DragonForce Unite!!

Ah, those Brits. Once again, they have come up with something that makes me do a doubletake and go "WTF". This time, that magical thing happens to be a band called DragonForce.

No, I'm not kidding. If I was going to make up a band, I'd give it a better title. They're not all that good, but they play, according to themselves, "extreme power metal". This is BS. You can TOTALLY understand what they're singing. And they are extreme only because they have a who looks like a long-haired Rodney Yee on guitar, which is too badass for words.

More proof of their badassery: Their song "Through the Fire and Flames" is reputed to be the hardest song on Guitar Hero EVER. Clearly, these guys are hardcore.

Naturally, they're no match for Ingrid the Vertically Challenged Viking, but these guys are working on it. They've got the long hair and the bad clothing and an Asian guy (which actually takes away Viking Points, but whatever), but they're not quite there yet. So you should all buy a DragonForce CD to support their quest.

This post had no point. Meow. Meow. Meow. Meow. Comment. Meow. Meow.

In Memoriam (WARNING: Mope-fest ahead)

I must admit, first off, that as a drama teacher Mark Sheppard really bugged me. We spent class last year playing games and practicing scenes with little to no help on actual acting technique from our teacher. The class was exasperating; I was disappointed but not heartbroken when I didn't get into Drama I this year.

I also knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that Shepps had cancer. He'd gotten treatment for it last year, but when he came back he was as loud and as round as I'd ever seen him. In fact, I never saw him again after very early this year--I'm glad, in a way, that I can remember him the way he was, "appliance" and all. I don't think he would have wanted to hear goodbyes from Lakeside-he was a part of the community for two decades, and I can't imagine how painful it would have been to have people look at him and know he was dying--writing him off before he was ready to leave. His life was all about his work, and it will be comforting, weeks from now, to know he was teaching until his last day. To Mr. Sheppard himself, I only wish I had gotten to say thanks for an awkward scene with Bailey, the ball toss game, and especially for making Schmidt kiss Danny Abrams in Merchant of Venice.

And to all the people who I cried with (or on) today--no matter how often we snark and fight, you guys really came through. I promise I won't be quite so melodramatic and mopey tomorrow, but today I offer a heartfelt thanks.

Chickens and why you're about to hate me

I was listening to the radio this morning, and they were talking about how some people will pay obscene amounts of money to take care of their pets. So of course I assumed that they were going to mention the people who pay tens of thousands of dollars just to build their dogs mini-mansions, people who take their cats to all-day spas, etc.

But I was wrong. This is a trend in my life.

Instead, they give as an example a British couple who are paying $2800 to try and cure their pet chicken of cancer. Yes, you read that right. A pet chicken. With cancer. I'm surprised the couple isn't deaf, blind, and mute, because this is worthy of a tragic screenplay.

Weirdly enough, the average lifespan of a chicken is 7-15 years. And here we must ask Nature what the fuck she was thinking, giving chickens a lifespan that long. We know chickens can do fabulous things like be trained to push buttons; they are also incredibly useless animals except for their eggs. In comparison, ostriches are also incredibly useless except for their eggs, which are delicacies, but they are also pretty badass for how ugly they are AND they can kill people, so they get more points than chickens.

Honestly, anything that can kill people gets points, just because there's only one way to end overpopulation (mass murder).

This is why I'd never succeed in politics. Also, somehow I got to genocide directed at useless people from a thirty-second radio blurb on chickens. I blame Mussolini. Everything's his fault anyways.

And even as I'm writing this, I just realized something. If people can cure chickens of cancer, why can't they cure other people of cancer? Or is there some sort of chicken-chemo treatment center over there in Britain? God, this is sort of like the comment about sending my dog clubbing. It has all become a useless ramble and at some point I shall probably just explode from superfluous rambling.

Which reminds me that I am a vocabulary snob. I use words like superfluous (especially in writing) because I think they're fun. I'm weird like that. I also use "cannot" in my essays, which is pretty much the snobbiest thing ever. So you see why I look down on people who have chickens with cancer. I am, not so deep down, an elitist, and it really doesn't help that I go to an superior school.

Plus I'm Asian. So I'm automatically smarter than you (unless you happen to be Korean, in which case I bow before you).

You are now allowed to hate me. And you should leave comments expressing your hate. Or just leave comments.