Another frisbee practice, another broken nail. Came out with an injured knee, too, this time. The band's started recording, which rocks. Have to check my music video backup disds, make sure they all turned out OK. Warning! Si is now running on reserve power. Please save any open files and shut down.

I got home from band practice today to find that a spammer had posted one comment for every post I have on my site, all 196 of them (197 now). And, because of MovableType's interface, I have to delete them individually, confirming each deletion for each comment on each post as I went. A side effect of which was that I was given a sort of tour down memory lane. Unfortunately, I seem to remember the blogging period of my life in terms of past crushes and the recuperation periods after them. It didn't feel too good. I toyed with the idea of making a calendar to put out the stuff I was refeeling, but decided that it wasn't really worth it, especially as many of these past crushes are unaware of their prior status (at least I very much hope so), and should one of them come across said calendar, things might get awkward. So, I'm peeved that I had to waste over an hour of my evening cleaning up after some scumbag who decided to defile my site, and that I had to drag myself through painful histories to do so.

Tunes: "Superman", Five For Fighting; "Good Lives", Eve 6.

It never really occured to me that I'd post something with "America" in the title that wouldn't end up being sarcastic or critical. But I really enjoyed this movie. Yes, it probably helped that I only had to pay three dollars for a ticket, but I feel that "In America" truly lives up o my expectations for a great artsy film. The movie is about an Irish immigrant family trying to make their way in Manhattan, adapt to a new culture, and move on from the past. The older daughter character is played by Sarah Bolger, who can probably build a solid career on this movie alone. She's got the talent, she's got the looks, and she's got a wonderful singing voice (in the movie she does a gorgeous rendition of "Desperado", which I find better than the original, but then I'm not a big Eagles person either). In short, see this movie.

I've been hearing a lot about the Atkins diet recently, and the whole deal seems overly complicated to me. I say, if you really want to lose weight, try the British School Diet*, which involves flying to England and living off of boarding school cafeteria food. I personally guarantee that if you don't die of malnutrition or radiation exposure, the pounds will fall right off!

*Universities such as Oxford and Cambridge don't count. Sorry.

The clock is ticking-- I just registered to take the SAT I this March and SAT IIs in June. I'm cracking the books and saying my prayers.

(It's gonna be all about ME then, Heather. ~_^)

Tunes: "Wherever You Will Go", The Calling; "No Cigar", Millencolin; "Lovefool", The Cardigans; "Here's To Love", Ewan McGregor and Renee Zellweiger.

Today (or yesterday, at this point) was a really really good day. I auditioned for a band down in Chicago, and everything went extremely well. The guys are great, the music is just what I'm looking for, and all in all everything just sorta clicked. And they want me! So, keep checking back, and within a few weeks I'll probably be posting links to sample tracks for your enjoyment. So, thanks, Tom, Reggie, and Daisuke, you guys rock!

Today I let my parents down on a number of various counts, and I feel really bad about it.

I'm sorry that I'm not that reliable.
I'm sorry that I screwed up your plans.
I'm sorry that I'm behaving so selfishly.
I'm sorry that you can't tell when I really understand what you're saying.
I'm sorry that I can't offer assurances that it won't happen again.

I'm sorry.

Rob coughed, emitting a thin spray of spit and blood. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?" One of the men standing over him laughed raucously. "You shouldn't have MESSED--" A boot kicked out and caught him in the gut. "--with us. Should've let things be." Rob rolled over, trying to breathe through the bittersweet red that streamed slowly across his face. He blinked through the dark, and saw... nothing. An empty alleyway. He slowly pulled himself to his feet, and, leaning heavily against the wall, staggered over into Tommy's Pub. The waitress standing just inside the door looked strangely familiar as she watched in mild shock as he tumbled through the door. "Oh my god, are you ok?" She helped him over to an empty table. He managed to mumble, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine. Can I just have some napkins and ice?" "Yeah, of course!" She hurries over to the bar, talks to the barkeep, and comes back with a stack of napkins and a glass full of ice. "Thanks." She moves back to her post by the door, glancing back worriedly. He unfolds a napkin, pours out a pile of ice onto it, wraps up the corners and holds it against his face. It stings. A couple of tables down, a guy with a guitar and a heavy Gaelic accent starts singing softly. Once the glass has been emptied and the stack of napkins exhausted, Rob looks mostly presentable and the pain is somewhat numbed, so he gets up to leave. As he heads for the door, he looks at the waitress again and there's a tug on his memory. He stops, turns from the door, and heads straight for her. "Look, this is going to sound really stupid, and I'm sorry, but what's your name? 'Cause I'm sure I know you from somewhere." She looks into his face for a moment or two. "Your name's Rob, isn't it?" Rob smiles. "Yeah." She gives a lopsided grin. "I was at St. John's." He snaps his fingers. "I knew it! And you're... I want to say Erica..." "Brekke. Erica and I were inseperable back then, everyone got us confused." Rob blinked a couple of times and rubbed his tender nose before inching his way back towards the door. "Right. Wow. Well hey, it's good to see you again." Brekke nodded. "Yeah, definitely. Take care of yourself." "Yeah." He pushed his way through the glass doors and took a breath of the cold winter air. What a crazy night.

A shrill, hysterical scream cuts across the air, but no change came across the only person in earshot, a man old far beyond his years, his face drawn and hollow, his hair thinning, his wiry muscles bulging from under his sickly slender frame. He staggers along the icy path, hugging himself as some vain protection from the biting cold that attacks every inch of exposed flesh. The scream that echoes in his wake is not startling to him, only a final haunting reminder of the terror and mistrust that he has left behind. How can anyone live, looking at the faces around them and not knowing who will be the next to plunge a knife into an unsuspecting neighbor's back? This man could not, and, breaking ties with those he had lived with for years upon years, walked right through the village and down the road Westbound. The road he walks is narrow, uneven, and slick, and he can only move slowly. Concentrating as he is on keeping himself warm, he fails to see a patch of ice, and slips, falling into a drift of snow. The harsh wet cold surrounds him, and he spasms involuntarily. He tries to pull himself up, but the chill saps his strength, and he falls back down. He hold up his hands, tensed into claws, in front of his face, and there is already ice in small patches bonded to his fingers. Tears begin to drip from his eyes, and freeze before they reach the ground.

He lies there still, arms sticking up in the air, hands still clutching the empty air, body locked in death, a solemn reminder that there are still dangers to taking the paths you feel you are called to walk.

I'm in MacAddict!!! If you flip to the LogOut section in your Feb '04 issue, you'll see that Michael Feldman of Dowbrigade sent in a BloggerCon photo to show the prevalency of Apple-age at that fine convention, and I'm in the top left corner! ^_^

I had a quick talk today with a very old friend (and ex-girlfriend), whom I haven't talked to in a very long time. It reminded me how refreshing it is to keep in touch with people you care about but don't see often, if at all. There are many people whose lives we touch, and it's very comforting to come back and touch them again, basking in the warmth of the tactile connection between two people.

Tunes: "Nightswimming", R.E.M.