So Saturday Lisa and I graduated from Arizona Traffic School. Yipee!!!!!!!! You can read all about it on her blog, but let me just say that 98% of the class was really old people, and I think they need to have their licenses taken away from them, and they should also be beaten with a shoe for being so fucking dumb and driving on the same roads that I am driving on. It's so retarded that Arizona driver's Licenses don't expire for 40 years, so we have all these crazy old people who can't see an inch in front of their faces driving around with valid licenses. Re-test! What the shit is wrong with you, Arizona? Anyway, Lisa and I are now kick-ass defensive drivers, so back off.
I also have to say that I love blogging. Love it, love it, love it. Today I got an email from someone I haven't seen or heard from in 8 years, because she did a Google search on my name and found my blog. Fucking awesome! I'm so excited to be back in touch with her, she totally made my day! We have much catching up to do, Jenny Lundgren. Very much indeed.
Here's a picture of me and Jenny waiting for the bus, reading "Modern Hermaphrodite". We've both changed a lot since then.

I got an email from Lisa today that said:
"MINCHIES! What is a minchie? Ten dollars off your cable/phone bill payment for this month if you can make a photoshop picture of something that could be a "minchie." I'm serious!"
So here's a Minchie.
Whatdoyathink???? Can you picture this thing traipsin' through your garden?

I can almost feel that $10 in my pocket already! Pay up, Schwester.

This morning I woke up and started thinking about all of the people I've lost contact with over the years. I hate not knowing where people are and what they're up to, you know? All these people that used to be so important to me probably think that I've forgotten all about them(or they're thinking nothing, because they've forgotten about me!). I know it's part of growing up, but I don't like it. I always want to know how everyone's doing.
About a year ago I went crazy trying to track down one of my all-time favorite people, Tracy Hoerning. Treye is one of those rare people who are just completely nice. The girl just didn't have a mean bone in her body, despite all of the hard stuff she went through and the people that were assholes to her. She just always had a smile on her face and most of the time, a paper crown on her head. We took art together and our teacher Mr Johnston totally loved us. When he made the rest of the class do some boring assignment, he let me and Treye do whatever we wanted(which usually involved making paper hats that looked like trout, with the fins and gills and everything), and sat with us and played spanish guitar. One time we hid from the police bomb squad in the auditorium, and escaped in the crawl space under the stage. We also spent many Saturdays going garage sale-ing for the wierdest stuff we could find, and I taught her how to grill and we even planned to have a white-trash barbeque. She was a very good friend, and I don't think I'll ever meet a person like her again. And oh yeah, one time she and her friend played pool with Robert Smith. As in Robert Smith of The Cure.
So last year I decided I was going to find her. I tried searching the internet and calling people. I finally got a hold of her mother (Trollwoman, as Treye called her), and got a few numbers from her. After many failed attempts, I finally got the answering machine of some guy in Seattle(I think?), and I left a message but never heard back. I decided to give up my search, and just leave it up to life to reunite me and my friend. But I hate that though.
This morning I decided I wanted to send an email to Shecky. Shecky (real name Dan Farber) is an ex of mine. We dated all through my freshman and sophmore year in high school, and we broke up when he went away to NYU. That's about where I lost touch with him, except for briefly meeting him for coffee at Marina Diner right before I moved to Arizona. Since then, I found out he moved to LA and has been in some movies and on "Malcolm in the Middle" and "ER" and stuff. It was so weird how I found out, Kane and I were looking for people on IMDB, and just for the hell of it, I told him to type in Daniel Farber, see if Shecky actually made it. And he did! If you look at his bio on IMDB, he says his nicknames are Dan and Danny, no mention of the Shecky moniker that all of us knew him by. Jen introduced us backstage at the Count Basie Theater in Red Bank, when he was working as a stagehand on some musical there. We hung out together all the time, despite the fact that he lived out in Rumson and I was in Belford. During our last few months together he was in Improv Jam( a late-night improv show) at Meadow theater and I used to go watch. Treye was always there too, actually! He was good in the show, but I hated the end when the cast would hang out in the lobby and talk to the audience, because girls would always come up to him and flirt or give him their phone number. Nice, especially since I was standing right there. There was a rumor going around that he cheated on me, but I heard it after we broke up so who knows. Anyway, I realized that I talked to this guy every day for two years, and now I don't know shit about what he's up to. (Other than what I can read on the movie database.) It's kind of depressing, losing touch with people. So I did a google search to try to find an email address, and I found some but I don't know if they're really for him or some other Dan Farbers out there so I'm not gonna send anything. I did find a message board on some movie website where someone named catherine shores wrote:"i think DANIEL FARBER IS THE CUSTEST GUY IN THE WORLD". If I still know Shecky, he would get a kick out of that, some girl thinking he's the custest guy in the world. Mis-spelled stuff always cracked him up.
So anyway, hello to everyone I haven't talked to in a while. I hope life is treating you good, and that you are happy wherever you are. I figure it's much easier to post a message up here than to try and find everybody. I'm a lot lazier than I was a year ago.

Wow, I have nothing to write about. I've been sitting here staring at a blank screen for the past 5 minutes, waiting for a topic to come to me. Nothing.
It's very cold in my office right now. No wonder why I keep getting sick.
I wish Arrested Development was on tonight, and that they were going to have a marathon of all-new episodes so I could watch it. I'd also like the episodes to focus mainly on Gob, Buster and George Michael.
Last night I looked through an old photo album and got all teary for my New Jersey friends. I miss them. *shniff*
I'll probably walk over to Blimpie and buy a sub for lunch.
I should walk to places more. I wish shit wasn't so spread out in Arizona so I could walk more.


This is the lamest post ever.

So this is new for me: I started a painting about a year ago and didn't finish it (like usual), but recently I actually went back to it and finished it. I have the problem where if I don't finish a painting all at once, I never go back to it, like I can't get into the right mindset to do it. But not this time, buddy. Uh-uh. I'm proud to say that the painting is now on display in my bathroom. Tickets are $5, but it's an extra $3 to take a pee. I think I should credit my renaissance to listening to the soundtrack of "The Phantom Of The Opera" almost non-stop. Back when I used to paint all the time (and had no bills and no job and was in high school...) I used to listen to the soundtrack to the Broadway show all the time, and it inspired me. The music is just so beautiful and lush. The movie soundtrack is even better, because there's no Michael Crawford. I just can't take that guy's voice seriously. So thanks, new Phantom, for inspiring me. And also, thanks for having a nice area where your neck meets your chest. Does that spot have a name? I like it.

Hello, everyone. I am feeling rather blah today. Not much going on upstairs. Instead of a blog, here's a picture of Willy Wonka. Hurrah!

This morning my alarm went off and the radio came on. And I don't know if I made this up since I was half-asleep, but I could've sworn I heard a song by John Mayer (it had to be John Mayer, it was all breathy and shitty and said something about "Fathers.......take care of your daaaaaauuuuuuughters..." in it) but then clips from news stories about the tsunami were added every few seconds. Someone please tell me that I dreamed this.
If by some chance I didn't dream it, then I hate John Fucking Mayer even more than I already did. (Here comes a rant, people.) I'm definitely all for helping out the tsunami victims, and raising money for them, but I think a song like that is completely inappropriate. I think there are 3 different categories that people fall into when some huge tragedy happens. There's the people who are very concerned and who anonymously donate whatever and whenever they can. These people generally want to help. Then there's people who only help out when people are there to actually see it, and want tons of credit for it. You can recognize these types of people because A., they're a celebrity or B., they're the guy in line in front of you at Blimpie who make a big show of putting 50 cents into the tip jar, and do it slowly, looking around to see if people are watching. Wow man, that's REAL big of you! And the last group is made up of the people who secretly get off on tragedy. They'd never admit it in a billion years, but they get kind of excited when something horrible happens. They can't wait to hear all the gory details and see pictures of people whose lives are destroyed, and put all the "UNITED WE STAND" and "9-11: WE WILL NEVER FORGET" bumper stickers on their cars. These are the people for whom stupid shallow rock stars prey upon to sell their gimmicky music in times of trouble. In fact, you're NOT a good american if you didn't buy Springsteen's album dedicated to the victims of 9-11. And wasn't it wonderful how 9-11 united everyone? So maybe the unthinkable happened and all these people suffered horrible painful deaths (did you see all those photos printed in Newsweek? I have my copy saved in a special dust-free jacket!), it was GREAT how everyone had flags on their cars and sent those poems and stories to everyone on email. In fact, I'm still sending them!
I'm not saying we should forget about what happened, but do you think after December 7, 1941, there was a merchandising blitz, people selling anything that said "Pearl Harbor" on it? Probably not. It's just our society today and the way the media and entertainment feeds it, and it's sad.
Thankfully, I've yet to see any "Tsunami 2004!" t-shirts or bumber stickers yet, and George W. Bush hasn't yet declared a war on underwater earthquakes, but I'm thinking it's just a matter of time.
Whew, end of rant.
Or maybe I did just dream up that John Mayer song. If so, my bad.

Today I started writing a book. This is the first time I've ever done this so it's weird. Lisa's the writer in the family. I'm the artist. Really I'm just writing to copy Lisa! Little sisters always copy what their big sisters do. There you go Lisa, now run to mom and tell her I'm copying you. I promise I'll scream, "I AM NOT!!" and slam my bedroom door. No, I kid, I kid.
I don't think I'll ever do anything with this book, should I ever actually finish it. I don't think I'll ever even let anyone read it. But still, I wants to tell a story.
Goodnight, Blog.

Here's another classic scene from "Better Off Dead":
After being insulted by Roy Stalin and not realizing it, Charles De Mar and Mike Toole break up Roy and Beth's intimate slow dance to congratulate him on a joke well-done!

"You better shave her a little closer before you kiss her goodnight."-Roy
"You better shhhhh......ha HA HAha ha....you better......HA HAHAHAHA!!!!!"-Charles
"HA! Good one Roy! Thumbs up!"-Mike

We went to a New Year's Eve party at my friend Jen's house in Avondale. It was fun, even though it wasn't really our crowd of people. Jen gave us a tour of her brother's house, and along the way we found a disturbingly life-like stuffed dog. It looked more like taxidermy than loveable plaything, and when you push a button, it's belly moves up and down like it's breathing. Ewww. Jen and Kane were brave enough to touch it.

Jen and I model a platter of delicious chicken wings in the kitchen. Shortly after, Kane, Brianna, Robert and I were cornered by a girl who repeatedly told us she was "too old" to go out to da clubs and have fun anymore. She was 27. Robert is 30. Thanks for making Robert feel old, drunk girl.

After soaking up some alcohol, I challenged Robert to a game of Ping Pong in the garage. I don't know who won, but I think we both kinda did. I do know that the guy who threw the party lost, because we must have whipped the ball at his car about 20 times. After a while we started getting really violent. "Extreme Ping Pong". A new olympic sport.

Kane thoroughly enjoyed the game, with a little help from his friend Rum. He got hit with the ball a few times, but he didn't feel it.

After we got tired of Ping Pong, Robert and I took turns beating the hell out of Brianna. That was way more fun than hitting some crappy little ball around.