my defense or something? SHUT THE HELL UP AND DEFEND, BITCH. They would've totally made that last one in if it wasn't for my obviously UNMATCHABLE, INCONTESTABLE, and SUPERIOR skill!"

Gah, it's freaking great.

Oh yes, have you met Memo Ochoa? He's Mexico's goalie. I think he's got pretty hair. He's also one wicked keeper/goalie.

Freakin' Fantastic Day

So I was sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking liquid ice-cream and reading Deathly Hallows, when my brother announces we've received a package. Or several.

OH JOY! What on Earth could it be?

AS IF I DON'T KNOW.



Oh yeah. It's that pair of little beauties. I know, you're aroused just by looking at them. Behold their various beauty shots!





Oooooh YEAAAAH. *koolaidman*

They came accompanied with a box with two pairs of the same shoe in the same size. WAY TO GO, ONLINE STORE. Screwed up me order, ya did. But it's ok, you're forgiven, because at least they were delivered (plus, return policy!). The shoes give off the smell of leather wherever they go - my room currently smells like new shoe. And I'm lovin' it. Like McDonald's.

Now, anyone remember that Anthem essay we had to write a few months ago? The one I'm sure you forgot until I mentioned it, like, a second ago? YEAH WELL... guess who's a finalist? :DDDDDD

That's right. I AM. I received an email from DA INSTITUTE OF AYN RAND that says I'll be receiving a package that includes my prize ($50 for doing my homework? HELLS YES!), certificate, and official letter or something.

Thanks, Anetha Milllis. I guess there was a method to the madness. (No speaking of the true name, friendlies. If you call her, she shall come.)

AAAND: My Ricardo Arjona tickets arrived in the mail today too! It's been a freakin' fantastic day.

I Wish Disney Would Show Me the World Again

"Wands are only as powerful as the wizards who use them. Some wizards just like to boast that theirs are bigger and better than other people's."

~ Hermione (Deathly Hallows 415)

After reading that whole wand thing a while ago, where they point out all the various ways wands are used, I couldn't help but laugh at this. I'm almost certain that, if DH got one of those SUPER WAND RECAPS OF DOOOOM, this made it in. It just had to.

It goes without saying that this is what I spent my day doing - reading Deathly Hallows. I did my compulsory chores, and then sat down on the couch, or the kitchen, or the bathroom floor, or the toilet, or in the laundry room, and read. I have very little else to report about my life, and yet I feel as if this must be documented FOR FUTURE GENERATIONS. By that, I mean ME. It's important for me to remember how I spent my summer because, when school starts, I forget everything.

I've forgotten most of 7th grade, if you can believe it.

Something that I was thinking as I watched Hercules the other night: I love Disney movies. Really, that's not such a novel idea - everyone loves Disney movies. I still do love Disney movies, despite all the crap everyone harps on about how the Golden Age of Disney has ended. That's a horrible thing to say - if Walt saw the new stuff, he'd be incredibly impressed. He'd beat himself up for not having matched the level of current Disney artists.

I just wish Pixar would include songs. I loved that about Disney, how great it was to sing along with the songs.

Now that I read it, none of that's new at all. I think everyone would love Pixar even more if it mixed a little of Disney's love for Broadway and Musical. Would it kill them to put in a few musical numbers? Is that too much to ask?

Maybe it is, and I'm just being whiny because I want to sing with my movies. Which is weird, since I've never really been a big musical fan, not really. Not live action, anyway.

STILL. Don't tell me this doesn't make your litte child heart flutter and your vocal cords move of their own accord.

It makes mine. Excuse me while I sing and cry fat tears of joy.



And the references to other Disney films. It makes me weep a little harder.

Literature

I do believe that one of the best feelings in the world is discovering that you are no longer required to attend Summer School, even if the "semester" wasn't all that horrible to begin with. It's pretty damn great.

Wanna know what's better than that? Finishing Things Fall Apart. My suspicions about that book were correct - I knew what would happen before it all happened (sort of) and, as I also rightly predicted, it sucked balls from beginning to end. What the hell was Chinua thinking?

And I still have other things I have to read. No, I don't have to read Deathly Hallows again, especially because I've got a good number of books that still need to be read, but I can't really help it; recently, I've been hit with the full strength of the Harry Potter love - you know, the one you got when you first started the series.

It's like that. And I ain't gonna fight it. I'm not stupid - that stuff's like liquid luck.

And after that? Sherlock Holmes, TECHNOLOGICA-FIED. Yay, e-books! And after that? Books being pressed into my hands by my relatives. From the aunt - Teatro Chicana, a memoir about a Mexican theatre troupe (I think). From the uncle/cousin - The Bible, both testaments. Also from the aforementioned dude, The Book of the Martyrs, a history of the Christian Martyrs from Biblical until modern times.

I'm not too keen on the last two, truth be told. Small print, in Spanish, and ... yeah. You know. The subject matter isn't something I'm too excited about. If it weren't for the fact that FREAKING EVERYTHING alludes to the Bible, I don't think I'd actually consider reading it, but seeing as how EVERY WRITER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET found the need to allude and allude and allude ...

JESU-CHRISTO, DIOS MIO.

Sherlock Holmes

Is anyone as excited about that as I am? I hope you are. I really do.

I mean, Jude Law? Robert Downey Jr. with a British accent? Rachel McAdams? I'm sorta convinced.

Plus, the music reminds me very much of the Pirates of the Caribbean score, only not at all. Either way, the music's selling it to me. The entire trailer is selling it to me. Alas, I'm afraid I can't watch this movie without having read the books - that's practically blasphemy. How much better would I be than all those other people I'm always looking down upon?

Looks to me like Sherlock Holmes just got bumped up the internal book list I carry.

WE'VE GOT TILL CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE.

Recuerdame

Guess who fixed her Flash player.

ME. Firefox is my savior. MICROSOFT, you gotta step it up, darlings.



God, I wish I was that Natalia.

Chocolate Frog

My cat decided being a bunny was a good idea. It most certainly is, particularly if you already resemble a rabbit in fur color, nose color, and foot shape.







Unfortunately, rabbits are not allowed at Hogwarts. I had to leave my cat behind while I took the Hogwarts Express (aka my mom's car) to the movie theatre.

FIRST: Picked up Ana. She informed me that her good buddy Drew couldn't go anymore. I don't really know Drew too well, so I wasn't all that crushed. Sorry, Drew.

THEN: We get to the Theatre. Roam Borders. I bought a chocolate frog! First time ever. And the thing cost like, $3.49. RIDICULOUS, I KNOW. But, I figured, I'm about to watch Half Blood Prince, THIS IS THE SPIRIT OF THE MOVIE.

So I bought it. Good chocolate, but not worth nearly $4. Seriously. (Oh yeah, and I got Albus Dumbledore card. WOOPDAWOOP!)

Enter theatre, buy ticket, buy foods. SMALL POPCORN W/BUTTAH. Fly! Fly to theatre 1!

After what felt like a bajillion previews, the movie begins! If it was physically possible to butt-bounce on my seat, I would've done it. Unfortunately, my buttocks don't really have inflatable capabilities. POOP.

Great stuff guys. Great stuff. Chick flirting with Harry, me getting mad at Dumbledore for ruining his potential date with said chick, Slughorn not being fat or short enough, super-obvious Ginny-love, Rupert Grint being oblivious and hilarious all at the same time, Emma Watson being pretty and cool, and all that other stuff.

AND THE JOKE SHOP. It looked like a shop they'd have at Disneyland. Not too shabby, Weasley twins.

Something else: DRACO MALFOY. There's something wrong with me, because evil looks HAWT (don't even get me STARTED on T. Riddle). He was very pretty. I liked his weird business kinda suit - MALFOY MEANS SRS BSNS. :|

And Harry Potter on Felix Felicis - dude was DRUNK. It was cool - too bad Daniel Radcliffe "gravitate[s] toward [darker, deeper scenes] naturally." He's funny when he's being funny.

I liked it. I liked the little touches a lot. I can't remember them now, but they did a nice job of it. For example, when Ron and Lavender - that actress was just the right amount of crazy - were kissing on the tower and the camera goes around to where Malfoy is silently brooding on the adjacent tower - GENIUS JUXTUPOSITION. And then the black and white birds - can you say SYMBOLIC?

Man, English class has done something ugly to my brains.

Overall, well done. I was mostly pleased. 'Cept the Ministry of Magic apparently saw no reason to protect the Weasley home. Anamaria was very upset at this, as was I.

After the movie, we went into the chocolate factory. I bought nothing, because I had no monies left. Then, the hat store! Where we tried on hats and bought none, as people usually do in there. Ana left, and then my ride showed up.

WOOT. MORE CHOCOLATE TIME.

We went and bought more chocolate stuffs. And then we went home.

THE END.

In My PJ's

Let's quote from my current Scripture, shall we?

"I could do you for afters, Dumbledore."

~ Fenrir Greyback, Rowling (p. 594)

That's how one quotes Scripture, right? I wouldn't really know. Anyway, it sounds to me like someone's about to get RAPED. Tighten your chastity belt, Dumby. DO IT NAO.

"Snape!" ejaculated Slughorn, who looked the most shaken, pale, and sweating.

~ Rowling (p. 627)

Interesting choice of words there, Rowling. Care to explain why you couldn't have written spat, or some other such descriptive verb? No? You'd really rather not? Why don't I go stick my head in a bowl full of bubotuber puss? Ok then.

Also, why was Slughorn shaking? Why so pale? WHY SO SWEATY? OH GOD, WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. Out of context, these words read ... strangely.

As for me, I managed to get in touch with my dearest friend Sarah today. She's off sinking her toes in Hawaiian sand while I'm stuck here trying to make sure desert dirt stays out of my sandals. She's off visiting the Dole plantation while I'm here eating a Dole banana. She's off parasailing while I'm slowly being paralyzed in front of bad TV.

Check it: Today, I sat down and watched the SUPAH TRILOGY on the Disney Channel. Basically, Wizards of Waverly Place (HP rip-off, but still decent), Suite Life on Deck (I'm not even gonna pretend, those twins are the SHIT), and Hannah Montana (...) mess with the laws of PHYSICS (none of which I know, actually) and join together to form this weird, deformed hour-and-a-half episode full of the mixing of all those shows.

I won't lie. I was entertained. Thoroughly.

I mean, could I really help it? At one point, Selena Gomez and That One Chick Bailey win a tug-o'-war and shout out, like the mother-effing queens of the interwebs, "PWNED." Not gonna lie: Selena Gomez is the coolness. Or maybe I just really like the shows' writers - those mofos are punny.

Something else that had me thoroughly entertained: Premios Juventud or the Pj's, as I like to call them. Basically, Spanish television honors all the crap music the hip kids of today are listening to. Usually, I don't watch them, as their blue carpet and stage are a cesspool for arrogant, Regaetton-singing, sunglasses-in-the-night-sporting, Ed-Hardy-wearing douchebags who can't tell the difference between good music and the leftovers that regae (not even), bachata, and rap left out.

BUT. Last night, I stuck around. And HO BOY, was I happy I did.

Sadly, you may not know any of the following names. Bear with me, or leave. Don't really care either way.

Pee Wee, that effeminate wannabe Ricky Martin (is THAT what it was?), was made DJ. Or MC. SAME DIFFERENCE. Point is, the womanly motherfucker was locked in a floating box, looking like a pre-pubescent leprechaun while trying to be cool by SPINNING THEM FUNKY BEATS.

Bad choice, PJ's. Bad choice. But really, starting these awards was pretty damn retarded since the beginning.

Paulina Rubio opened the show. GOOD CHOICE. However, there is a problem here, Paaau-Latina. FIRST AND FOREMOST: Let's talk copyright. Your new single, Causa y Efecto, is violating some rules, Chica Dorada. THE WHITE STRIPES already wrote that one, you wannabe-Spaniard. Effect and Cause? No? Doesn't ring a bell?

Fine. I'll let you go. I've heard it's damn catchy anyway. (Not that I'D KNOW, seeing as how that fat tub of lard called JOSE took over 94.7 and turned into Spanish oldies. GODDAMNIT.)

DON'T THINK I'M DONE WITH YOU, Pau-Pau-Pau-Pau-Pau-Paulalala. YOU'VE GOT SOME 'SPLAININ' TO DO. What do you call this, tequilera?



Looks to me like someone's just a TAD jealous of Lady Gaga. And you thought you'd get away with it, didn't you Pau-Pau?

Not on my watch.

After all the Pau-latina goodness (which, incidentally, I missed), other crap came on. Like, 5 billion or so nominations for Wisin y Yandel. These are they.



And really, if you're still reading, you must know just how CLASSY these guys are. Protecting their eyes from ultra-violet rays even when the sun's gone! Donning chains heavy enough to freak out even the most chain-wrapped African tribeswomen! Wearing earrings bigger than MINE, and grooming their faces better to boot! (Have you forgotten my spectacular handlebar mustache up there? LOOK AGAIN.)

Classy, I say. CLASSY. GENTLEMEN. And if you're still not convinced, just look at how well they treat the ladies:



Tha's whas up.

Don't get me wrong: I'm all for the douche-baggery. Just not when it's nomination after nomination. THEY HAD A MOTHERFUCKING RINGTONE AWARD FOR THESE TOOLS. And my cousin's an avid listener! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!

Then they performed. With their glasses STILL ON INDOORS. Guess that spotlight and them fireworks are too bright for your poor lil' retinas, right? And here I was thinking you guys were all badass! WRONG, apparently.

Next thing I know, Eugenio Derbez is up there presenting an award. HERE'S A FACE YOU MIGHT RECOGNIZE.


THAT'S RIGHT. It's the Tomato Picker as seen in Under the Same Moon or The Same Moon or whatever they're calling it.



I was so happy to see him on stage. If you've never seen Under the Same Moon, watch it. Won't kill ya. If you've seen it, you're probably in a Spanish class. And they're only showing you that because they really can't show the sexual exploits of Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna in Y Tu Mama Tambien. But that's another story.

EUGENIO gets up there and starts cracking his jokes like he does (You can't tell too much in Moon, but Derbez is, in my opinion, EASILY the best comedian Spanish land has got. Moon was his first srs role in his, like, 20+ years of career). Mofo makes fun of Honduran president (have you seen the brouhaha that Hugo Chavez wannabe's stirred up in Tegucigalpa? SHIT!) and other stuff. Other Eugenio highlight: when he went up to accept his OWN award for his performance in Moon. The other nominees: Antonio Banderas (WTF, he made a movie?), Javier Bardem in Vicky, Christina, Barcelona, and Daddy Yankee.

HOLD UP. Daddy Yankee? That douche made a movie? When? He can barely sing, let alone act.

Anyway, Eugenio goes up there and, sweet as anything, says, "It's such an honor to be nominated with such movie greats as Antonio Banderas and Javier Bardem." Basically, he was acknowledging the fact that Daddy Yankee didn't even deserve the nomination. DAMN STRAIGHT.

Alacranes Musical played at some point. Bet you don't know who they are. TOO BAD. We're about to ruin that RIGHT NOW.



Let me explain Duranguense. Basically, it's Mexican Regional music... that started in CHICAGO. Apparently, the people from the Mexican state of Durango who migrated to Illinois had absolutely no idea that they'd done so and, upon starting their rhythm that sounds ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE REGULAR BANDA, they named it after their home state.

Idiots.

Whose stupid idea was it to include these penguin-dancers in the PJ's? Don't know. But I do know, that had to be the WORST IDEA since allowing that man, Ivy Queen, get a sex-change operation and sell CD's.



Alacranes Musical (translation: Musical Scorpions? Scorpions Musical? THIS AIN'T THE DISNEYCHANNEL, DURANGUENSE) performed some song they probably ripped off from a real artist, and tried to make it appeal to the younger generation by classy-ing it up, sticking young dancers in fedoras, ladies in 40's style dresses and funky hairpieces, and one racy waitress who just couldn't seem to keep her toned legs off the two frontmen.

Nobody was buying it. Nobody was dancing. Or smiling. Or trying to grasp the Scorpions' claws. Sad moment, but I was glad. Stay off our stage, Duranguense! DA YOUTH DUN LIEK YOUS.

Yet, in all the sewage, there were a few astoundingly beautiful gems of talent.

Notably: Marc Anthony showing his bulbous nose round these parts again. Dude makes ONE Hector Lavoe movie and all of a sudden, he's too cool for Univision. Shoot. Still, I was happy to see him. He accepted his award tearfully (he mighta been acting, dude does has some acting chops), and soon afterwards, performed a duet with La Quinta Estacion.

MAN. MAAAAAN. 1) Mark Anthony. Nuff said. 2) LA QUINTA PINCHE 'STACION. Do you know how awesome they are? Let me show you: a) the singer has an AMAZING voice. ENORMOUS VOICE. And she's the skinniest thing on the planet - it makes no sense. b) her name is Natalia. What's not to love? c) her guitarist, the second part of La Quinta Estacion, is CUTE. As in, "DO WANT." and d) She broke up with her fiance the day of the wedding. The day of!

It was orgasmic. I wish I could play it for you, but youtube's not working, and you still wouldn't be able to appreciate it. BUT MAN IT WAS HOT.

And they gave out scholarships to some really cool kids. I liked them. Especially the dancer kid. He was adorable.

But friends, none of that, none of that, compares to the greatness of Ricardo Arjona. Firstly, he refused to walk the blue carpet. Refused. Saw no reason for it. He's no fashionista, as it were. Below is he.

He began performing immediately after they had praised him, and before receiving his award. No flashy backgrounds. No flashy fireworks displays like Fonsi. No half-naked dancers like Alacranes and Wisin y Yandel. No fog like Cristian Castro. No confetti like Arcangel. No bonfire like Pee Wee.

Musicians. That's what he had. The saxophone player who's been his right hand man since practically the beginning, the shiny black piano that I'm sure has become a mainstay on his own concert stages, his back-up singers, his guitarists, his drummer, his crazy ass violinist that was going to town on those strings. He himself tried no fancy-footwork - he was mostly stationary.

It was beautiful, especially because Arjona doesn't play those kinds of shows. He's holed himself up in Mexico City, probably on the 5th floor of some love motel, where he meets prostitutes and ballerinas and gay boys and has mad love affairs with two blonde-haired women. He's too busy writing about menstrual cycles to give a damn about Wisin y Yandel, Ivy Queens, Daddy Yankees, or Pee Wees.

He's too busy being fucking awesome.

That's where it ended for me, though the premios continued. After Arjona, not even bashing Christopher Von Uckerman for adding the Von to his artistic name is gratifying. As if the motherfucker needed to alienate himself even more from his fanbase. He was already fighting to the death with Guy Ecker over who gets to be the whitest dude in Spanish television - with the Von, he'll definitely win, me thinks.

Von

Ecker

HP and the Half-Way-To-The-Viewing Muggle

Harry Potter's as big as giants these days. He's as big as a bloated Hagrid. He's exactly as big as The Daily Prophet made him out to be in the book. Seriously, I was sitting at my laptop in class, swaying slightly from lack of sleep when the two chicks next to me (WHO ARE SO FLIPPIN' LOUD) started talking about their Potter-scapades from the previous night.

No joke, these girls probably went out and drank bottles and bottles of butterbeer, inhaled dragon dung, and Apparated drunkenly and mighty hightily to their local theatre to watch the likes of Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, and Alan Rickman (as well as the other actors whose names I forget) gallivant gaily about pretending to be MAH CURRENT FAVORITE CHARACTERS. God. If I could've, I'd have burned Things Fall Apart and continued gladly with my super-review of Half Blood Prince.

Alas, I'm stuck reading about Okon (as I've come to call him) and all the crazy shit he does. Watch Okonkwo beat his wife! Watch him fret over yams! Watch him kill his own son!

I'd rather watch Ron "snog" Lavendar for 13 consecutive chapters. Seriously.

ANYWAY. These chicks got me excited. EXCITED. Like a dude watching a porno. Or me at Disneyland. GWARASDFAHLJ. They were all "LUCKY POTION! FELIX FELICIS!" and I was all, "DO WANT. GIVE NOW PLZ."

I'm waiting till Saturday with the eagerness of a Cuban deserter catching his first glimpse of American shore. That's pretty damn eager, in case you know nothing about Cuban deserters.

:DDDDD

Rabies

How's everyone doin' out there? I hope you're writhing in pain under really heavy rocks or something.

Wait, no I don't. (Yes I do.)

As for me: no pain, besides the one in my HEART. Wanna know why? Do you? WELL DO YA?

All in good time, dear Harry. It's a good story, and I want to do it justice. SHUT UP OR I'LL CRUCIATUS YOUR ASS.

Eh hem.

Today, after summer school *cringe*, we went off to Target to pick up our rolls of film. That's right, we still use film in this household. We use it more than digital half the time. I hope you have no problem with that, because I most certainly do not.

So we pick up that film. And inside the little folders, right next to the negatives, we discovered this little jewel of a photograph:

So let us explain what's happening here, yes? It really is a new photo (and I promise, NOT a Postsecret picture). The reason for the unsightly rip right down its center (can you see the tape I put?) is because the subject of the photo was angry and decided to destroy it before something like THIS HERE could happen. And that is why there's pain in my heart - it's got a big rip down its nougaty center. LE FROWN.

BUT ON TO MORE PRESSING ISSUES. Hopefully you were not completely engrossed in that lovely pink pad covering his eyes. LOOK LOWER, AMICI. That there is mouth froth. Or, as I like to call it, RABIES.

Bwahaha! It made my day.

Fish Tacos

... Is what I had for dinner. Four, to be exact. Plus nachos. Plus drink. Plus half of my siblings' Hot Cheetos.

If only you could have been there. THE EATING WAS INTENSE. Oh, the carnage!

Alllsso: Spent my day trying to read whasitcalled? OH YEAH. Things Fall Apart. Holy corpuscles. DO HATE. I mean... it's worse than the Power of One. I actually liked the Power of One. But things fall apart? I mean, sorry Igbo people, but I'm bored. And the assignment calls to point out instances of tradition, custom, gender role, yadda yadda gabba gabba hey.

NEWS FLASH: Every freaking page is culture! Wtf. IB TEACHERS AIN'TB SMART.

Growr. Growr. Growr again.

And: Discovered a new shirt in my closet. I was surprised. Like you wouldn't believe. I was like, "HEY DARLING, what's a tshirt like you doing on a hanger like this?" That's right - I flirted with my t-shirt. I see nothing wrong with it.

DO YOU? NO. THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU'D SAY.

Also also: BOOTS. I still want them. I will have them. Somehow. *schemes*

Erm... yes.

DECIDED

It has been decided. No more movement. This one's easy anyway.

SO. Yesterday, I babysat the childrens while watching television. We watched like 5 movies in the span of 2 hours. That's just how we do. During one commercial break, the HP preview came on and HOLY JESUS BALLS OF STEEL, I started tearing up. No joke. And then I was doing this weird super inhalation of DOOM where I wasn't even catching any air near the end.

OH GOD IT WAS PURE JOY. Twas the first moment I experienced near-religious excitement for this HP movie.

Also, I caught my cat sniffing flip-flops. Something is wrong with my feline, yo.


I guess she was trying to nap or something and she laid down right on the goddamn flip-flops OR my sister went and stuck 'em under her nose. EITHER WAY, there is something wrong with my cat.