trinityvixen: (i am an idiot)
I am good at tests, but the more vet school has gone on, the more I feel like that's all I'm good at. I can't recall things I learned last quarter, much less over the course of years. And it's become increasingly clear to me that everyone around me is just way sharper at the recall. I'm hoping it passes--that I surprise myself with what I know--but the feeling has gotten more pervasive with time.

It doesn't help that right now people are rushing about filling up their time with externships, for which I have applied not a one because I really just have that many rotations I want to do that the school offers. But now I'm all worried that I won't be making good contacts outside of school that way and arRGH I SHOULD BE STUDYING.

I need to work out a solid plan to counter-act what I think I don't know. Flash card preps, relistening to old lectures, something to put me back on more solid footing so this doesn't just drive me crazy forever. But first, I really do need to study for my test tomorrow.
trinityvixen: (got nothing)

The call of the wild. )

Some of this is undoubtedly related to my anxiety/euphoria over leaving my job, too, I realize that. I'll soon be really free to do whatever the fuck I want, and I'm straining at the bit to get there. I have a bucket list for leaving New York. I keep adding to it, but 9 out of 10 additions are part of the Outside! All the time! mania. To whit:
1) Go to the Highline Park.
2) Ride bike over the Brooklyn Bridge (presumably to Brooklyn where there may be still more paths to take).
2A) If not a total chicken-shit, bike over the GWB, with its much scarier low rails and traffic.
3) Take the Staten Island Ferry.
4) Go to the Cloisters.
5) Walk the length and/or circumference of Manhattan (I did most of this one day with [livejournal.com profile] fairest and [livejournal.com profile] cagexxx, and we covered a good chunk from 116th to Canal Street).
6) Go to the Brooklyn flea (ew, so much Brooklyn stuff).

These are the additions that I made recently. The list includes going to the Guggenheim (never been) and a massive three-day-at-last binge where I tour the entire Metropolitan Museum of Art. I keep going to the Met for exhibits and then fucking around visiting this or that of my favorite places (arms and armor; the Egyptian Wing; the rooms of furniture). I want to spend like three-to-four hours a day, making sure to take my time and not to get too burnt out with museum fatigue, over a few days, to really take it all in. New York and DC are the places to go for museums, and I need to absorb some of that before I peace out of here for a substantial portion of the next four years (at least).

Anything else I should consider? Let me know!
trinityvixen: (Default)
Everywhere I turn, people are trying to spoil The Avengers for me by telling me what to think of it. I don't want to know! So I'm going radio silent until this evening. I hope I make it to 8:30.

Most of the time, I like knowing what people thought going into a movie. I like to have a general feel about the thing and what to expect so I can modulate expectations. But when I'm reeeeeally excited, I need not to know that you thought it was "okay" or "pretty great" or "not so good" (NOTE: THOSE ARE NOT ACTUAL REVIEWS I'VE SEEN FOR THE AVENGERS. I MADE THOSE UP. I WILL NOT SPOIL YOU IF YOU DO NOT SPOIL ME.) I've gone into two movies in my recent life not knowing what to expect, like, at all: Inception and Cabin in the Woods. Both benefited immensely from that, Cabin in the Woods perhaps more so. In a world where everything is known before you get to the theater, thanks to trailers and gossip sites, it's a rare privilege to enjoy things almost without knowing what to expect, you know?

So, yes, text me if you need something, or e-mail, but I'm going to read boring political blogs until I leave work because I cannot read Twitter or any of my usual sites for the rest of the day.

Hilarious

Mar. 30th, 2012 06:03 pm
trinityvixen: (blogging from work)
I have never bought a lottery ticket in my life. I have gotten (but never purchased myself) scratch-off cards, which are a hoot, especially the crossword-style ones. Someone just came around to collect $1 for people to buy into what promises to be a disgusting payout in some lottery game. I pitched in. Why not? Solidarity. Plus, as I told the woman collecting, I've already spent about $6 on sodas I can't drink for class. When I told that my project was swabbing cans of soda from various vendors to check what microbes are growing on them, she made the same face that, well, just about everyone has since I started telling people about this project.

I also learned there's a west coast-east coast difference in drinking soda, whereby east coasters all use straws and west coasters don't. Anyone want to verify that? I know I drink with straws, but that's for a variety of practical and stupid reasons (I can get at every last drop of soda that way; it doesn't stain my teeth as badly; I don't have to put my mouth on the dirty fucking can; I just like straws, etc. etc.) I didn't used to growing up, from what I can remember. Although, there was that time a family friend's daughter scared the crap out of me and told me to never drink dark sodas or to look in the can before drinking first because one time this friend she knew drank a soda and there was a bee in it and she got stung in the mouth and and and...

I was a very gullible kid. Of course, I believed every word of this. To this day, I don't eat hamburgers at any fast food joints because my brother scared me off of them as a kid by saying that they spat on their hands when they made the patties at McDonald's and that old rats were ground into the meat. I always ate chicken after that. (He tried to scare me off that, too, by saying chicken nuggets were rat heads, but at that point my hunger overtook my caution, and I had to eat something.) I realize now that a) McDonald's doesn't make its own patties and b) there are probably worse things in them than rats, but it's something that's stuck.

Wow, that was a whole post about nothing. Have a good weekend everybody!
trinityvixen: (question)
Last night as we were hanging out, working on getting her wedding invitations finished, Ms. Beans shows me a clip online of the stars of Prince of Persia...all trying to spell Jake Gyllenhaal's name. (Only Gemma Arterton did it. Man, is she cute.) This came after the interviewer asked him to pronounce it for the record, and he (jokingly, I believe, but it's hard to tell) said something that had about fourteen extra syllables than you'd think it could possibly have at the most.

I scoffed, perhaps a little too mightily, and Ms. Beans was like "WTF mate?" I have this...thing. It's hard to explain the whys/wherefores, but basically watching interviews with celebrities makes me cringe and blush so hard with embarrassment I have to go away. Immediately. Sometimes--only sometimes--I can make it through the clip. If it's on a show like The Daily Show, where Jon Stewart makes sure his guests are aware and honest about the ridiculousness of their own celebrity and how much whoredom goes with it, I can--sometimes--watch. But I can't otherwise. Read an interview? Sure. But something about watching these people hock themselves (because that is what they're doing) makes me extremely uncomfortable.

Ms. Beans gave me the biggest, least amused o.O face to my reaction to the clip, and then I just started shrieking a bit (like I do when I'm excited in any fashion) about how stupid! it! is! And I can't! stand! celebrities! thinking! they're! funny! What a waste of time! ::HYPERVENTILATES:: She asked me if I never watched special features. And you know what? I almost never do. I will watch features on special effects where they talk to people who do serious engineering work, but watching actors talk drives me batty. You guys, am I a total freak-bag or what?

And on that note, I leave you all for the weekend. I love leaving people with a good impression of me!
trinityvixen: (kitty what?)
This is why Trinity does not do body-mod. )

I woke up still in a panic. Not cool, subconscious.

In other news, I saw two things this weekend: the pilot for White Collar and Drag Me to Hell. I enjoyed White Collar, though I'm simultaneously a tad bored by it, if that makes sense? It's very much one more of USA's formula works, with the bickering leads and the supporting characters along with a mystery to string you along for a season. I did like the episode, but I suspect a lot of that has to do with Matt Bomer's beautiful eyes. Well, that, and his incredible ability to be very vulnerable. He's less cocky than most of USA's other "characters," which is odd given the premise of his character. But there's a real defeat to him that is charming and heart-breaking at the same time. I don't know how well that works with his character being a master criminal and all. I'm definitely interested it watching more, but they're going to have to work very hard on improving or at least balancing the tone. But cheers to Matt Bomer's baby blues. I never noticed they were so disarmingly clear on Chuck, but that's probably because up until the end of season two, I kinda hated Bryce Larkin.

Curiously, a problem of tone was what kept me from liking Drag Me to Hell. I come down on the Army of Darkness side of horror-Raimi (as opposed to Evil Dead II), mostly because I think Raimi's strength is in humor. His attempts to be genuinely scary without being somewhat (or entirely) silly are just not that impressive to me. Drag Me to Hell wanted to be gross and funny at the same time, but the timing was off. Gross-outs went on too long, were far too staged to be anything but stomach-churning turn-offs. (Yes, there are stomach-churning turn-ons, and, yes, it is possible to tell the difference.) Usually, when something is dragged out, it becomes ridiculous. The problem with the gross-outs in Drag Me to Hell is that the set-ups were so ludicrous that they were, themselves, the joke, not the fifteen extra seconds of gratuitous fluids being projectile-vomited into the heroine's mouth. That's another problem: repetition of the exact same gross-out gag. I just didn't find the balance between the funny and the not-so to be as finely tuned as Raimi's earlier horror work. It probably doesn't help that the film opened with a child being taken to Hell--little hard to laugh at that--and that I'd seen Paranormal Activity before this which had a similar bent but was genuinely scary (which made the humor all the better, since no one laughs louder than someone who is freaked out).

Worse, Drag Me to Hell was utterly predictable. I don't hold that against horror movies, generally speaking--there are only so many ways the horror can go: the heroine (it is almost always a woman at the center) wins; the heroine loses; or the heroine thinks she's won but the ghost/monster/undead slasher comes back at the very end. Options are a luxury horror doesn't tend to have, you know? What I resent is how telegraphed those endings are. [livejournal.com profile] feiran had seen the movie before, and she spotted the ending a mile off compared to me, but I still felt like I knew far too soon how it would play out. I knew the exact twist, knew the exact steps it would take to get there. Everything that wasn't on that agenda felt like extraneous noise and Raimi trying to reclaim some former glory. It's one thing to go, "Oh, this is an ending C movie (heroine thinks she's won, but...)" and watch anyway. It's another to go, "I bet she does X which leads to a scene where Y happens, and then there's a fake happy ending for Z-length of time, and then it's a C ending." That's how I felt about Drag Me to Hell. Very disappointing, on the whole.

Oh dear

Nov. 11th, 2008 08:23 pm
trinityvixen: (epic fail)
I seemed to have stepped in it with folk earlier today on several levels. I sorta joked it off, but it's bugging me, which means I'm still being an asshole and I know it. So, I do apologize for anyone's hurt feelings. Nothing was meant as a personal attack, but where it came off as such, again, I apologize. I shall work better at not letting my generalizations get away from me to the point of being insulting.

In future, perhaps, I should wait until I'm less pissed off by things I'm writing about to, you know, write about them.
trinityvixen: (ivy what?)
I watched Across the Universe yesterday. It was decent. The story was a non-issue; it was merely a vehicle to excuse people singing Beatles tunes. I found myself bored when they weren't singing, but the singing was pretty good. I still think they cheated by getting Bono to do a couple of songs, but the actors/actresses were otherwise pleasant to listen to. A tad studied, perhaps, but all crystal in their own way.

The entire movie had about as much coherence as an acid trip. Or so I thought until there actually was an acid trip sequence and then I discovered how creepy that could get. (Thanks, Eddie Izzard, I may never sleep again.) I was telling [livejournal.com profile] feiran and [livejournal.com profile] darkling1 that it was a shame the writers had the entire Beatles catalogue at their disposal and they couldn't come up with a coherent story. I immediately retracted the statement when I recalled that a movie that felt like one long drug high is probably exactly what the Fab Four's music was meant to narrate.

I texted my sister after watching since I remembered she'd loved it, shared the same feelings with her, to which she replied that she has it on good authority (aka her pot-head roommate) that the movie does improve when one is watching it high. Something to consider, I suppose, for those of you so inclined. (Me, not so much.)

Funnily enough, I dreamt about using pot last night. True to form, I then immediately spent the rest of the dream freaking out about how drug tests at jobs that I might want six months down the road could detect that I'd used. Also, all my friends were totally shocked that I was such a pothead. Especially a smoker, since I make the most terrible fuss whenever I'm around smokers. I'm sure the Partnership for a Drug-Free America would be pleased to know that I've completely internalized the paranoia about using drugs and how they'll mess me up to the point that my dreams read like a pamphlet of prevention.
trinityvixen: (cock)
Oh God, subconscious, WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY!?

I dreamt last night that my mother had gotten me the DVD for Tin Man for my birthday, and I had to sit there and smile and pretend it was great. Because my mom hears me talk about stuff and then rushes out to put more of it into my life (this is why I have Spider-Man towels, y'all).

The casing was bright golden yelllow, which I guess was the yellow brick road or something, but completely unlike any promotional material I'd seen for the miniseries. When I went, gamely, to open it to watch in front of the family (to prove that I REALLY LOVED MY PRESENT, MOMMY), I saw that the bottom half of the casing had been pried apart. The clear plastic packaging was ripped and the plastic DVD case was gaping open. The paper DVD case cover was ripped (man, I hate that), too. Long story short, no DVD left inside.

This lead to me having to find an excuse to return it, which I was still embarrassed to admit in front of my mother lest she think my returning the DVD for being, you know, missing meant I didn't still want it.

My neuroses, let me show you them.

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