ho ho artists

Artists are odd creatures. Most anyone who maintains that they're an "artist" for any length of time generally gains an ego to match their supposed "talents". The fun part is seeing whether or not the ego is deserved.
Today I may have found one worthy, though, because apparently she (or he, wouldn't count that possibility out) has enough talent to attend art school.
The game is to determine, through a number of entries, whether or not this person is good at whatever it is they do.
There is a link to her (?) Deviant Art account at the top, but I won't click on that right away. That'd be cheating.
Here it is.

Ok, so art school.

Firstly, I know NO ONE. And I'm not as good at making friends as I used to be. O_o So I've made like... two? Sort of.

Oh aren't you just a social butterfly. I CAN'T MAKE FRIENDS. ONLY TWO IN ONE DAY.

Philosophy of Art and Design? IT'S TOK. OMFG, WHEN WILL I ESCAPE?!?!?!?! Then again, I guess I can chalk one up to IB, so... yay?

... Having been the guinea pig for this mess of acronyms, I'll translate. TOK is theories of knowledge, and it's for the International Baccalaureate program.
Basically it's for overachieving nerds who didn't think AP was good enough.
In reality it's just slightly faster AP with basic 101-level scare tactics of MANY OF YOU WON'T MAKE IT.

Visual Design? It's like taking a calculus student and teaching them basic addition and subtraction all over again. I like the class, because I get to really strengthen my basics, but then again, I don't really want to relearn addition.
Don't bitch about easy classes. In my experience, college has two difficulty levels: easy, and easy with a ton of work you don't want to do. Be thankful.

I was going to be clever and try to sum up all that is my life in 25 words, but I got to 10 words and said fuck it.

I bet I could summarize my life in less than 25 words. Guess not everyone can be as FULL OF INTERESTING EXPERIENCES like you.

IB SCORES! I PASSED! W0000T!

English - 6
Spanish - 7 (WTF?! No. Way.)
History - 5 (I was expecting a 4 or 3)
Chem SL- 6 (omg, no fing way. I was TOTALLY expecting a 3.)
Math - 6 (woot!)
Art HL - 5 (The hell? I was expecting higher. oh well!)

Yay! Life is good. Sort of! Yay! :D

Yeah, yeah.

The world is filled with information. Anyone can find that information. Hell, all you do is open google, and type in any word, and millions of pages of information pop up. But who is to know which information is important, or even relevant?
I can sift through pages and pages of information before I find something I think is important, and I may over look lots of stuff that really is important.

Holy shit you're almost done with the IB program and you still haven't figured that out yet?
Goddamn I should have told my school "fuck you it's a waste of time trust me I'm saving you heartache" when I signed up for the test courses.

It's wierd to think that in 4 years a person can come this far.

Also wierd to think how much a person can stay the same.

Taking "i before e except after c" a little too literally, aren't you?

I BEST THING ABOUT GRADUATING AND GOING TO ART SCHOOL?!?!?!

NO MORE RETARDED ENGLISH ASSIGNMENTS, OR HISTORY READINGS!!!!
YAAAY!

Could have used some more third grade English assignments.

Quick hypothetical question....

Ok, so there's a person who doesn't know how to do something. They express this deficit of knowledge and request your assistance in learning the information. You...
A - Ridicule them for not already knowing how to do this task.
B - Roll your eyes and ignore them.
C - Both A and B
D - Help the person without complaining, bullying, or belittleing them.

"belittleing", huh? Guess it'd depend on the context. In an educational situation I guess D, but if it's you and your stupidity, and I'm here doing this, I guess A.

You chose C. The correct answer was D.
Sorry, you lose one million points.

Actually I chose A, but all right.

It's days like this that make me hope I do end up going to college really far away.
Either I'm being accused of not knowing shit about how to survive in the real world, or I'm being made fun of for asking for help to learn those same skills. So fine. You win. I hope I go to school really fucking far away, so that I do learn everything all by myself, since you won't fucking help.

Why so butthurt?

There's acid on my tongue. I could spit it at you, or you, or you, or you, but I'll swallow it instead.
I just know that I win, because I have self control.

Oh so that's how you win. I thought it was getting more points than everyone else.

Fack off, everything.
Fack off concert. Fack off Barnes and Noble. Fack off English IA. Fack off history essay.
FACK OFF COLLEGE APPS. FACK OFF JOB APPS.
FACK OFF, ATT, FOR SCREWING UP MY SERVICE PLAN!!!

It's okay your mom probably won't read this.

EIGHT ways to win your heart:

Let's see if I could jump her bones.

1. PMD,TWYW.

What.

2. Gotta be funny, and gotta think that I'm funny, at least sometimes.

Well I have half of this down.

3. Don't preach to me. About anything. Ever.

Okay.

4. Be spontaneous.

Sounds like a Kay commercial the further I get.

5. Don't make me wear the pants.

Fair enough. No shorts, no Capri pants, dresses only, final destination.
This list goes on for three more items obviously but this is so incredibly boring I can't continue.
So I guess we're incompatible. But don't feel bad, remember-- actually on second thought do feel bad. Vapid cunt.

Hamlet. Maybe I should actually read that!

You're not missing much.
So after all this, I still can't tell if she's good at whatever she does. Time to get the final word on this.
I'm so nice for including a link.
Apparently they accept anyone to art school.
Although it's odd: her abstract shit is mildly interesting, but the other stuff is just fucking awful.
Hmm.
Well I guess that's it, then.
Also sorry this entry is a day late it was actually mostly finished last night but then I got distracted by better shit. Deal.

Oh boy.

What's astrology? Well, it's the belief that the movement of the constellations can somehow predict the future, or determine gross personality types.
In reality this is bullshit, but very much like Tarot there is at least some commentary on the human condition underneath the mysticism tacked on later by hustlers to confuse young people and stupids.
Today's blog, besides being named one of the dumbest fuck things I've ever heard. Tell the truth, but tell it slant?
Tell the slanted truth. Isn't that lying? So a better quote would be "lie constantly" which is life advice for everyone.

Two signs which naturally attract and complement each other. Tactful Libra tones down the Ram's fury, and redirects his or her individualism towards a partnership whose logical conclusion is the marriage which matters so much to Libra. The Libran harvests the Ram's vigor, but is sometimes rebuffed by blunt language. Aries must be careful to give Libra time to express him or herself. Otherwise, the magnetism which attracts them may turn into mutual repulsion.

(The ram's fury? Dang.)

So what'd we learn? Apparently Aries is a goddamn asshole.
What is the libra? It's the scales of justice.
What do the ram and the scales of justice have in common?
WHO CARES NONE OF THIS MEANS ANYTHING.
If you think balls of burning gas and debris in space arranged in arbitrary patterns based on the vantage point of Earth, you might as well throw sticks on the ground and let those divine what you should do with yourself.
Jesus Christ people, think for yourselves for once.

Cool, huh? That John Donne was a smart guy. I wish I could write clever poetry like him.

Funny, whenever I read John Donne the first thing that never came to my mind was "clever" but whatever. I really don't get poetry.
Pictures from her sister's wedding.
I hate looking at this shit. It makes me feel like a stalker, and I didn't even do anything. I just clicked on her stupid blog and started writing about it. Who are these people and why are they all over the internet?

I'm a whimsical, artsy sort of person who can find special meaning in the second comma inserted in a sentence--the wedding photographs should reflect that!

"second comma inserted in a sentence". What does that mean? Is the comma supposed to be there? I remember a grammar lesson as a kid where you had to move a comma to change the meaning of a sentence, is it like that? Do you move the comma in "Lightning struck, Billy Joe jumped" and suddenly lightning struck Billy? Is that the kind of shit we're talking about or are you just a twat?
I guess my confusion stems from the fact she seems to think this is a unique, special, or otherwise creative ability, when in reality it just shows a grasp of English.
I hate to break it to you, but you're really not a special snowflake.

About ten minutes ago, I got an e-mail from my summer class professor, telling me that I wasn't officially registered for his class. I was, in fact, registered for a class in the first summer session, he told me. After reading his e-mail several things flashed through my mind: the long hours, the workload, the early mornings reading, the late nights driving home and everything else, too. So, he was telling me that on the first day of class, the day when I wasn't on the class roster, the day when the he said "he'd look into it,"--YEAH THAT DAY, DOUCHEBAG--he actually sat back on his ass and twiddled his thumbs.

I've been through much of college. I'm familiar with the registration process. Never in my time at college have I confused semesters. I've done other dumb shit like register two classes for the same time (amazing they let you do that) but I never signed up for a class I intended to take in Spring in the Fall.
What I do know is this: if your name isn't called on the first day, alarm bells should go off. That isn't the time to sit back and let the teacher "look into it," and you certainly shouldn't blame someone else for your own foolish mistake.
I guess this reinforces my "you're not a special snowflake" statement, but he doesn't really care if you attend or not. He gets paid either way, so whether or not you did what you were supposed to do is really not his problem.
This isn't a "tough shit kid, no one cares" lesson, though. It's just the way it is.
Next entry is entitled this:

i'm covered in bees

That should be the title of your blog. If mine wasn't "Edie Finds a Corpse" I fucking guarantee it'd be "I'M COVERED IN BEES" then the tagline would be "just kidding. They're hornets, actually." That'd be awesome.
She got a tattoo. Right in the tramp stamp region, too.

"Wise poets that wrapp'd
Truth in tales,
Knew her themselves,
through all her veils."

Wow. Thomas Carew, I think. I'm sure you'd show that to whoever it is at the fucking club and impress them with your fresh book-read intellect, but I'm not fucking impressed.
If I recall correctly that poem was about his girlfriend (or wife, whatever) being a total cunt and he was telling her what's going down if she keeps that shit up.
Yeah really what you should have tattooed onto your back.

Those lines pretty much summarize my feelings on literature, my career and writing in general. I think it'd be cool to get those two lines tattooed in a pretty, flow-y sort of script just below the inside of my left ankle. I'd love to get it tattooed on the inside of my right wrist--appropriate for a right-handed English major, right?--, but I'm worried about it being too showy.

You totally missed the point of that poem.
Jesus Christ English 211 here, adjust your face before it's rocked off:
she was (apparently) made famous by his gr8 (yeah that's right, great with an eight) poems about her, and she got all uppity about her new fame, and he was just reminding her that really her depiction in his poems was just "truth in tales", meaning she wasn't really that fabulous. As I recall I think he calls her something like "common beauty" or something to that effect, meaning yes, she is beautiful, but she isn't some sort of rare pedigree.
Also I'm not an expert on goddamn Cavalier poets so I might be completely wrong about this.
I seriously doubt it, but sure.
AH SON OF A FUCK she copied the poem into her blog now I don't look so smart because I recalled all this shit from memory.
Well let's see if I was right.
Yeah I was.
Also it was addressed to "Celia". This may have been his chick who knows, but usually when someone has an allusion to mythology for a name, the meaning of the name is important.
My brain is a regular Rolodex of useless knowledge, so I happen to know "Celia" comes from "Cecilia" which means "blind". Saint Cecilia, by the by, was the saint of the blind.
SO I THINK THAT MAY BE AN INDICATION FOR YOU.
Fuck for all I know she may know all this in which case this is review time, but it seems to me this isn't the kind of thing you'd want on your back in permanent ink forever until the day you die.
Christ not this shit again.

I'm making up a MEME right now.

What is a meme? Not a word in most peoples' daily vocabulary I should think.
It's an idea or behavior that spreads from one person to another. The smiley face is a perfect example of this.
It's not something you "make" and say "LOL MEME NOW."
Many websites where users may post in an anonymous or near anonymous manner use this to promote uniformity in thought and the appearance of a cohesive mass.
Indeed there is an entire field of study devoted to this (people will make a job of anything) called memetology, and memes are often compared to viruses in the way they spread.
So I guess that's it unless you enjoy hearing about her wedding plans, in which case I think you're in the wrong place and would be better suited going here.

Bleh

I found a good example of irony in today's blog.
Most people attribute mere unfortunate accidents or things that are coincidental to irony, but irony is actually quite specific.
Let's take today's example for instance.

Ok. You have to wonder about the "family values" party selecting a VP candidate who is willing to knowingly drag her pregnant 17-year-old daughter from the relative obscurity of Alaska into the vicious trenches of the biggest political stage on the planet. All in hopes that that said candidate will be making a move to the VP mansion right around the time her daughter gives birth, thus either dragging her and her baby across the country before she's even finished high school, or leaving her and her baby across the country at the most emotional time of her life.

Don't get me wrong -- I don't think Sarah Palin is a qualified candidate on any count whatsoever, and how she chooses to deal with her family is not something I'll choose to attack because there's plenty more substantive stuff to deal with. I just find it terribly ironic, and sad. This poor girl is going to go through hell any way you cut it, and my heart goes out to her.

Now what he (she?) says isn't really ironic (unless the VP candidate was caught saying "abstinence programs work!" in which case it would be) but rather the fact he says "how she chooses to deal with her family is not something I'll choose to attack" meanwhile he just spent an entire paragraph basically attacking her for being a stupid twat.
That is the perfect example of verbal irony.
Also that would be grounds for attacking her. If she can't even handle one unruly kid how is she going to engineer the success of an entire country?

Well, the Olympics are over, the ticket is chosen, and the convention starts tomorrow. It's time for me to get serious about this election. Even though Obama's website crashes my browser every time I go there.

Why are you going there? Are you that boring that you seriously go to political websites and do research on this nonsense? If the presidential elections actually meant anything it wouldn't boil down to a fucking high school prom popularity contest every single time they hold one of these fucking things.
Also you seem pretty dead set against Republicans, so why bother going to Obama's website when you already know the outcome of your research?
That's one thing I learned in high school while you were no doubt busy being boorish and pretentious: research is only beneficial when you don't come into it with a foregone conclusion.

Beijing gets an A, by the way. It's hard to say what made me cry more: the earthquake boy walking in the stadium with Yao Ming, the volleyball win, Debbie Phelps, the fucking Visa commercial reminding us of the English dude who finished the race with his dad, Bob Costas's new dye job, Tom Hammond's new face job, or Usain Bolt, every time. I am very much in love with Usain Bolt. Not in the same way I'm in love with the Cuban runner with the glasses, but the kind of love that makes you weep uncontrollably at all times. Otherwise known as TRUE LOVE.

You cried during the Olympics? What the fuck is the matter with you?

Some of you already know this, but earlier this week I had to ban myself from shopping at the local supermarket after a series of events over a series of visits which added up to me accidentally trying to steal something, accidentally trying to convince the customer service rep that I wasn't trying to steal something, being caught posing provocatively with my shopping cart after watching several hours of America's Next Top Model, almost stealing a toothbrush, mispronouncing the word "phyllo", inadvertently flirting with a cashier who's probably half my age, and walking out of the store without an entire bag of liquor I had just purchased. Then today at the farmer's market I knocked over an entire crate of oranges. When I'm rushed to the hospital in a few months in a severely malnourished state, I will just have to explain that I have no place left to buy food.

Oooooooookay, let me get this straight. You "accidentally" almost stole something (uhh, how?) then "accidentally" tried to convince a sales rep that you weren't, in fact, trying to steal something when you got caught because you suck at shoplifting. Then, then, you "get caught" standing around like you're trolling for men to pay you for sex (don't lie). This is further compounded when you "accidentally" tried to steal a toothbrush, which I have to assume is completely unrelated to the other attempt at stealing because the first time it was only listed as "something".
Then you buy some liquor, because if there's one thing you need it's to be even less in charge of your faculties, but forget it at the store. Then you proceed your rampage of douchebaggery and aborted attempts at stealing by knocking over an entire crate at the farmer's market.
Yeah I feel for you those enormous wooden edifices filled with bright fucking orange fruit are real easy to miss.
I can forgive you for the last two, since you're probably better off not boozing it up, and everyone has clumsy, idiot moments where they knock into shit.
What I really want to know is how you accidentally steal something. Logic might dictate you put a case of coke or whatever under your cart, forget it's there and walk off with it, but then I wouldn't necessarily call that stealing, and even then apparently you were doing whatever it was you were doing in such an overt manner as to attract the attention of upper management at this grocery store.
Perhaps even more curious, though, is you standing around, what was it, "provocatively with my shopping cart after watching several hours of America's Next Top Model". What might possess you to do something like that?
Then you claim innocence by "inadvertently" flirting with a cashier half your age?
So let's run through a list of things that supposedly aren't your fault, despite all of this shit happening directly because of you:

• stealing
• stealing again
• standing around like a dumb whore
• flirting with someone
• knocking over a crate of oranges

Wow!

Some days I love Hall and Oates so much I honestly think my heart will burst.

Hmm.

Ok kids. I implore each and every one of you to respond to this post with whatever comes into your head. It's come down to this: New York or Chicago. I have a big decision to make, and I feel endlessly fortunate and rather excited to have the decision to make. I'm veering toward one, but I'm not going to tell you which one it is. They're both equally fair game.

Well New York is one of the major centers of culture and civilization in America. Meanwhile Chicago has...
Hmm.
Chicago was cool in the 1930s, as The Untouchables has taught me, but that was a while ago. Unless this journey comes with a time machine.
Although I might suggest staying in bumfuck wherever you belong, because if you cause that much chaos at a fucking grocery store I can't imagine what you plus a huge city would equal.
I just hope New York has some good insurance.
All right I guess that's it.