Life On Mars-- Comparative Application

I've only just watched the first episode of "Life on Mars" (starring the lovely John Simm, of whom I think far too highly), and I have decided this: Being Sam Tyler is eerily similar to being depressed. If I had to put it vaguely, you feel lost and ill at ease. That is the feeling of depression, at least for me. And lest you think I am adding a little "drama", let me assure you--I am. But I was also diagnosed with depression this year, and feel I know just enough to let some little rants spill from my lips, with only a few eye-rolls in response. Just remember, as you are inevitably judging me, that I am being sincere.

Sam Tyler has a history. Sam Tyler has a past. But it's all muddled now--he can't fully comprehend his circumstances as they happen currently; he's dwelling on what logically should be, not what is. That is a feeling I am quite familiar with, and it is represented by a rather common thought that grazes my mind less and less frequently now: "Is something vastly wrong with me? Am I feeling what everybody else is feeling? Am I seeing what everyone else is seeing? Is this normal?" And I thought I was just being paranoid and insecure, not 'depressed'. Turns out it was a little bit of all of the above, and depression had more weight than I had previously thought--and less ridiculous moping over obviously painful circumstances. (It turns out it's not just a term girls throw around after their hunky boyfriends break up with them!) But for me, and this is perhaps odd, the thing that connected this comparison between this character and myself was the irritation and inexplicable intolerance for people who just wanted to help me.

The condition kind of made me give the world a cold shoulder; I had a foolishly self-absorbed and self-indulgent view of the universe. I thought I was absolutely alone, and that no person on this Earth could ever even comprehend a word that came from my mouth. It's confusing... I thought I was both brilliant and worthless. I had all the insight one could ever want (perhaps 'too much insight'), and yet nobody could understand. Sam Tyler feels this in a literal sense, because though he respects everyone he meets in this old decade to a certain degree, he feels they are incapable of genuinely understanding him. The real difference is he's right.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with a long-winded thesis about allusions and metaphors, and other clever things script writers potentially did and didn't do (intentionally and otherwise) because that really isn't my thing, and it really shouldn't be. And should I ever get the gall to presume you want to be reading my theories rather than my opinions, then I'll know I've turned into a real dick, and never work in this town again! (Yeah, you heard me.) As always, thank you for tuning in at the random intervals I know you do, and do enjoy the random intervals at which I post; because I've never actually nailed down that whole "scheduling" thing my successful friends mention during polite conversation of their many great endeavors. I'm thinking of improving that skill at some ironically undetermined time (don't hate me, but I am going to be a hypocrite and theorize that I won't ever get into the scheduling game, based on everything I have ever done ever). I may have just wasted a few minutes of your life, so thanks for that. You're a doll!

And everyone watch "Life on Mars"! I know I'm pretty far behind the times, just now getting into it, but there's bound to be somebody out there who hasn't seen it and SHOULD. Because everyone SHOULD. It seems pretty fucking fantastic. (And come on you guys... John Simm. It speaks for itself.)

YOU'RE WELCOME,

Emma Hurt

English Men of Letters

Let's Talk.

Dear reader, please do not be confused by the blog's face-lift. It was a much needed change in my life, and I am pleased it has moved on (and become so very pretty!). In my efforts to be sensitive to you, I have kept the color scheme minimal, and only slightly different. So yeah, YOU'RE WELCOME.

How have you been? It's been so long, I feel--too long, in fact! How's the wife? The kids? That obnoxious aunt who keeps sending you ghastly fruitcake at odd times of year that aren't Christmas? What was that? You don't have a wife? Well, what the hell happened to her?! Never mind that. There's no time! I have to go laugh in the face of my peers in but a half an hour, and I am still wearing large, flannel pants! Today is picture day at Sheldon D. High School, which I will not be participating in, because I am pursuing other educational endeavors. But you don't care about that, and (as I said before) there's no time. I must depart. But before I do, I wish to issue a genuine 'thank you' for taking the time out of your precious and undoubtedly busy schedule and wasting it on this post. Once again, YOU'RE WELCOME.

Love, Emma

THE ONLY WATER IN THE FOREST IS THE RIVER

Consistency of font is so beneath me... I see this now.

So, dear reader, how have you been in the past few months (also known as "the space of time where I blatantly did not care to talk at you")? Please tell me you weren't actually planning on answering that question... I really don't care. Go tell a therapist about your broken nail, or essay you have to write, or that pesky boy that has yet to return that beguiling text you sent. It's really not my problem.
What's that? You're leaving my blog? Of course I am yanking your chains, Reader! Please stay-- here, have a cookie. It's no trouble, really. It's on the house.

So now that you are satisfied with your imaginary cookie, I will blather on a bit about the going-ons of my life (which now revolves completely around 'Doctor Who', my dear friend Alysa, and the first boy to tolerate me, Dylan). "What's that?" you say, "Emma is talking about a boy... and toleration! What kind of shenanigans has that girl got herself into now?!" Well, patience, Reader. You will find out all about this mysterious 'Dylan' character-- if that IS his REAL name!!!! (It is.)
Dylan Jazz Pompel is my significant other. And he is glorious. So there, everyone. SUCK IT.
Alright, enough of that vulgar nonsense.

So... I have a few theories about the tomfoolery of DW these days. I'm not going to share them, of course, but I will say this on the subject: While perusing 'The Brilliant Book of Doctor Who (2011)" I found a particular sentence--potentially fabricated by the Dream Lord--that really stuck out for me. And that is: "THE ONLY WATER IN THE FOREST IS THE RIVER." For those of you who are a tad behind, the quote was uttered fairly recently by our favorite sexy lady, the T.A.R.D.I.S.! Whether or not this statement alludes to Dr. River Song (who slowly is becoming a more agreeable character for me) I remain unsure. Mainly because, if it were, it wouldn't make any damn sense! Ah, well... our dear Moffatt will sort it out.
By the way, I would like to issue a rather trivial apology to the scattered readers that don't care about and/or dislike 'Doctor Who.' You guys will have to suck it up. The Doctor's back, baby!

You know who else is back? I am. So you guys'll just need to bite the bullet, and return regularly to this url. Because I'll tell you something: it fills my heart with sunshine, rhythms of four, and Milano cookies when you do! And seriously, who other than The Master dislikes quarter notes?

Posted with love, Emma.

"Doctor Who" © BBC

Emma/Stan Goes Off On ANOTHER Tangent

Alright. Here we go.

I find the courier font to easily be the biggest and best. It makes me feel fancy. Like, for example, picture a typewriter in your mind. Now picture me typing on it. Now, if you could, picture these words coming out of said typewriter. You don't have to use much of your imagination on that last image, because this font is (pardon my French talk) fucking awesome. Yes, I feel ever-so eloquent today.

Currently, I am writing a story, but it appears to be going no where. Why, you may ask? First of all, if you have to ask, you are not much of a writer (or, you are an impossibly good one). Writer's block is a viable answer to your questioning from one sentence ago. Another very possible reason as to my hesitation is that my vision simply refuses to play out. I am rushing the things I shouldn't, and paying far too much attention to pointless dialogue. So I will be re-writing all sixteen pages onto my blog. At some point. Because today I am unmotivated.

Love, Emma (aka "Stan", as of this afternoon... thank you, Willow)

As Handy With A Computer As An Amish Person

As you can probably tell from the random glitches in my posts, I am not a master of technology. It's not something I am particularly good at. In fact, I am in the midst of a battle with a keyboard right at this moment! I am losing, for the record. And I am not a good loser. I am a sore loser. You know who else is a sore loser? This guy:
Man, I hope I don't get bad karma for posting things like that. Weeping Angels terrify me (as you already know).
Anyway, back to my struggles with being a technologically impaired individual (or as my Grandy worded, a "Techno-tard"). It is imperative in this day and age I know how to function a computer, I see this now. However, is it really necessary that I have the ability to hack websites, make gif. images, or change the font on my blog? Because that seems a bit excessive. Times font has never steered me in any wrong direction. Ever.
So I guess that was me coming to terms with my awkwardness. You should all congratulate me on my progress.
On an unrelated note, there is a band I want you all to like. Right now.
Silversun Pickups. They are fantastic and glorious and all things I enjoy. Since you are all obviously trying to be me (that was a joke) you have to enjoy their work. Right now. As I have said before. Here's some information about them:
The band comprises lead vocalist and guitarist Brian Aubert, vocalist and bassist Nikki Monninger, drummer Christopher Guanlao and keyboardist Joe Lester.
And they are awesome.
That's all you NEED to know... when have I ever given you deep and insightful knowledge about anyone other than myself anyway?
To continue this theme of "Emma is the coolest person ever--or at least, believes she is" here is my favorite song by this group currently:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2YiUXl0TwR8

ENJOY. I LOVE YOU. RIGHT NOW.


PS-- Not all hope is lost! I successfully posted a link just there!

Random Excerpt From A Story In My Head...Part 1

So, when my brain is otherwise engaged in things that aren't my school work, this happens. Random bits and bobs of stories. But if I actually finished one it might be nice. Just type whatever comes to my mind and bits and bob's your uncle!
So... here's a random excerpt from a story in my head.

Random Excerpt From A Story In My Head

“Cut the racket,” Jim said to me, “Quit your pretentious babbling and work like the rest of us.” For all of two seconds I thought he might have been serious, but then I remembered he was Jim—Jim was never serious. Sure enough, he soon broke into a grin he’d obviously been trying to suppress. “C’mon, Regina, like I don’t want to hear you talk politics. Everyone loves to hear you talk politics!” He yelled sarcastically, laughing.
“Well, I’m sorry you don’t care about our nation’s government, Jim, I really am,” I parried easily, “But some of us might be bothered by national collapse! When America reaches its ultimate downfall, I’d at least like to know why.”
“I care! Of course I do. I just don’t think I can take anymore of you talking about it is all… you’re so unbelievably biased.”
“I—I…Alright, I am. But I’m also right.”
“Oh, always,” he snickered, “You’ve never been wrong.”
“I don’t like your tone, sir!”
“I don’t like that we aren’t playing yet!” Tom interjected.
“Then do something about it.” I challenged, squinting at him.
“I think I will!” He turned the volume up on his amp and began plucking a G note on his bass. It sounded moderately feeble and delicate without the accompaniment of drums and guitar. Jim and I instantly started laughing. “What? What?!”
“Nothing, Tom.”
“What?”
“Let’s just play the song.” As I said it, I slammed my foot down on the kick drum.
“Keep doing that,” Jim directed suddenly, “I have an idea.”

EL FIN.

So... just thought I would share that with you, just in case all the school-related posts were getting on your nerves.

Mr. Jeff...

When was the last time you wrote to your favorite English teacher? For me, it was about a week ago, when my friend Danielle helped me compose a letter to the ultimate teacher-in-training, Mr. Martin. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it. Then again, maybe I don't... it's so humorous it's hazardous.

Mr. Jeff,

How are you doing? I am fine. Just dreading the end of English class, which is approaching quicker than I would like. In reality, I would like that day to never approach, but that is an unrealistic expectation. Danielle is messing with my stuff. And by stuff I mean this paper. It is borderline infuriating. (That was an exaggeration. In actuality I found it humorous.) Now she is giving me a look that says, “You had better not be writing about me.” Well, sorry Danielle.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… Well while she is in a time out for talking about me I will talk to you. Never mind I have to work.

I am no longer in time-out. Huzzah! Oh wait, I’m supposed to attempt relevance this time. So… nice weather we’re having today, right? I don’t actually know; I wrote this previous to the current date. If you think about it, this letter is a time-traveler! Then again… aren’t we all? Never mind, I guess I’ve been watching too many episodes of ‘Doctor Who’. Man, I am horrible at small-talk. This is not something I should list on my résumé.

New paragraph which is slightly better than the previous two! Second sentence! So, I couldn’t help but notice that your CD is completely awesome. I just thought you should know that, you know, in case nobody’s ever told you before (which is unlikely). The third track is completely brilliant, by the way. I guess that’s why you named the album after it. But I don’t want you to get a big head, so I shall cease my flattery.

I am positive that you have noticed how many short sentences are in this paper. I apologize for this, but I am afraid that I am not completely immersed in writing this at the moment. There are just some distracting things involving a certain noun hitting the fan. Nothing too drastic. Mostly school-related. Another burst of fragmented sentences. None of them really for dramatic effect. Oh well, I trust you won’t be grading this, because that would probably make you a nazi. Like your driving instructor.

What are you talking about?

Nazis. So you know; the usual.

That’s not weird at all.

Not in Germany, it’s not! In fact, from my personal experience, Germans are typically over-apologetic about that whole thing. Which is good, I suppose, but awkward when you have no reason to bring it up. Plus, it’s not as though all of modern Germany is responsible for what happened in the 1930’s! Oops… rambling again.

Stop this insanity at once!

No need to be so aggressive, Danielle. Cool your jets.

Sorry but I do not have jets.

…touché.

No, no I win.

…That’s what touché means.

No it means a draw………………………………………………………………

*googles definition/origin* “to commend someone on a clever response to an argument.”

Touché

I commend your “touché”, Danielle. In fact, I touché it. So, we are French experts now, non?

Pas de touché……. Say, Mr. Martin do you know what “Fits my life to a tee” means?

--Because we do. Our technology teacher is unclear on the meaning of “to a tee”, but we are aware of its definition.

Alright, the substitute keeps giving me puzzled looks for not working on anything applicable to this class, so perhaps I should go. Well, we should go. Thank you for existing, and reading our random letters… and answering our extraneous questions!

I bid thee adieu.

~Emma Percival Wulfric Brian Hurt (Fictional pseudonym)

(Dumbledore's middle names)

Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling

I find it silly that I have to copyright the footnote references.