Killer Smile

The Wonderful World of the World Wide Web

How did you enjoy that amazing alliteration?

Anyway, recently I have been thinking, particularly about emotions IRL versus emotions OL (In Real Life vs. Online).  Ever since cyber bullying there’s been a discussion (scientifically, socially, it’s everywhere!) about how it’s easier to display harsh emotions online than it is to say them to someone’s face.  Some people–probably a lot of people–feel that the anonymity of the internet is a useful mask for a coward who wants to scare the crap out of some kid.  And yeah, that’s undoubtedly true.  Speaking from the point of view of a complete internet addict, I know that it’s a lot easier to lie about your feelings online than it is in real life.  And besides that truth, it’s also really empowering to take on a new personality and convince someone that it belongs to you, it’s absolutely addicting and exhilarating and just about an amazing feeling of complete control.

And while I am willing to admit that it’s hard to determine what to take seriously online, I would like to suggest a (perhaps) new idea.  I once read in Entertainment Weekly or Wired or some magazine that the hardest face to animate on a computer is a human face.  This is simply because us humans spend all of our lives trying to read and interpret human expression and mood–we need to, don’t we?  To survive in this society?  So what if the internet is just a new face that we need to interpret?  I feel nearly certain that in twenty or thirty years from now, our kids and/or grandkids will know when a person is joking online in an instant.  They’ll have spent all their lives trying to interpret emoticons and punctuation and acronyms.  ilu already seems to have a very different meaning from i love u and that itself has a very different meaning from I love you.  So what if this is just a new generation of faces appearing on our screens?

I get that this seems a little far-fetched, but I think it’s a serious possibility.  Even though the web has been around for a decade (or two or three or four?  I’m not really sure on that one), it’s pretty new relative to how long humans have been around, reading each other’s faces.  I think the web is just a new face, one that we’re just starting to get accostumed with.



A [Belated] Happy Birthday To Me :D

Yes, I turned 16 officially on 18 April (Friday).  How exciting!  Not.  I got this killer camcorder from my family that is *perfect* for vlogging and such, so hopefully I’ll start updating my YouTube more and more often.  And maybe I’ll finally get something up on the WWJD account (if I haven’t mentioned it before, there will be details to come–and before people start calling me an ultra-Christian, no, it does not stand for What Would Jesus Do). 

I finished two books in the car today (road trip to Ohio with family = nothing better to do).  The first was Burned, another Ellen Hopkins novel.  I’m telling you, that woman is ADDICTING.  It’s crazy.  The book was good, probably better than Glass (by an itty bitty bit) but not as good as Crank (nothing’s better than the first time).  Now I just have Impulse, and I’ll have completed my Ellen Hopkins education (although, hopefully she’ll write more books and I will be able to further educate myself).  The second book was Devilish by Maureen Johnson.  For the record, I’m not a demon person.  I don’t really like fantasy.  Hence, this book was definitely not my favorite from her.  It was kind of interesting, and I enjoyed dabbing into a genre that I don’t usually read, but in the end I just accepted that this sort of thing isn’t (and won’t ever be) my sort of thing.  My favorite Maureen Johnson?  It’s a really really hard choice, but I’d have to say The Burmudez Triangle, for all of it’s hot lesbian action.  The Key to the Golden Firebird made me cry though, and I’ve read and reread 13 Little Blue Envelopes MANY times. 

So that’s about it for books.  Oh, and for the record, I’m in search of good listening ears (my electric pair got dropped in a puddle of doom).  If anyone’s interested in hearing all my problems, lemme know.

 . . .


 . . . . . .


Okay, no, I didn’t really think that would work.  It was worth a try.  I’d better go to bed.  Long day awaiting for tomorrow.


Random Drabbles in Community Service Class

But I promise, I wrote this in science ;)

I tell her that I’m sorry, but I know she doesn’t believe me.  Heck, if I were her, I wouldn’t believe me.  It’s not that I’m lying–oh how I wish I were–I guess I’m just not a very believable person.  I mean, I show all the signs of a liar: my hair is greasy from bad genes and my palms sweat constantly.  I was born with a stutter that my obnoxious parents were too proud to correct.  It’s not my fault, really.  I swear I’m telling the truth, but people always think I’m not.  I couldn’t pass a lie detector test asking what gender I was.

And another little thing.

I feel the poison rise up the veins in my arm, but I continue to write.  Write.  Written.  Wrote.  To most, it is just homework for English class.  To me, the word is power.  The arm is power.  Ink is permanent, a dastardly weapon to be used with force, which is why I Sharpie the words into my arm with as much emotion and power and force that I can possibly muster.  This is not the first time I have written on my arm, and though I recognize that it is a bad habit, I know I will not stop.  I write in anonymity, I write from the point of view of a singular unknown individual, and yet the individual could be anyone.  My individual is man or woman (or even, sometimes, both or neither), old or young, usually in the middle.  They have infinite knowledge or no knowledge at all, and they talk to someone, another unknown, another one who is everyone.  My individual, it has power.

Random Drabbles in Science Class

There are 33 minutes.  Think slow, think hard.  Ask one question.  What do you do?  I’ll tell you what I do.  I spend just ten minutes thinking, and then five minutes running, doesn’t matter where.  That leaves me 18 minutes to get really, really drunk.  But that’s not an option for you.  Doesn’t matter what I do, but what you do–that’s what’s key.  That’s why I’m telling you, think hard, think slow.  Ask one question.  There are 33 minutes.


Please tell me what it is, sir, exactly that you want me to do.  Yes, I will wait.  I will think, long and hard, just as you request.  But what is it that I am waiting for?  Now I ask you to think long and hard about what exactly it is that you are asking me to do.  Do not mistake me for your servant–I am by no means required to do what you tell me to.  But I am a loyal and honest young man, if I do say so myself, and if you ask me to do something I will honor your requests with sincere reason.  Please do not doubt this.

Oh, by all means, do not misinterpret my opinions of your honesty.  I do not doubt the validity of your opinion, in fact, I find it to be more valid than most, which is why I am telling you: there are 33 minutes left.  And perhaps you misheard the second half of my statement: you may ask one question.  Regretably, I believe that the thing you have chosen to implore is not the correct question, and therefore I–albeit regretably–cannot answer it.  My deepest apologies.

A Poem I Wrote

Please keep in mind that I usually don’t write poetry.  I don’t have a title for this.


I kind of want


It’s a slow, subtle


Caught in the depths

Of my throat

It is loud flirtation

But silent

Secret yearning

To feel his lips beg mine


To feel his God-awful




He hugs me as we joke

[About our “relationship”]

And I wish

Please make it a hold



And it is.

He wants nothing more than


And I?


Kind of



It’s a


Subtle Wanting.

Why Dost It Need A Title?

I’m not even sure if that is gramatically correct.  If not, sorry, I’m lame at trying to speak Shakespearean. 

Anyway, today I’m sitting in bed, waiting for my heel to heal.  I think it got banged up when I fell down stairs about . . . three times in one day.  I got out of school since I can’t walk without limping majorly, and I don’t like limping.  Sucks for me, I guess, since we’re watching Donnie Darko in English, and have a major debate going on in History.  I’ll be covered for the latter, but it was still going to be a fun day.  I mean, come on, we’re supposed to get REPORT CARDS today!  And I really want to know what my teachers said about me BEFORE I get to Parent-Advisor Conferences on Friday.  Blehh.

Hopefully I’ll be well enough to go to Teen Theatre later today, in fact I’ll probably go regardless of whether I’m better or not.  Which means I have to remember to get out of the house by 3 at the very latest, which I’m totally never going to remember.  I  have to get my lines together (and get back into reading Pride and Prejudice, but that’s irrelevant & more on it later).  Auntie Em may have the same line over and over again, but learning your lines and knowing when to say them are two VERY different things.  I’m pretty good when I’m just reading them out of a book, but once I go off book I’m all over the place and can’t remember what I’m saying and forget to act. 

Anyway, back to books.  No, I still haven’t finished Pride and Prejudice, which I do feel very bad about, but a certain author named Ellen Hopkins has distracted me.  First and foremost, this woman is AMAZING.  All my life I have hated poetry with more burning passions than you would ever care to hear me discribe, but her poem-novels are ridiculously incredible.  The first one, Crank, is about a good-girl who gets addicted to methamphetamine (aka crystal meth, aka crank).  It’s really intense, and while the books seem thick (they are about 600 pages each, sometimes more), they’re really quick reads because it’s all very short poems.  The second one, Glass, is the sequal, taking place three months after Crank, is the same girl, but harder drugs (well, same drug, still meth, but meth that’s more pure and intense, etc., aka glass, aka ice, etc.).  Anywhichway . . . both are INSANELY good (I finished the second one yesterday), and neither take very long to read.  READ THEM.  NOW.

Haha funny story about them, actually.  I was sitting reading Glass at a bus stop, and some older woman stood next to me and said “Are those haikus?” and I was like are you CRAZY no!  because these stanzas are like 8 lines long . . . and haikus are only 3.  But instead I just said “No, they’re just . . . normal poems,” hoping to God that she doesn’t realize what they’re about and start questioning me about that and go all teenagers-these-days-suck-they’ll-never-amount-to-anything rant on me.  Then she keeps going.  “Who’s your favorite poet?” and I’m at a loss for words, because like I’ve said, I can’t stand poetry, so I just said “Well I don’t usually read poetry, I kinda picked this up on a whim.” Yes, I used the word whim in an every-day-life situation.  “Oh but you MUST have a favorite poet!” she keeps going on and on about how I have to have a favorite poet, who is it? and I keep going, well I don’t really read poetry, and she’s like Oh my goodness, you’ve never read poetry?! and so I say I’ve read poetry, I just don’t read it that often.  Finally, she asks me for my favorite poet yet again and I just give up and tell her E. E. Cummings, since I’ve read a few of his poems in English class and he seems pretty cool.  Her reaction was priceless: “But he’s a MAN!  Come on, who’s your favoite poet?”  This just drove me crazy.  Men have every right to be poets if they want to be!  And E. E. Cummings may not be a completely legit poet, but that’s not because he’s a man; it’s because his poetry is absolutely insane.  So I gave up and said that I liked Emily Dickenson (one of two female poets I know, the other being Sylvia Plath or however you spell it, and she’s insane and I couldn’t say her because I haven’t read anything she’s written).  After my Dickenson response, she gave a dissappointed “oh” and walked away to bother someone else.  Thank God.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s much else to say regarding my life, except that there are now only nine more days until I turn 16 which is ridiculously exciting.  OH and I had a killer birthday party on Saturday, but it’s such a long story I don’t think I’ll explain it now.  Pretty much we watched Heathers, ate food, and hung out.  It was a surprise party for myself that I planned, and there were a lot of different reactions.  Some thought it was cool, some creative, but a lot of people were just generally pissed about it.  I don’t get why–it’s not my fault that they misread who was going to be “surprised”.  Whatever.

I’m gonna go . . . do stuff now.  Later <3


EDIT: PS: This is my 40th post!  Yay!  I totally forgot until I went back to my dashboard.  How exciting.  Can’t wait for ten more; we’ll have to celebrate fifty :D

EDIT II: PSS: Not only is this my 40th post, but I’ve also just hit 250 tags (too many, I know), and the big one . . . drumroll please . . . 400 views!!!  Wow!  Thanks guys!  Really appreciate it <3  Sorry I didn’t notice earlier!

El Cuatro de Abril

So, happy April everyone!  I’m kinda stoked (yes, I just used the word stoked) for this month, since you know, MY BIRTHDAY IS TWO WEEKS AWAY!!!  I promise I won’t go on and on about how excited I am to turn sixteen . . . but I am VERY excited.

In other news, I’ve recently been elected as AV chick for my school’s fencing team so I could get an A in health (pathetic, I know).  My friend is on the team, which is why I do it, so it should be fun.  Basically I film the matches so that the players can review their strategies later.

Grades are coming up, and I’m not exactly worried.  I know I have an A in all of my subjects except for Science, which I should be getting an A in, but nothing is promised.  Speaking of school–they’ve put our course list up online, which I got really excited about.  I’m pretty much 100% sure that I want to take advanced film, even though I’m not doing film this summer.  I’m being pressured into taking AP Spanish (I’ve fulfilled my language requirement for graduation, but heck, APs look really good for college), and am kinda interested in AP Chem instead of taking a science elective.  I’m getting an A- in both classes as it is, so I know that if I went into AP I’d almost certainly get a B, but I still think that the classes would be interesting and exciting, and look really good on my transcript, which is very important.

So enough talk about grades.  I don’t have anything interesting to share at the moment, since I haven’t heard any debatable subjects of conversation recently.  This weekend should be fun, I don’t have that many plans but my cousins are in town and I haven’t seen them in a while so that will be great.  I’m still dragging through Pride and Prejudice, and it’s not that it doesn’t interest me, I really like it, but it’s a difficult read that I don’t often have time for, and I can’t read lots of it at once because it makes my head spin.  My English teacher did lend me this really cool book of stuff called “Flash Fiction” today; really really REALLY short stories.  Under 1,000 words.  Kinda like this:


“Fuck, he’s late. I knew it. Maybe he won’t even show.” Kady had always been the more irrational of the two. From her fears to her goals, nothing ever seemed possible to anyone else but her. She wasn’t ever sure and was rarely ever content, and that state of mind seemed to suit her just fine. Forever in a rush, she never felt the need to please anyone but herself and her oversensitive nerves. Quick to assume, she was hardly ever able to please.

“That’s just his way, he’ll be here.” Logan was the opposite. Although she was younger by a few years, she was more patient and accepting, very chill and rational. This she probably got from years living with her father, who was an altogether crazy man with odd dreams and even odder work hours, but was a man who nonetheless stayed true to his word, eventually. She was very black-or-white, either it is or it isn’t, and once she chose one side over the other, she stuck with it. Some looked at this unfaltering faith as an advantage, while others couldn’t see the benefits.

“He said he’d be here when we got off, and look! It’s ten after and he still hasn’t shown. He’s never coming.” Kady was impatient. It was her first time flying alone, and she was much more nervous than she would ever care to admit. She didn’t know her father well, except that he was an untrustworthy fool, and that her mother hated him. The one thing Kady constantly shared with her sister was that she was constant in her beliefs, and wasn’t quick to lift a grudge or change expectations. It was for her that the phrase, “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover,” had been created.

“He’s five minutes late. He’s always five minutes late. You’ll need to get used to it.” Logan was used to it. She’d spent the first ten years in his care, and at least a third of that had been spent waiting for him to show up. He hadn’t managed to be more than a half hour late, and even that was just once, and had long been forgiven. Living with her mother was something new, and not particularly enjoyed. Though it had already been three years, Logan wasn’t quite used to the routine or getting picked up on time. She wasn’t sure if she liked the timeliness of it all, but she could live with it. It would’ve probably explained why she wasn’t reading her books nearly as fast.

“Well if he’s always going to be five minutes late, then we should’ve told him to be here five minutes early. Then we wouldn’t be waiting here! We haven’t even been able to get our luggage yet.” Kady also hated being under authority she didn’t know, and as they were unaccompanied minors officially, they were under an entire unfamiliar airline of authority. She figured it had been alright at first, but waiting under the keen eye of a frustrated flight attendant had gotten old fast. She should’ve bought a new Su Doku book before getting on the plane—she’d finished the last few advanced puzzles on the plane after watching Shakespeare in Love on the DVD player. Come to think of it, she probably should’ve brought more movies, too. For all they knew, he wouldn’t be showing up for another two hours, and she’d really wanted to see Ferris Buller’s Day Off.

“First off, that never works. I’ve tried. We called, he said he’s on his way. He’s in the car. He’ll be here in five minutes, ten tops. Promise. Would I lie to you?” Logan knew she probably shouldn’t be asking that question. Kady had no reason to trust her, since they’d only been in the same place for three years. Their parent’s long awaited separation and hasty divorce after Logan’s birth had separated them by three thousand long miles.


Except technically that’s not long enough.  The book defines “Flash Fiction” as being anything between 750 and 1000 words, and that’s only about 650 or 675.  And it’s not really done, it’s supposed to be a lot longer, although thinking about it now, it might make more sense as “Sudden Fiction”, which is 1000 to 2000 words.  Before reading any of the stories, I wondered how it was possible to get any message through to a reader in two or three teeny pages.  Then I read some.  I think Flash Fiction is my calling: it’s little drabbles that don’t really have much meaning unless you look into it; they’re a fraction of someone’s life, written out, and you know that there’s something before it and something after it and sometimes you imagine what that might be, and sometimes it’s just not necessary.  My computer is filled with little beginnings of what could be very good Flash/Sudden fiction, at least I think anyway.  I’m completely excited to be reading more of this stuff, it sounds SO interesting.  Anyway, better go.  I’ve got a living room to clean up.