B1ue

1. As for 2, my first sensation after realizing I'd fallen in love with someone was sharp pains in my forehead. This was because I was banging my head into my desk, hoping to knock the stupid out of me.

Tequila is basically the only hard alcohol I drink. Because if I'm drinking to get drunk, why mess around? I, too, am looking forward to finding out what has JP's underwear in a wad, even if it's only how controlled and cold he was as a child.

There are three basic groups. Hispanic is the most general term, used for people that trace their heritage to one of the Spanish speaking countries in the Western Hemisphere. This includes people still currently living in those countries. Latino is an American term, refering to people that live in the United States but either immigrated themselves or are descended from immigrants from a Latin American country. Finally, Chicano is for people that were born in the United States but are culturally Latino. Now, I am all three Hispanic, Latino, and Chicano, but my father is not Chicano. My mother is arguably not any of these, since her family's residency in this part of the country predates its American possession, so she is not the child or grandchild of immigrants. Her family didn't have to immigrate, the US came to them. Hope this helped.

I'm at a bit of a loss. For those that don't quite understand why their Chicano and Latino friends are a bit bemused this week, Hispanic is no longer considered a race by the census. It's an ethnicity. I'm not entirely certain of the difference, or why the various Chinese races were lumped together but Japanese, Vietnamese, and Korean were separated out. As I mentioned in one of my first entries, I am racially mixed. A Mestizo, which is culturally and traditionally it's own catagory as opposed to White or Native. That this is not an option on the census is interesting, to say the least. My parents have put White on theirs. I will probably do the same, though the last option is a strong temptation. A friend of mine put, "I don't know. You tell me." Edit: BTW, I didn't explicitly say, but if you go far enough back, there is representation of all the above choices in my family's geneology.

I wear size 10 shoes. Yes, Terry Pratchett as in Good Omens. Eskarina is from the book Equal Rites, and this story takes place during the events of Sourcery. Eskarina is an odd figure in Discworld lore, as she is only mentioned in that one book, when the setting of Unseen University, Lancre, and the figure of Granny Weatherwax all reappear in later novels. Actually, Unseen University was mentioned in the very first Discworld novel, but I digress. There is much speculation and fan-fiction determining Eskarina's ultimate fate, but, presumably, she died as many other wizards did during the magical war at the end of Sourcery. As she's no more than a child herself during the events of Equal Rites, it's a bit difficult to extrapolate what she would have been like as an adult. But there is much established about Lancrians, witches, and Granny Weatherwax. I don't believe any student of hers would have stood by while the world exploded around them.

I saw a roach the size of the palm of my hand the other day. A few things became readily apparent. 1. I am able to leap across the room from a sitting position without either tripping or launching myself into a wall. 2. I am able to nail a moving target with a book. 3. I am able to do these two things in one smooth motion so that the entire incident took less than five seconds. 4. I now need a new copy of Harry Potter Book 4 in paperback. 5. I need to move. Now. While my finances such as they are do not support item 5, they did extend to several roach traps and a can of raid, which my entire apartment now reeks of. The following is a fan-fiction. Specifically, of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. Eskarina of Lancre was unique in many respects. The first, (only so far) wizard to be female, and the only one to be trained by a witch, she was at a severe disadvantage trying to fit into the circles of wizardry at Unseen University. She tried, but as she grew past her teenage years and into the first part of her twenties, it became increasingly impossible. It did not help that she'd somehow missed the extra padding that was one of the few common grounds a maiden of the Ramtop Mountains and a wizard of this delta city had. Nor that she moved, not like a dancer, but as silently and as smoothly as any predator in the forests of her youth. Her childhood stubborness had grown into a steady, quiet determination. She'd perfected the squint, and found a soft voice and cool eyes were almost as effective. She'd never be attractive, but in these halls she was arresting, and that doomed her to far more attention than she needed at her time of life. Despite all that, she walked the hallways alone and unnoticed. Eskarina thought. About her life, growing up under the tutelage of the finest witch in recent history, not that any other witch would ever admit such a thing. About her life here, that was mostly books and talk and an entire world of old men who's smiles did not reach their eyes. About Simon, who'd rediscovered his stutter about when she turned seventeen, though only in her prescence, and so had not been able to say her name in almost four years. She'd almost started to smile then, when she thought about Simon, but it faltered when she remembered he'd not been included in this night's plans. She couldn't. Not when she didn't stand a prayer of success. That brought other memories. Of waking up from an afternoon doze every sense twanging all at once. It'd been her witch training, she'd decided, that gave her any warning. Witchcraft was about subtle things, small magics, after all. It'd been her university schooling and all those years of thinking like a wizard that kept her quiet during that fateful dinner, kept her from trusting her instincts and saying, "Wait, man, there is something very strange about that boy." Eskarina knew it was the wizardry that'd kept her quiet, since wizards don't tend to see small things as real threats. She hesitated at the sight of one, small boy, said nothing, and so watched the deaths unfold. Eskarina shook herself. She was thinking like a witch now. Come any disaster you could name, it was said, and dinner would still be served on time at Unseen University. This was proving true. The ranks had winnowed, though it had only been a week since Coin had declared himself master of magic and the University. The wizards in the rest of the world had not yet reacted, waiting to see if it would take care of itself, but everyone knew the towers would come, and the skies rent by lightning and fire. None here, the survivors, doubted for a moment what the outcome would be. It made for uneasy stomachs, as uneasy as their well-practiced gullets could manage. Since the not quite as crowded as they'd once been wizards were either lost in their own thoughts, meals, or covert glances at what Coin was doing next, hardly any noticed the slender figure of Eskarina enter the room. After a moment's focus that almsot pulled her face into the well-worn path of her squint, none of these men were still paying attention. It wasn't quite magic, Granny Weatherwax had explained. "More a trick of the mind. And no, it's not a matter of wanting to not be noticed. Might as well come out dressed all in red and playing a herdy-gerdy if you're going to want not to be noticed. You simply decided this is how it's going to be. And then it will be." There was more too it, of course, but witches hardly ever bothered to explain themselves. And Esk had understood. 'This is suicide,' a thin, piping voice told her, inside her own mind. 'This is insanity! If you don't pull this off, you're dead. There won't even be a body left, you saw!' But since she'd long realized she was dead anyways, one way or another, the voice held little weight. She knew she'd have only one chance, one moment that her unnoticement would give her to cross the great room, come within arms reach of Coin, and end the matter with the sharpest blade she'd been able to come across. It was not likely to succeed. And she was not likely to survive the experience even if she did, of that she was quite sure. But it needed to be done, and no witch for as long as the Ramtop stones held memories shirked from what needed to be done. She wished she'd been able to tell Simon goodbye. She shook that weight away too. Perhaps it was that one thought of Simon that allowed him to pierce her illusion. No one would ever know. But the sudden gasp he made as he realized what she, his beautiful Eskarina was about to dare filled the room and suddenly everyone could see what he was seeing. Including Coin. Eskarina was too far away still. She was fast, mountain air did that to a growing child, but she was too far and Coin was fast too. She saw her own doom in his eyes as he lifted a hand to blot her out of existence. But if he and Esk were fast, Simon was faster still. Octorine shot out from Simon, a blast of pure magical energy what no human should have able to cast slammed into Coin's defenses. It distracted him, forced the boy to split his attention from the death coming from his front to the one from his side. He fired back, but Simon ducked and poured another spell out. All the wizards had been able to cast like that since Coin arrived, which had been the cause of no few of the deaths over the last few days. Simon knew he was no match for Coin in skill, but years of Eskarina's influence must have taken. He couldn't kill, but he could distract, and die as hard as possible for his love. It would still have been over in an eye blink if more wizards had not suddenly begun casting as well. Many at Coin. Some at each other, fumbling to protect the giver of more power than they'd ever dreamed. The entire room was at once a spectacle flashing magical death, knotting around the embattled Coin. Sprinting across, ever closer, hoping for just another three feet was Eskarina. Fire struck her from behind. It was never discovered whose. She fell forward, too gripped in frustration, and the awful realization that she'd failed, to even be surprised. Even in death, she maintained her grip on her knife, as if, somehow, she could still make her strike. As quickly as it'd started, it was over. Simon was half-melted into the wall behind his chair, hit by some many magical attacks that the slower reacting wizards he'd been sitted next to had been killed as well. The wizards of Unseen University shook themselves, took stock of the new gaps in their ranks, and watched in fascinated comprehension as the smoke cleared around the head table to reveal Coin, unhurt, though at least one wizard had been as unlucky as those seated next to Simon. Silence reigned, as profound and as eloquent as any speech. The wizards returned to their unfinished meal.

And who had the bet that Tonto's one affair was with Marie? Speak up! I too had not heard of the Westermarck effect. Learn something new.

Heh, I was talking about a video game hh5. Specifically, World of Warcraft. The main character I play on that game is a healer character, and a pick-up group or PUG is a term used to define a group of people that don't know each other trying to kill one of the more difficult boss characters in the game, in this case Lady Deathwhisper, whom you can google if you're curious. Thanks for the happy birthday wishes. And I rather like healing in WoW. I'm certainly competant at it. Which is better than I can say for my tanking ability, which can be summed up with the phrase: "my warrior is no longer my main character for a REASON."

I've decided never, ever, to heal another pick-up group. I don't care if they're competant. I don't care if the instance is easy. My hand hurts from chain heal mashing, and the boss is still alive, taunting me about the futility of it all. She also mentions "rise and exhalt" in a sultry voice and I'm trying not to think dirty thoughts when she does. Turned 26 last week. For my birthday, my parent's sent me their tax bill. I love my family.

I've watched that video about eight times since yesterday. I'm trying to discen the lyrics, but keep getting distracted form them by the scenery and the dancing. Guess I'll need to try again. Thanks for sharing.

Yet another image I can't quite get out of my head. For once, the names were very specific. Her cry was barely louder than a whisper. I'm surprised I heard over the thundering of my own heart. "Hold!" her guard ordered, and we did, taking the moment to regain our breath as Sergeant Danath knelt at her side. "Dame Lotus?" he asked, curtosey dripping despite the circumstance. Never mind that the woman was my grandmother, mages of any rank or class were not people to idly piss off. "Twisted my ankle. Haven't run in decades; it was almost inevitable." She grimaced as she stood, trying not to put her full weight on it. "Surprised I kept up as well as I did." Dame Lotus had lived almost all of her life since marrying my grandfather inside our ancestral castle. One the mercenaries under pay of the theives guild had invaded, to teach a lesson to me in particular and the rest of the nobility in general. My guards exchanged glances with each other, and both Lotus and I could read those glances without being told. There was no way we could outpace our pursuers with a limping old mage along. But what else could we do? "Go. All of you. Leave me here." She ordered. "But--," I started to sputter, but Sergeant Danath grabbed my arm and waved the rest of my guard forward. She pulled herself erect, turning away from us already. There was a slight bend in the corridor here, built there for just such a circustance as a fighting retreat out of the castle. Her hands began to glow her magic even as I watched. "But she's my grandmother!" I protested. "And right now, she's your court mage. And it's her choice." "Listen to your guard, boy. I can only buy your so much time. I'm only an old woman, after all." She smiled, as did we all. Dame Lotus got her knighthood by merit, as one of the fiercest battlemages our kingdom possesed. Forty years of peace hadn't dulled her edge by much. I stopped struggling against my guardians, much to their relief. "God's fire, Grandmother," I said before beginning to run again. "Goddess Grace, boy. And if you want revenge for me, outlive the bastards!" The slowing fading screams of the dying followed us on our escape. No one commented on my tears when they finally stopped.

Congrats. And doing it while giving a Valentine's gift to Varian is worth bonus points. He is the best looking of the Alliance leadership. The problem is he quite clearly knows it. I also question his taste in companionship. The blood elf rogue I get; she's blonde, fiesty, and gets on with his son, which is not a minor consideration. Broll though... some men are attracted to the strong, husky type, but someone that literally turns into a bear might be pushing the line a bit. I do feel bad for the prince, since his boyfriend doesn't have a long life expetency, and is going to be spending most of the rest of his life on work. Not that a prince wouldn't understand something like that, but that doesn't make it easy. After all, Jaina dumped Arthas for very similar reasons.

We're wandering pretty far off topic, but to answer your questions, yes my family is numerous. I actually have eight aunts and uncles (not including spouses) on my mom's side that I've met, and about half a dozen more that we all know about but no one mentions in public. My father has another five siblings. As far as the spread in ages, in the case of my cousin that was born at nearly the same time as me, our mothers are sisters who has less than two years apart in age, and we were the last child to both mothers. The other two cousins were born to siblings much younger than my parents, ten years in one case, fifteen years in the other. My eldest sister is only four years younger than that particular aunt. My dads family is about half the size of my mom's, so there streaks are not readily apparent. On my mom's, births come in definite bursts. There will be two or three years where several women will have a child, followed by five years of quiet. The only outliers I can think of offhand are Victor, my oldest cousin on that side, and my uncle Joey, a late life birth who for all I know matches a second cousin I just haven't met. We suspect that my family would be much larger, had TV only not been invented. Only my eldest sister and one of my cousins have broods that rival that of my grandmother. Edit: And for this reason, it's a family joke that Women's liberation was only made possible by the advents of color television and remote controls.

Three of my cousins are born within a year (each way) time span of my own birth, and one is only a month older than I am. And all three of my sisters have cousins within six months of their own age. Further, it's been a longstanding joke that whenever a certain aunt of mine has a grandchild, my eldest sister will get pregnant. She has four grandchildren, born three weeks, one week, one month, and six months apart from one my sister's children. So, yeah. Stuff like that happens. It isn't statistically common, no, but as my ex's medical ethics textbook says, when it gets down to cases, all statistics are either 100% or 0%. Edit: I should probably note that this certain aunt is *my* aunt, not my sister's, as we have different fathers.

Methodwriter's reccomendations aside, I had two songs in mind when I read the first chapter of this new story, and will likely hold them in mind for sometime. Both are country, and both are quite alike in theme, if not tone. They are "The Chance" by Julie Roberts and "'Fore She Was Mamma" by Clay Walker. Because not everyone is addicted to itunes, I went ahead and transcribed the relevent lyrics. "The Chance" *Found an old book that my momma kept, filled with secrets she hid. In a dusty old attic, one morning I read about a woman I never met who had dreams just like mine. With every page that I turned her words came alive "Wish I could roll out-of-town like a runaway train I would do as I dare let them call me insance, never sit on the sidelines of life I would dance every dance, if I just had the chance"* "'Fore She Was Momma" *About ten years-old while hide and seeking I found me in the closet. Ready or not I stumbled on and opened up that box of Yearbooks, letters, black and whites, a hundred, maybe more. Next thing I knew, my brothers and me got them scattered out there on the floor. There was one of her, flipping the bird, sitting on a harley. And a few with some hairy hippy dude, turns out his name was Charlie. Her hair, her clothes, her drinking, smoking had us boys confused, oh I'll never forget the day us nosy kids got introduced, to Mamma, 'fore she was Mamma. .... She burned that box of forget-me-nots when she found out we knew.*

I like AMVs, an abbreviation that stands for either Anime Music Video or Animated Music Video. Thanks to Youtube, there's thousands of the buggers available at my fingertips, and every so often I go a hunting for them. In college, I had a blast with this, but since I am no longer current on Anime or Video Games, I don't get the references to a lot of them, rendering my enjoyment a bit less. Until this weekend. One of the videos I play a lot on Youtube is a Final Fantasy video set to Trapt's "Headstrong." Unfortunetely, due to copyright restrictions on the song, the video file on youtube has no sound. This is what the world of pirated music has done to us. But, hey, I don't mind, usually I just queue up "Headstrong" on iTunes and play it that way. It ain't perfect, but so few things are. Anyways, it occured to me to wonder how much it mattered when I hit the play button, since no matter how "off" the music to the video, it's going to tell some story. Not necessarilly the one the video editor had in mind, but one regardless. This quickly led to wondering what would happen if I played a different song altogether. So, yeah. 20 minutes later, I've played the video four times to Gloria Estefan's "Conga," Little Big Town's "Boondocks," "California Dreaming" by DJ Sammy and Reba McEntire's "Does He Love You?" For the most part it was quite funny, but there were times when the music for all four songs meshed just perfectly or juxtaposed ironically with the video. Since, I've been playing older videos that I liked and playing different songs across them. "Cruel Summer" by Ace of Base went surprisingly well with a video based on System of a Down's "Chop Suey." I'm still going through them, but it's been interesting so far. I may never hear a video properly again.

Journalism is not so much about finding out what other people's opinions are as creating those opinions in the first place. That she's not making much headway was probably the source of her frustration.

Oh, that video is hilarious. Such horrible science. My anthropology professors would have laughed themselves sick.

**It's okay to punch a strange person that runs a finger down your back to your ass when you're trying to pee in a public restroom, right? I didn't, simply grabbed his fingers and rolled his knuckles together, but it was a near thing. **In keeping with the tradition that the only people who friend me on Facebook are people I have no particular desire to ever talk to again, *ever*, my mom's family is one by one joining the mob. I think it's prudent now that there is no current contact information on there. **Speaking of my mom's family, I saw the entire Mexican army that is them a few weeks ago. Okay, well, not ALL of them, but several hundred. My dad defended my "lifestyle choice" to one of my mom's cousins in a, shall we say, less than diplomatic manner. I'd known before he could cuss in that many languages, but I'd never before seen a demonstration. By the look on my mom's face, neither had she. It was quite touching, really. **My niece managed to walk away from a fight this last week. This is most impressive, as none of the rest of us have shown the ability to do so, outnumbered, overmatched, or anything. My sisters and I have come to the conclusion that it must be the Ritalin. **Total spent on entire rest of my family today: $200. Total spent on new iPod for myself: $196. This is how I do Christmas shopping. **But because this is my life, I come home and check in with the family, only to find out that they all agreed last week to draw names and that I'm only expected to buy one small ornament. Most people might just turn around and return the gifts, perhaps smiling that they won't be feeling the pinch so hard this year. Not me. I worked an entire extra week over the last month to get everyone nice presents that they'd like. They are getting their bloody gifts and liking them now. **I just now have to go buy an ornament for my brother-in-law whom I'm not particularly fond of. I'm sorely tempted to buy him a "Team Jacob" ornament, and watch in glee as he tried to figure out what the hell it is. Actually, seeing as he's rather proud of being Mexican, I think he'd disapprove of the White boyfriend on principle, so he really might be on Team Jacob.

Is her attitude really that shocking? That's the pretty standard Catholic take on homosexuality and sex, after all. I'm also not sure on your line of reasoning as far as homophobia and bad sex. Well, you may have something about the latter leading to the former, but perhaps it is because people who've never had and face no prospect of ever having mind-blowing orgasms are better able to decide that sex is for one holy purpose and that one purpose only than your average 12-year-old boy who just discovered his new favorite toy that requires no batteries.

You live in Northern California. Of course it's cold. There's a reason I don't live in that part of the world anymore. But yeah, this winter is shaping up to kind of blow. Hopefully it'll rain more, so some good will come out of it.

Such a cute dog. And Mila does sound like a great name for her.

Does the last stanza of "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To" annoy anyone else? I feel there was a genuine missed opportunity there for a complete ballad. Specifically, instead of presumably getting married, the girl should have turned him down with an explanation that she was going off to college/military/ballet school/antique-roadshow-groupiedom/whatever. Perhaps I feel this way because I love the way Country music in particular takes a particular phrase and juxtaposes them against two different contexts. In this case, the first iteration of the chorus goes (after the protagonist has spent the better part of an evening chatting up this girl he met): "And the conversation stopped, and I looked down at my feet. I was next to you and you were right there next to me and I said 'Go--- If you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to. So make a move because I ain't got all night.'" And this is the second iteration of the chorus, after a summer of dating and her dragging him to meet the parents. So far so good: "Then the conversation stopped, as I looked down at the ring. Your folks were next to you and you were right there next to me and I said 'Go--- If you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to. I swear it's true Without out you my heart is blue. If you're wondering if I want you to, I want you to. So make a move because I ain't got all night.'" And then the song falls down into a pair of couplets basically saying they'd live their lives out together, though of course nothing so straightforward, and they basically repeat chorus one with some lame additions along the lines of "When the conversation stops and we're facing our defeats." I already stated how I'd story the song out, but the specific part that's keeping me from sleeping is I know how I'd do the chorus: "Then the explanation stopped and you looked down at your feet. I kissed away the teardrop that was rolling down your cheek and whispered 'Go--- If you're wondering, if I want you to, I want you to. So make your move, Because we've still got tonight.'" Yes, I just wrote an entire blog entry so I could change 6 lines of a song. I couldn't help it. The story was demanding to be told.

There are occasions where I simply cannot have a cellphone, such as in meetings, and I wear a watch then. It's always a pain to find one of them (I have three depending on the level of dress I'm shooting for), because otherwise I never use the things. Oddly enough, people have all my life asked me the time whether I had a watch on or not. It was really weird growing up, but now I'm resigned to it.

Bought Lady Antebellum's "Need you Now." I realize I'm starting to develop a drunk dial playlist, and I don't quite know what to make of that. They aren't even all country songs. Didn't have a chance to grab more of the dream down yesterday, and now I only really remember this one bit. There were once three witches, one good, one bad, and the enigmatic Madame Grey. It was never to be known what Madame Grey desired in her heart of hearts, or even if she had such a thing at all, but both the good witch and the bad witch woke one morning wanting desperately for a child. And so the bad witch was sad, for she knew she was a wicked one. Nothing she ever had she could keep, not home, nor pet, certainly not a lover. Everything would have to be abandoned the next time good triumphed and she had to build her power anew. A child, one of her own, was out of the question. But oh, how she wanted. So she journeyed west, across the snow capped mountains that were cold daggers to the sky bleeding storms and terror, to home of Madame Grey. Madame sat down with her, drank tea with her, looked her deep in the eyes and said, "You will have a child, one day. But I tell you, you will not have a child until Good gives one back." No more was said, and Madame Grey quickly closed her door on the witch, her sister, who journeyed home filled with hope. The good witch was also sad when she felt the first longings, for she knew that she was good. Tirelessly, she worked against the forces of evil, and not her jewels, her looks, nor her life she could spare herself against that fight, certainly not enough for a child. She journeyed east across the burning desert, a memory of her last war against the goblins, to the home of Madame Grey. She too took tea with the Madame, who spoke to her, "Cry no more, my sister, you will have a child. But you must make one yourself." No more was said, and the door of Madame Grey was closed upon her sister the good witch, who journeyed home mind churning with plans.