<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932</id><updated>2012-02-16T09:55:23.749-08:00</updated><category term='richard feynmanbooksreading&#xD;mary kingsley&#xA;mary frithrobert pearyfunnyfungenghis khan&#x9;explorers'/><category term='egon schiele'/><category term='dystopia'/><category term='naps'/><category term='banksy'/><category term='disney'/><category term='movies'/><category term='shenai'/><category term='remember when'/><category term='conspiracy'/><category term='mormon'/><category term='Proposition 8'/><category term='Kees van Dongen'/><category term='snake'/><category term='christmas'/><category term='college'/><category term='Lina Lamont'/><category term='government'/><category term='utah arts festival'/><category term='art'/><category term='india'/><category term='left 4 dead'/><category term='alien'/><category term='Salt Lake City'/><category term='shane koyczan'/><category term='art history'/><category term='summer'/><category term='nightmare on elmstreet'/><category term='Jaws'/><category term='james bond'/><category term='telemarketing funnies'/><category term='twitter'/><category term='smoking'/><category term='zombie'/><category term='insurance'/><category term='religion'/><category term='poetry'/><category term='Pride in Utah'/><category term='oddjob'/><category term='LGBT'/><category term='race'/><category term='pulp fiction'/><category term='inglorious basterds'/><category term='exit through the gift shop'/><category term='gone with the wind'/><title type='text'>Random Blips</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>81</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3678149774394818681</id><published>2011-06-26T22:15:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-26T22:15:52.010-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='utah arts festival'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Salt Lake City'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art history'/><title type='text'>Utah Arts Festival... what the fuck.</title><content type='html'>Capitalism. That is the operative word here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best way I can describe this event is a favela of washed up night class proteges showing off their pastel “masterpieces” with the hopes of having their work hung over the basement toilet of some blind 90-year-old patron.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salt Lake City has an incredible underground art scene (Most likely because of the dominant Mormon culture.). So why are none of these young artists at the Art Festival?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I asked around and apparently the renting space will cost an arm, leg, torso, and your first born child. There must be a financially plausible way to promote the works of young artists instead of these aspiring guest-room flesh bags. It seems as though a lot of the young artists would like the chance to SHOW their work, not sell, but SHOW. By just having art for show, you get that thought of, “Would I hang this in my house?” out of your head. Instead you would have a public forum creating discourse based on works of art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I’m sorry, but the only thing resulting from an 8 x 11 carbon copy of mid-Utah landscapes is an afternoon of mourning for the young. Which makes me wonder… was this what befell the merchant class of Flanders/Holland? In an environment dominated by a large middle class with the ability to spend money on art, I would not be surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not get me entirely wrong, there were a couple of artists that had something worth looking at. But if this Art Festival is to be a representation of Utah’s art… it’s as sad and fucked up as Utah’s politics.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3678149774394818681?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3678149774394818681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/utah-arts-festival-what-fuck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3678149774394818681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3678149774394818681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/utah-arts-festival-what-fuck.html' title='Utah Arts Festival... what the fuck.'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3692275045297790492</id><published>2011-06-16T13:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-16T13:39:20.298-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='banksy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='movies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exit through the gift shop'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art history'/><title type='text'>A Bit of Irony</title><content type='html'>I just finished watching&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt; Exit Through the Gift Shop&lt;/span&gt; and it made me remember a few things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Firstly, I now know why almost everyone I meet asks me if i’ve seen this film once they discover that I’m an Art History major.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, I remember how a friend of mine ranted to me about how she believed Banksy had sold out by having an art show and selling his items. I would like to respond to this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My impression of Street Art was its limited life span. It is an image/text seen by the public soon to be removed by an institution. Banksy claimed himself that he realized his art was about the experience of people viewing it. With this idea in mind, what better than to have a show of his work? The gallery was an exhibition of the people itself and their particular experience being in that atmosphere under pre-fabricated notions. The atmosphere became a designated institution legally organized and no longer opposing the other authoritative institution (police/government). In this respect, the opposition became the public themselves. What appears to be the original intentions of Street Art was to create something for the public while at the same time defying an institution. The gallery turned everything into capitalism. It zeroed in on the human necessity to categorize and collect. Is that not also an experience of public behavior in relation to the art?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In all honesty, I believe Banksy hasn’t sold out though he may reap from the benefits. He, as a Street Artist, turned public fascination against them. Instead of BEING in that place and EXPERIENCING the art they became possessive of it. They became a part of a collective institution more terrifying and abominable than the authoritative institution. The “public institution” is now melded to the gallery to create a type of public art viewable to those who step back and see everything as a whole.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3692275045297790492?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3692275045297790492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/bit-of-irony.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3692275045297790492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3692275045297790492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/bit-of-irony.html' title='A Bit of Irony'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6733474079005527622</id><published>2011-06-06T23:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-06T23:54:11.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Indulge Me</title><content type='html'>Stolen from Autuh. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you mad at anyone right now?&lt;br /&gt;Negative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the last person you took a picture with?&lt;br /&gt;My sister and little brother at the PRIDE festival.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you wearing a ring, if so who gave it to you?&lt;br /&gt;No rings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like the dentist?&lt;br /&gt;Not entirely. I like dentist goody bags, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have trust issues?&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is bothering you?&lt;br /&gt;Not hearing back from the study abroad people, not having a job, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it okay for someone you’re dating to date someone else?&lt;br /&gt;Nope. And I wouldn't do it either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the newest addition to your wardrobe?&lt;br /&gt;A little button I got at PRIDE that says, "Fund Education, NOT occupation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What color shirt were you wearing when you had your last kiss?&lt;br /&gt;Whiiiite....???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will your ex read this?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does it bother you when people respond to a text with one word?&lt;br /&gt;Some times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who do you have texts from in your inbox today?&lt;br /&gt;Autumn, Twitter, Eric, Schwester, Steven, and Mummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you listening to?&lt;br /&gt;x-files!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you wearing?&lt;br /&gt;White shirt that is promoting some kind of Mexican alcohol, black zip-up hoody, and grey sweatpants... like a boss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have someone who is protective of you?&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who’s the last person you facebook IMed?&lt;br /&gt;AUTUMN!!! We were talking about awesome things until my internet decided to hate me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s 1 in the morning and you get a text message, who is it?&lt;br /&gt;Probably my sister or Autumn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever kissed someone whose name started with a C?&lt;br /&gt;Many times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did anyone see you kiss the last person you kissed?&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What’d your first text of the day say?&lt;br /&gt;Opening of S4:E10- the wonders of laser pen technology!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like who you are?&lt;br /&gt;Progress progress progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you hate it when people try to play with your hair?&lt;br /&gt;Eh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you ever get a tattoo?&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you sober?&lt;br /&gt;Yup... this weekend did a number on my liver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there anyone you trust 100%?&lt;br /&gt;Yes and no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever fallen asleep with the last person you kissed?&lt;br /&gt;Yup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is the person you last texted single?&lt;br /&gt;Yup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What color is your favorite bra?&lt;br /&gt;bra?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever been used?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you think of red lipstick?&lt;br /&gt;My first thought is of my mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever leave the house without make up?&lt;br /&gt;Every gods damn day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is your natural hair color?&lt;br /&gt;Here's the thing... it's switched back and forth between brown, red, and blonde my whole life. I'm Neapolitan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has anyone ever sung to you?&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you spent the night at someone else’s place?&lt;br /&gt;Well... that would be my whole living right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was that someone of the same or opposite sex?&lt;br /&gt;Opposite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you feel like anyone is playing mind games with you right now?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You’re thinking about someone, aren’t you?&lt;br /&gt;Ja. Myself... trying to answer these questions... haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Describe your last disappointment:&lt;br /&gt;Not having a photograph of myself hugging Roseanne fucking Barr!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which do you think is a gesture of true love: fighting for somebody or letting them go?&lt;br /&gt;Fighting... perhaps?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are/were you doing at twelve this afternoon?&lt;br /&gt;I was on the porch reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you had to be a teacher, what subject would you be able to teach best?&lt;br /&gt;ART HISTORY, MOTHER FUCKERS!!! Then probably European or American History.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever bite your lip?&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you feel about Diet Dr Pepper?&lt;br /&gt;Mas o menos. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you wearing a necklace?&lt;br /&gt;Negative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you like to sleep?&lt;br /&gt;Yeeeees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the closest thing to you that is blue?&lt;br /&gt;Book on Baroque Art.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you listen to music when you’re down?&lt;br /&gt;when i'm up, down, right, left, centered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you want to see somebody right now?&lt;br /&gt;Yes... AUTUH!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will you be in a relationship any time soon?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you cry easily?&lt;br /&gt;Nope... unless i'm listening to or watching an opera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are you looking forward to in the next three months?&lt;br /&gt;Autumn's 21st.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Has any one said they love you in the last week?&lt;br /&gt;Yup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever thrown your cell phone in anger?&lt;br /&gt;Oh ja. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you act differently around the person you like?&lt;br /&gt;Don't like anyone right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever kissed someone with tattoos?&lt;br /&gt;Yup.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the first person to text you on your birthday?&lt;br /&gt;Eh... SCHWESTER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you tired?&lt;br /&gt;Not entirely. I'm sore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think things will change in the next few months?&lt;br /&gt;I hope so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What were you doing at 1 AM this morning?&lt;br /&gt;Watching x-files. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you have an older brother? &lt;br /&gt;Ja!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there anyone you can go to when you need help?&lt;br /&gt;Oui.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will your next kiss be a mistake?&lt;br /&gt;Vielleicht. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you physically hurt the last person you kissed?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think you can last in a relationship for 6 months or more?&lt;br /&gt;You never know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever been called baby?&lt;br /&gt;Yup. Not, "a baby" but "Baby."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you a loud person?&lt;br /&gt;Depends on who I am with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you ticklish?&lt;br /&gt;Nope.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6733474079005527622?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6733474079005527622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/indulge-me.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6733474079005527622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6733474079005527622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/06/indulge-me.html' title='Indulge Me'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-590654077807635705</id><published>2011-05-30T02:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-30T02:24:55.380-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art history'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>In much of my research as an Art History major, a key part in analyzing a work of art is to look at where the art was produced and what the artist was exposed to. In the 21st century we see an explosion of media where everyone-respectively- is exposed to everything thanks to the internet. An artist can receive inspiration from any artist past and present within the limits of popularity. Rare combinations such as an Egon Schiele with a Rubins or a Duerer may be found. These kinds of combinations create certain difficulties when classifying what qualities define post-Internet art. Perhaps this variety in art is what will classify this era. Contemporary artists utliize the internet to see different types of art, all kinds of land forms, and other structures otherwise denied them. Perhaps in the future, artists will resort back to nature and the world around them instead of searching for tools beyond their immediate reach. Art, like history, repeats itself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Observations of the world are formulated into puzzle pieces. And those puzzle pieces combine to create a whole that may seem original. So, the originality of any work of art is simply a copy of different things, but seen in an entirely alternate way from predecessors. Though these influences may not be so obvious as a work by Raphael, they are copies all the same. The Internet is now a primary device in creating puzzle pieces to be put together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems to me that the mentality of the young adults of our age search for something greater then what is around them. The Internet acts as a portal into other territories that will create hybrids of everything from African tribal art to Tibetan sand drawings. Why is it that this generation believes, unconsciously or consciously, that what is far away is greater than what is in front of them? I suppose it could be the appeal of the unknown and the Internet as a tool for exploration in a world where all of the white spots of the map are allegedly filled. Art too takes part in this exploration. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the future, when all of our eyes are stuck to screens, someone will look up and begin to draw what is around them. Perhaps they will begin to deny the foreign and settle with the familiar and find it to be beautiful. Though these are general accusations, I do believe that everyone to some extent searches for the unknown. If they didn't, there would be no desire to stick with the familiar. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What i've said may be false, and they may apply to someone. They are just thoughts. Seeing as how I am writing this for the Internet and for the people on the Internet, shows that I am seeking for viewership outside of my own head and immediate contacts. In the hopes that something will come of it whether that something gets back to me or not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-590654077807635705?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/590654077807635705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/05/in-much-of-my-research-as-art-history.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/590654077807635705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/590654077807635705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/05/in-much-of-my-research-as-art-history.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3531148444422916306</id><published>2011-05-12T12:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T13:35:22.223-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='richard feynmanbooksreading&#xD;mary kingsley&#xA;mary frithrobert pearyfunnyfungenghis khan&#x9;explorers'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today I read about: Mary Frith (Moll Cutpurse), Richard Feynman, Genghis Khan, Robert E. Peary, and Mary Kingsley.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mary Frith (1584-1659) is a woman who lived in London and eventually became the leader of the Thames underworld. There seemed to be nothing about her that suggested Old English decorum. She dressed, talked, and lived as a man, but continually referred to herself as a woman. Basically, going by the name Moll Cutpurse, she was England's most famous cross-dresser before Eddie Izzard. She would hang out in streets with a pipe between her teeth playing the lyre and singing songs or telling stories. She was BIIIG into Bear Gardens, so much that she raised her own Mastiffs for fighting and took care of them as if they were her children. Apparently she requested to be buried with her nose in the coffin saying, "as I have in my Life been preposterous, so I may be in my Death." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Richard Feynman(1918-1988) is one of those bad-at-school-genius types. Feynman to Physics is like Raphael to Italian Renaissance. He took the work of others and simplified it to an understandable level of grace. He achieved perfect scores in Math and Science for the Princeton entrance exam (never before done then or since) and he was involved with the Manhattan Project, but was bored to death so he left. He became a teacher and absolutely loved it, and also taught himself the bongos and to read Mayan hieroglyphics. He was the type to never do anything that would bore him. His last words were, "I'd hate to die twice. It's so boring."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Genghis Khan (about 1162-1227) is a well known figure, but what I read about him today focused on the details of his early life and how he was able to create the Mongolian Empire. It went into detail about Mongol military tactics and their laws concerning captives and pillaging. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Robert E. Peary or "the man who claimed he found the north pole" (1856-1920) was a Freudian headcase. Being deeply... deeply... attached to his mother and having no father, his ventures seemed to lead back to proving something to a father (the world) he never had. He was so close to his mother, that she even went on his HONEYMOON. Whaaaat? Anyway, he spent majority of his time in Greenland and even took to a fourteen year old Inuit who had two sons by him. He abandoned them. He never bothered to learn the language or any of the cultural customs. By the time his final expedition rolled around, only 5 people made it the length of the journey he was willing to go. As his travel log progresses, the page that should have marked the day he arrived at the North Pole was empty... or simply very vague. He later added a little leaf to assert the validity of his travels. Riiight. The guy died with only two toes (the rest were frost-bitten off). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mary Kingsley (1862-1900) is a Victorian explorer who never acclimated her dress for the environment. She was self-taught and driven to explore western Africa. And she did. PLUS she never changed out of her black silk Victorian dress. There are stories of her bashing in a crocodile with a paddle as it jumped on her canoe, whacking a frying pan over the head of a leopard, and having a surprisingly open mind to tribal polygamy and cannibalism (whether she participated is unknown). But she kept a positive eye to every encounter she had with every tribe. She died alone of Typhoid. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These were some cool people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3531148444422916306?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3531148444422916306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/05/today-i-read-about-mary-frith-moll.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3531148444422916306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3531148444422916306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/05/today-i-read-about-mary-frith-moll.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3619503730637416159</id><published>2011-04-22T10:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-22T11:18:43.094-07:00</updated><title type='text'>because I can</title><content type='html'>Stolen from Cacawrawr. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. What's your weirdest skill?&lt;br /&gt;Repertoire for torture devices. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. We all know the Muppets are awesome. But who is the BEST Muppet of all?&lt;br /&gt;Sam the Eagle. He's too badass for words. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. What's your favorite word?&lt;br /&gt;Fork.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. New music is nice, but what's a classic song for you?&lt;br /&gt;Probably anything by the Beatles I will consider "classic."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. If you had a daemon like in His Dark Materials, what form would it take?&lt;br /&gt;Soy confuso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. What's the most frustrating video game minigame you've ever played?&lt;br /&gt;Video game... mini game... video game... mini game... &lt;br /&gt;Frustrating... i'm going to say... L4D, "Blood Harvest" on expert. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Be honest, even on these hard-hitters: favorite kind of sandwich?&lt;br /&gt;Grilled Cheese. OR... roast beef something something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. What was favorite book when you were in second grade?&lt;br /&gt;2nd grade. Probably, "To Kill a Mockingbird."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. On the subject of second grade ... what was your biggest childhood fear?&lt;br /&gt;Demonic possession. Now I know that you have to believe in a God to believe in demons. I think i'm pretty safe now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Who is a book character you'd just like to punch?&lt;br /&gt;The villainess in, "East of Eden." I... HATE... her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Do you have a favorite old beaten-down item of clothing?&lt;br /&gt;Backpack I used from 7th-12th grade. I know it's not clothing, but it might as well be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Have you ever studied another language? If yes, which one--and why did you pick that one? If not, which one would you learn and why?&lt;br /&gt;I studied Spanish for 4 years simply because I needed a language requirement.&lt;br /&gt;I studied French for 1 year, but transferred out because I didn't like the teacher.&lt;br /&gt;I studied Italian for 1 year because I thought it would be fun (and it was). Plus I love Opera, so Italian helps. &lt;br /&gt;I studied Latin for 1 year because I love art and art history, so it comes in handy.&lt;br /&gt;I have been studying German for over 3 years now because it's the best frakking language on the planet. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Is there something everyone else likes that you hate?&lt;br /&gt;Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog. I just don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Where's the coolest place you've ever traveled?&lt;br /&gt;Austria. Loved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. On the subject of difficult fruit, which pays off more: pomegranate, pineapple, or a surprise contender?&lt;br /&gt;Out of the choices, probably Pineapple. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. What is the absolute silliest thing on your iPod/in your music library right now?&lt;br /&gt;Soundtrack to Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Do you have any personal superstitions, rituals, or rules that, when not followed, make you nervous?&lt;br /&gt;Checking school email before school. I'm always nervous that I wont have class if I don't check my email beforehand. Then i'll show up to school and BLAH. Got up early for no reason. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18. Would you rather be a juggler or a contortionist?&lt;br /&gt;Contortionist. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. Do you sing in the shower? If so, what do you sing?&lt;br /&gt;I used to, showtunes and the blues. Now I don't because if I did the entire apartment complex would hear. I'm not that self-confident about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. Have you made anything you are exceptionally proud of?&lt;br /&gt;A couple drawings make me smile whenever I see them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Indiana Jones or Star Wars?&lt;br /&gt;I'm not answering this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. If you had to do one of these for two hours, which would you choose: watch a 50's B-movie or read a bodice-ripping romance?&lt;br /&gt;50's b-movie... as long as it's horror. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. What skill do you have that surprises people?&lt;br /&gt;I'm a fast runner when the circumstance calls for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. Is there anything you like that it seems nobody else likes?&lt;br /&gt;Opera. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. Tell me about your all-time favorite shirt.&lt;br /&gt;I don't really have one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. What was your favorite TV show when you were small?&lt;br /&gt;"Are You Afraid of the Dark?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. Polka dots or plaid?&lt;br /&gt;Plaid. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. It's been a long, crazy, busy day, but now you're home and you're tired and hungry. Do you sleep first, or eat first?&lt;br /&gt;Eat then sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. Who is your favorite comedian?&lt;br /&gt;Kathy Griffin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. After experiencing civilization, Tarzan, King of the Apes, has decided to stick around in the jungle, but has asked you what you think is the one thing from "civilization" he should take back with him. What do you say?&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to do anything to ruin his cool jungle tribe. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. What's your favorite kind of climate?&lt;br /&gt;Overcast... arid... or right after a storm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. They called you mad, but you'll show them all! If you were a mad scientist, what would your experiments be about?&lt;br /&gt;Eeeeehhhh... torture. O_O&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. Do you talk during movies?&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, usually to point out weird behind the scenes shit, or to just make fun of stuff. Not too often though. Depends on who I am with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. Who is your favorite cartoon character?&lt;br /&gt;Norbert from Angry Beavers... Timmy and his parents from Fairly Odd Parents. Squidward from Spongebob... i've got a few. Dib and Gaz from Invader Zim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. Tell me about your favorite TV show.&lt;br /&gt;As of late: Battlestar Galactica, X-Files, Deadwood, Freaks and Geeks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3619503730637416159?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3619503730637416159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/04/because-i-can.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3619503730637416159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3619503730637416159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/04/because-i-can.html' title='because I can'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2701881910385219037</id><published>2011-03-02T18:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-02T18:18:45.239-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Deutschland. Ein Wintermaerchen- Caput I excerpt</title><content type='html'>"Im traurigen Monat November war’s,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die Tage wurden trueber,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Der Wind riss von den Baeumen das Laub,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da reist ich nach Deutschland hinueber.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Und als ich an die Grenze kam,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da fuehlt ich an die Grenze kam,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Da fuehlt ich ein staerkeres Klopfen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In meiner Brust, ich glaube sogar&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Die Augen begunnen zu tropfen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Und als ich die deutsche Sprache vernahm, Da ward mir seltsam zumute;&lt;br /&gt;Ich meinte nicht anders, als ob das Herz. Recht angenehm verblute. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ein kleines Harfenmaedchen sang. Sie sang mit wahrem Gefuehle und falscher Stimme, doch ward ich sehr Geruehret von ihrem Spiele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sie sang von Liebe und Liebesgram, Aufopfrung und Wiederfinden, Dort oben, in jener besseren Welt, Wo alle Leiden schwinden.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sie sang vom irdischen Jammertal, von Freuden, die bald zerronnen, Vom Jenseits, wo die Seele schwelgt Verklaert in ew'gen Wonnen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sie sang das alte Entsagungslied, Das Eiapopeia vom Himmel, womit man einlullt, wenn es greint, Das Volk, den grossen Luemmel. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ich kenne die Weise, ich kenne den Text, ich kenn auch die Herren Verfasser; Ich weiss, sie tranken heimlich Wein und predigten oeffentlich Wasser. &lt;br /&gt;Ein neus Lied, ein besseres Lied. "&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2701881910385219037?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2701881910385219037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/03/deutschland-ein-wintermaerchen-caput-i.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2701881910385219037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2701881910385219037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/03/deutschland-ein-wintermaerchen-caput-i.html' title='Deutschland. Ein Wintermaerchen- Caput I excerpt'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-57926328423569288</id><published>2011-03-02T14:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-02T14:36:09.964-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Excuse me, I was just having a flashback</title><content type='html'>I just had a flashback. One of those weird ones. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember being in... 5th or 6th grade and one adult was having a conversation with another adult. I was right there in the conversation for some reason. What I remember the most is that I tried to insert my opinion and they both just stared at me with that "you're a child and you don't know anything" look. Then they went back to talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like this may have impacted me life somehow... I am almost 21... do you think I'm at that age when people will take my comments seriously? Am I there yet? I don't think so. I feel like people will still shake their heads and think, "she's so young, she doesn't know."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I don't, but being listened to by older people would be nice every now and then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-57926328423569288?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/57926328423569288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/03/excuse-me-i-was-just-having-flashback.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/57926328423569288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/57926328423569288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/03/excuse-me-i-was-just-having-flashback.html' title='Excuse me, I was just having a flashback'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1584641120705653705</id><published>2011-02-20T13:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-20T13:34:59.238-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Jaws'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pulp fiction'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='oddjob'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='james bond'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='inglorious basterds'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lina Lamont'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gone with the wind'/><title type='text'>How Gone with the Wind SHOULD have ended.</title><content type='html'>Created by Maddie and Eric:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prissy: "Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett, Miss Scarlett..." *SLAP*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scarlett: Time to meet the strap you whiny bitch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*whole cast runs in* Can we watch?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scarlett: Oh Rhett DO tie my brooch onto your belt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rhett: Why would I want to do a thing like that?&lt;br /&gt;Scarlett: So we may beat Prissy to a pulp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rhett: Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Scarlett whips out a revolver and shoots Rhett in the head.*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Scarlett shoots Rhett in the head... the rest of the company gets a little nervous... Sue-Ellen, India, and Ashley move towards the door to leave... Scarlett catches this and screams, "ANY OF YOU FUCKING PRICKS MOOOVE, AND I'LL EXECUTE EVERY MOTHER FUCKING LAST ONE OF YOU!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After they've settle down, she motions Prissy over to her. "You ever heard of the Bear Christian?" she asks. "Now you say something in a normal voice just once, or I'm calling the Bear Christian over." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prissy starts humming to herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey... Mammy!" yells Scarlett. "Got us a simpleton here who wants to die for stupidity, oBLIGE her!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A thud is heard from the kitchen... a pulse... it grows louder and louder and louder until... THE BEAR CHRISTIAN EMERGES!&lt;br /&gt;Mammy... holding a spatula in her hand walks towards Prissy's shriveled up figure casting it in shadow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She raises the spatula ready to strike when India makes a break for the door. Oddjob (who is now in Gone with the Wind) chucks his hat and decapitates India... much to Scarlett's delight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the confusion, Prissy manages to squirm away from the larger bulk of Mammy, she turns to run slams into the unmoveable girth of Jaws. The 7 ft tall man grabs both sides of Prissy's head, lifts her off the ground and gives her a big kiss. "Prissy, my darling angel... my love of the universe. Come back to Lina Lamont and myself. I swears honey, i's do much better this time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scarlett: FUCK THAT SHIT!&lt;br /&gt;*whips out her lightsaber and starts going apeshit on everyone*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cue melodious and dramatic Gone with the Wind music to cloud the screams of agony coming from the cast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1584641120705653705?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1584641120705653705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/how-gone-with-wind-should-have-ended.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1584641120705653705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1584641120705653705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/how-gone-with-wind-should-have-ended.html' title='How Gone with the Wind SHOULD have ended.'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7001652024033093113</id><published>2011-02-19T10:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-19T10:42:03.883-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Two... semi-weird looking gametes pair up. &lt;br /&gt;Produce a kind of, sort of, not really good looking diploid zygote.&lt;br /&gt;That zygote... goes out into the world. Let's call zygote, "gene" now. &lt;br /&gt;Gene goes out and finds another gene that is weird looking. Genes have hot gene sex. Produce little genes that are simply fucking ugly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the thing. I hate the fact that the ugliest people breed the most. (Not in all cases... but in most cases). Most of the people i'm talking about, have children and grandchildren that look like the products of incest. Hmmm... wait a minute...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7001652024033093113?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7001652024033093113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/two.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7001652024033093113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7001652024033093113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/two.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-557603080493730365</id><published>2011-02-16T19:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-16T19:39:20.000-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well... here I am. With nothing to write. So, why am I writing? Maybe something will come out of this. I'm sitting at Coffee Shop watching "The Sopranos" for a class. Yes, I get to watch television for a class. It's snowing outside. Not too pleased about this... it was so sunny the last week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I did not go to school on Monday or Tuesday. Why?&lt;br /&gt;Mostly it had to do with that whole... "me no skool" frame of mind. Instead, I went home and played Red Dead Redemption. This has got to be one of my favorite xbox 360 games aside from Left 4 Dead and Left 4 Dead II. I like games where you can ride around on horses and shoot things. I am already a Grand Theft Auto junky (San Andreas... straight up), so this was just GTA with COWBOYS. HEEEEEELLLLLL yes. I think I chose the perfect week to not go to school for the first couple of days. I don't necessarily have much to do aside from reading. So... I did homework at night, but during the day I was a renegade cowboy badass shooting coyotes, wolves, and wild boars. Fuck em. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out nothing came out of this. There was no sudden epiphany or spout of great intellectual knowledge. Maybe someone can pull a character study on this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-557603080493730365?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/557603080493730365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/well.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/557603080493730365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/557603080493730365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/02/well.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6636883734821916071</id><published>2011-01-30T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-30T18:52:51.428-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coffee</title><content type='html'>Alright, so i have the supreme coffee jitters. And I am just typing here because it is going to be my outlet so I can get all of the coffee out of my fingers so that I will finally be able to get back to my assignment. Hooooolllyyyy shiiit... what to talk about what to talk about... SCHOOL. okay, so my assignment is for my TV as art and literature class. I'm supposed to choose a scene from the show, Twin Peaks and analyze it. Bit by bit by bit. So I chose roughly the first 3 minutes of Season 2 Episode 3. &lt;br /&gt;I never really realized how much goes into one little 3 minute clip. Okay, I always knew that but I never really KNEW it until i had to sit down and write about it. I am already at 2 full pages and I've only done lighting, camera angles, and sound/music. This is insane. What is the weirdest part about this scene is how they do a continuous turn shot around a room and I cannot figure out how they did it. I understand they are at the foot of this bed, but it is so compact I cannot wrap my brain around how they were able to swivel around so smoothly without hitting anything. I wonder if a person was standing there or if someone was controlling it with a remote. I am curious. too lazy to do research. Not willing to see if someone actually put the effort into writing about it and posting it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6636883734821916071?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6636883734821916071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/01/coffee.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6636883734821916071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6636883734821916071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/01/coffee.html' title='Coffee'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7003363595977957799</id><published>2011-01-01T15:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-01T15:15:07.824-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I learned from 2010</title><content type='html'>- Books are a vice. I do not rent them. I BUY them.&lt;br /&gt;- I actually am pretty good at giving advice.&lt;br /&gt;- Many people don't like to vent to me because I can argue both sides. Most of them just say, "LET ME BE ANGRY GODDAMNIT." &lt;br /&gt;- I've seen more movies this year than I ever have. Most of them are the types of movies I would not normally go see like action/adventure... Michael Bay BOOM BOOM movies. What I learned from this is that none of these movies will really STAY with time.&lt;br /&gt;- I reeeeally love taking baths. After not having a bathtub for 3+ years, one can forget about how fucking amazing they are.&lt;br /&gt;- Not sleeping for 8 days straight... is really really really painful.&lt;br /&gt;- I am actually a lot better at reading German than I thought.&lt;br /&gt;- Sitting down and reading something and actually thinking about it WORKS. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT?!?!&lt;br /&gt;- I have the worst time at getting whatever i'm thinking in my head out in words (writing AND speaking). This isn't something entirely new, but kind of reaffirmed and put into simpler words.&lt;br /&gt;- I REALLY love Gloria Swanson.&lt;br /&gt;- Sometimes I will be walking around and purposefully go somewhere I know someone else i know goes just to see that person. This person brightens my days.&lt;br /&gt;- I should really keep a lot of my inner "people studies" to myself. Some people don't have high-enough self-esteems to take it, and I don't have enough control to cover what comes out of my mouth. &lt;br /&gt;- I really don't hate people. They can be frustrating, but I tend to love all of them. &lt;br /&gt;-Aesexuality is the way to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for a resolution, I say: FUCK RESOLUTIONS. They were made to be broken. &lt;br /&gt;If anything I offer this, just be better than last year. Done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7003363595977957799?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7003363595977957799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/01/things-i-learned-from-2010.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7003363595977957799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7003363595977957799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2011/01/things-i-learned-from-2010.html' title='Things I learned from 2010'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6780705194674723262</id><published>2010-11-29T17:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-29T17:13:49.730-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Big. White. Box. Black brick. Green Square. Purple Square. Patchwork quilt.&lt;br /&gt;smaller tan box. Multicolored boxes on top of that. White box has a hole in it. A rectangular hole. And a smudge in green and black. Smudge wont come off.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6780705194674723262?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6780705194674723262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/11/big.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6780705194674723262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6780705194674723262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/11/big.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-702884016701410866</id><published>2010-11-21T10:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-21T10:55:25.095-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Readers, friends, if you turn these pages&lt;br /&gt;Put your prejudice aside,&lt;br /&gt;For, really, there's nothing here that's outrageous,&lt;br /&gt;Nothing sick, or bad — or contagious.&lt;br /&gt;Not that I sit here glowing with pride&lt;br /&gt;For my book: all you'll find is laughter:&lt;br /&gt;That's all the glory my heart is after,&lt;br /&gt;Seeing how sorrow eats you, defeats you.&lt;br /&gt;I'd rather write about laughing than crying,&lt;br /&gt;For laughter makes men human, and courageous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;        BE HAPPY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-La vie de Gargantua et de Pantagruel&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-702884016701410866?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/702884016701410866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/11/readers-friends-if-you-turn-these-pages.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/702884016701410866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/702884016701410866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/11/readers-friends-if-you-turn-these-pages.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6343023298962920949</id><published>2010-10-21T21:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-21T21:59:57.414-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='egon schiele'/><title type='text'>Egon Schiele</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TMEaL6NI0gI/AAAAAAAAAHA/qsn8KApLfu4/s1600/SitzenderweiblicherAkt"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TMEaL6NI0gI/AAAAAAAAAHA/qsn8KApLfu4/s320/SitzenderweiblicherAkt" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530730609292923394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6343023298962920949?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6343023298962920949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/10/egon-schiele.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6343023298962920949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6343023298962920949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/10/egon-schiele.html' title='Egon Schiele'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TMEaL6NI0gI/AAAAAAAAAHA/qsn8KApLfu4/s72-c/SitzenderweiblicherAkt' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7106869811857350925</id><published>2010-10-18T00:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-18T00:37:29.218-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kees van Dongen'/><title type='text'>Gypsy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TLv5F7hUvxI/AAAAAAAAAG4/az9St5EDCxk/s1600/dongen1"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TLv5F7hUvxI/AAAAAAAAAG4/az9St5EDCxk/s320/dongen1" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529286847799541522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;by Kees van Dongen&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7106869811857350925?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7106869811857350925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/10/gypsy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7106869811857350925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7106869811857350925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/10/gypsy.html' title='Gypsy'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TLv5F7hUvxI/AAAAAAAAAG4/az9St5EDCxk/s72-c/dongen1' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3270567732600676407</id><published>2010-09-07T22:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-07T22:58:04.351-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='college'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dystopia'/><title type='text'>Dystopia</title><content type='html'>When I was younger, probably around 13, I had this built up image of what I thought was "cool." My aspirations for my life at that time were to live up to my shallow ideal person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My idea of cool was that "college type". You know, the girl in ratty clothes, smoking, constantly reading, passed out on the grass in a park, struggling with money, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that i'm here... I want out. Who knows... in another 7 years perhaps i'll look back on my life right now and realize that these are the "good old days."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3270567732600676407?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3270567732600676407/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/09/dystopia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3270567732600676407'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3270567732600676407'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/09/dystopia.html' title='Dystopia'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6621687050251630103</id><published>2010-09-06T18:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-06T18:35:31.558-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Proposition 8'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pride in Utah'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='LGBT'/><title type='text'>PRIDE IN UTAH'S FIRST PODCAST!!!</title><content type='html'>Hey kids, so my brother is the author of prideinutah.com and he and his buddy Misty just put out their first podcast! Check it out! Criticism ready. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://prideinutah.com/podcast/PrideInUtahPodcast20100906.mp3&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6621687050251630103?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6621687050251630103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/09/pride-in-utahs-first-podcast.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6621687050251630103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6621687050251630103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/09/pride-in-utahs-first-podcast.html' title='PRIDE IN UTAH&apos;S FIRST PODCAST!!!'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3340634674701620355</id><published>2010-08-17T21:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-17T21:59:40.051-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='conspiracy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='government'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am a biiig believer in Government conspiracies. Now, before you start judging like a fiend let me explain myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe in Government conspiracies. HOWEVER, I also believe in the philosophy of accepting and letting go. So, basically... I accept that this is true. I also accept the fact that there is nothing that can be done about it. I am going to play the game, and get the fuck out of here. Amen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3340634674701620355?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3340634674701620355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-am-biiig-believer-in-government.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3340634674701620355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3340634674701620355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-am-biiig-believer-in-government.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2657531293052873586</id><published>2010-08-05T02:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-05T02:10:39.466-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old. I like the way I feel. I like thinking about the red dress and the television and you and your father. Now when I get the sun, I smile." - Sara Goldfarb&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2657531293052873586?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2657531293052873586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/08/im-somebody-now-harry.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2657531293052873586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2657531293052873586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/08/im-somebody-now-harry.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8536044656924942073</id><published>2010-07-25T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-25T12:16:16.137-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TEyNbcYNMzI/AAAAAAAAAGI/HqGSYBGt9Bk/s1600/sunsetblvd"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TEyNbcYNMzI/AAAAAAAAAGI/HqGSYBGt9Bk/s320/sunsetblvd" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497924747726238514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8536044656924942073?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8536044656924942073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/07/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8536044656924942073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8536044656924942073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/07/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TEyNbcYNMzI/AAAAAAAAAGI/HqGSYBGt9Bk/s72-c/sunsetblvd' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-236370019475964677</id><published>2010-06-24T23:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T23:40:18.207-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sitting up in a dark room. Snores. Snores from Schwester and Chica. &lt;br /&gt;Snores from Mr. Wisconsin and Ms. Hummingbird next door. Schwester keeps putting her feet on me... ew. *push* &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to watch X-files.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Math in the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-236370019475964677?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/236370019475964677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/06/sitting-up-in-dark-room.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/236370019475964677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/236370019475964677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/06/sitting-up-in-dark-room.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7378326483455145008</id><published>2010-06-24T22:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T23:01:01.328-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Why do people HAVE to have a "light at the end of a tunnel."&lt;br /&gt;Example: God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Religions say that you have a mission on Earth. God's plan. &lt;br /&gt;Why can't you just live? Why do lives HAVE to have some kind of divine purpose?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7378326483455145008?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7378326483455145008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-do-people-have-to-have-light-at-end.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7378326483455145008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7378326483455145008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/06/why-do-people-have-to-have-light-at-end.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1043097470194239524</id><published>2010-05-10T18:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T18:08:49.039-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='nightmare on elmstreet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='alien'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='twitter'/><title type='text'>Nightmare on Elm Street 3 and 4</title><content type='html'>Twitter updates as I watch the movies for the first time. Yeah, i'm on Twitter. Suck it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Truckin' through Elm Street 3 and 4. They came in a 10 dollar set with 1 and 2. I only like the first one. Why do they force me to buy these?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH SHIT! Bitch fell asleep... 1, 2, Freddy's coming for you. AH SHIT FREDDY CUT THAT BITCH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Mummy and Stuart have to sit here and listen to horror movies for the rest of the summer. Muahahahaha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell........ giant slimy freddy head-snake eating a girl? It looks like a penis... ZOMG AND IT TALKS!!! This movie is horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Laurence Fishburne and Patricia Arquette are in Nightmare on Elm Street 3????? wtf?????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;zomg, this movie is full of little gems. BAhahaha http://youtu.be/wFH-JtZ9hIc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Freddy just tied a kids arms and legs to a bed with four tongues and said "what's the matter joey? Feeling tongue-tied?" *face-palm*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this movie is just getting stupid...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finished NOES 3, but I just couldn't make it through NOES 4. It should have never been made. Like Alien 3 and 4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My god. Numbers 3 and 4 were terrible. I'm going to turn my head and pretend NOES 2,3,4, and 5 never happened.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1043097470194239524?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1043097470194239524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/05/nightmare-on-elm-street-3-and-4.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1043097470194239524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1043097470194239524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/05/nightmare-on-elm-street-3-and-4.html' title='Nightmare on Elm Street 3 and 4'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6965242002499097629</id><published>2010-04-23T22:47:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T22:48:00.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KGCkynceI/AAAAAAAAAGA/NQK20RoQXpI/s1600/springnight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KGCkynceI/AAAAAAAAAGA/NQK20RoQXpI/s320/springnight.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463576676747669986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6965242002499097629?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6965242002499097629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_2646.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6965242002499097629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6965242002499097629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_2646.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KGCkynceI/AAAAAAAAAGA/NQK20RoQXpI/s72-c/springnight.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2110653443386744310</id><published>2010-04-23T22:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T22:47:28.273-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KF6CIZNPI/AAAAAAAAAF4/h3dpYRUv328/s1600/springasm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KF6CIZNPI/AAAAAAAAAF4/h3dpYRUv328/s320/springasm.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463576530004817138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2110653443386744310?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2110653443386744310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_8593.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2110653443386744310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2110653443386744310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_8593.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KF6CIZNPI/AAAAAAAAAF4/h3dpYRUv328/s72-c/springasm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7677733329349072846</id><published>2010-04-23T22:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T22:46:50.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KFxFCMVrI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Fsx48fI2rgg/s1600/springtastic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KFxFCMVrI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Fsx48fI2rgg/s320/springtastic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463576376165291698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7677733329349072846?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7677733329349072846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_23.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7677733329349072846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7677733329349072846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post_23.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S9KFxFCMVrI/AAAAAAAAAFw/Fsx48fI2rgg/s72-c/springtastic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-746338228201029796</id><published>2010-04-16T00:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T00:21:08.692-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"On the page it looked, nothing. The beginning... simple, almost comic. Just a pulse... bassoons, basset horns, like a rusty squeeze box. And then... suddenly... high above it... an oboe. A single note hanging there unwavering. Until, a clarinet took it over. Sweetened it into a phrase of such delight. This was no composition by a performing monkey. This was a music I'd never heard. Filled with such longing, such unfulfilled belonging."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-746338228201029796?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/746338228201029796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/on-page-it-looked-nothing.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/746338228201029796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/746338228201029796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/on-page-it-looked-nothing.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1667877801967957116</id><published>2010-04-14T14:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-14T14:35:04.659-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S8Y1A034CpI/AAAAAAAAAFo/fQaiByg9ljM/s1600/resistithaha"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 173px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S8Y1A034CpI/AAAAAAAAAFo/fQaiByg9ljM/s320/resistithaha" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460109886542580370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1667877801967957116?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1667877801967957116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1667877801967957116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1667877801967957116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S8Y1A034CpI/AAAAAAAAAFo/fQaiByg9ljM/s72-c/resistithaha' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1191438112480968919</id><published>2010-04-10T21:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-10T21:41:52.656-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Verdi's Requiem</title><content type='html'>Shitfuck LOOOOOVE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saw it live tonight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1191438112480968919?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1191438112480968919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/verdis-requiem.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1191438112480968919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1191438112480968919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/verdis-requiem.html' title='Verdi&apos;s Requiem'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-335937515098004800</id><published>2010-04-03T22:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T22:30:22.248-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Driving in the car today with my brother today. Mormon conference was going on. My brother turned on the radio and it was conference. The man speaking said, "Only with morality, reading your scriptures, and praying can a person reach true happiness where everyone else is lost."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear sir, FUCK YOU!!! MYSOGYNISTIC FUCKWAD!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-335937515098004800?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/335937515098004800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/driving-in-car-today-with-my-brother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/335937515098004800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/335937515098004800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/04/driving-in-car-today-with-my-brother.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3020739633423866478</id><published>2010-03-11T15:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-11T15:25:21.720-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S5l73MnHAZI/AAAAAAAAAFc/J2VcsOOzkHM/s1600-h/sup"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S5l73MnHAZI/AAAAAAAAAFc/J2VcsOOzkHM/s320/sup" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447521412489609618" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3020739633423866478?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3020739633423866478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/03/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3020739633423866478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3020739633423866478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/S5l73MnHAZI/AAAAAAAAAFc/J2VcsOOzkHM/s72-c/sup' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7122696270621668342</id><published>2010-02-24T22:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T22:29:42.320-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='telemarketing funnies'/><title type='text'>Chronicles of a Telemarketer</title><content type='html'>I have a cubicle. And that cubicle has a computer. And that computer has a list of people who hate me. And those people who hate me have never talked to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm one of those people that call you doing dinner time, and ask for money. Yup. I've joined the ranks of the most loathed people in phone history. It is a scary job. I am nervous every time I go in for a shift. I have never been good at talking to people on the phone, so I suppose this is a good situation. I am already getting better after three days. This job also provides me with some funny stories. Unfortunately, with the funny comes the sad. Here are some of the highlights I've collected from today:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi my name is Maddie, i'm a sophomore from the..."&lt;br /&gt;"Look, i'm not giving you money. I was diagnosed with cancer today. I'm fucking DYING." *click*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a call to a woman who graduated from college in 1932. Just imagine a stereotypical old lady voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hi, my name is Maddie..."&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;"My name is Maddie..."&lt;br /&gt;"WHAT?"&lt;br /&gt;"MY NAME IS MADDIE."&lt;br /&gt;"I can't hear a goddamn word you're saying." *click*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This next lady graduated in 1953. We talked for over 30 minutes before I dropped the money question on her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"blah blah blah... donation?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, i'm so sorry. I just lost my business that I've had for over 30 years. This economy has really shot me in the kneecap."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh... well..."&lt;br /&gt;"And my son just lost his job of 15 years, and now he's living with me. We're struggling just to keep my house and to eat. I'm afraid things are just too tight. I am very sorry, you sound like such a wonderful young lady."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other stories include a woman who plays in a Middle Eastern band (I could hear her band rehearsal in the background... bad. ass.) I also spoke with a woman who traveled all over the world, an artist who became a navy pilot in Vietnam, a jazz musician, and a lady who has moved around the U.S. once every 2 years since she was 18. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work is kind. Work is hard. Work is fun. Work is sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7122696270621668342?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7122696270621668342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/02/chronicles-of-telemarketer.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7122696270621668342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7122696270621668342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/02/chronicles-of-telemarketer.html' title='Chronicles of a Telemarketer'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8634618133160479018</id><published>2010-01-18T17:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T17:04:33.719-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sitting.&lt;br /&gt;Reading.&lt;br /&gt;Hoping.&lt;br /&gt;Dreaming.&lt;br /&gt;Realizing.&lt;br /&gt;Failing.&lt;br /&gt;Accepting.&lt;br /&gt;Retreating.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8634618133160479018?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8634618133160479018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/01/sitting.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8634618133160479018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8634618133160479018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/01/sitting.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6902729709069135361</id><published>2010-01-05T03:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T04:00:45.718-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>When you sit there. Or stand there. Or walk there. It's like meta-physics. &lt;br /&gt;You leave yourself and look into another world that is untouchable. You don't&lt;br /&gt;know if others have felt the same thing. Kind of like how you don't know if&lt;br /&gt;everyone is seeing the same colors you are seeing. It's awesome. It's like &lt;br /&gt;taking candy from a baby... which, for me, is pretty damn cool. Fall back on&lt;br /&gt;the floor, and breathe it out. It tastes like shit, but it feels like great shit.&lt;br /&gt;Great shit. Shit you want. Shit you start to need. Shit you love. Shit becomes your&lt;br /&gt;best friend. Fuck you Jesus, this is the shit now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6902729709069135361?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6902729709069135361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/01/when-you-sit-there.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6902729709069135361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6902729709069135361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2010/01/when-you-sit-there.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2965246531707698558</id><published>2009-12-13T22:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T22:40:06.902-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally Getting Rid of the Fly that wont shoo</title><content type='html'>Dear Bishop,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With this letter to you I officially notify you of my resignation from membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, effective immediately. With my resignation I voluntarily sever all my relationships to the church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;signature&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2965246531707698558?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2965246531707698558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/12/finally-getting-rid-of-fly-that-wont.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2965246531707698558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2965246531707698558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/12/finally-getting-rid-of-fly-that-wont.html' title='Finally Getting Rid of the Fly that wont shoo'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3807334362066037647</id><published>2009-11-28T00:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T00:13:35.266-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh heeeeeeeeey</title><content type='html'>It's one of those times during the school year. The time when you just want to sit up in your room all day and do absolutely nothing. Unfortunately, this is also the most important time to attend class. FUCK you finals. That is all I have to say. It is depressing that i've failed math for the second time, but I believe that third time is the charm. Or I hope... for if I do not pass it, you can just kiss my scholarship goodbye and i'll have to work full time at McDonalds. Feed that nasty-ass corporation of pig fat. As for now... i'm going to go back to playing Kingdom Hearts II... where my heart will always stay. Locked in a virtual world where nothing (not even a heartless) can get it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3807334362066037647?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3807334362066037647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/11/oh-heeeeeeeeey.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3807334362066037647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3807334362066037647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/11/oh-heeeeeeeeey.html' title='Oh heeeeeeeeey'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7150131534790717666</id><published>2009-10-17T13:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T13:45:59.917-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='disney'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='insurance'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='remember when'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='religion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='naps'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='race'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christmas'/><title type='text'>Memento Mori</title><content type='html'>Remember those times when... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A kiss would heal every wound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People didn't need drugs to have an imagination. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Religion and Race didn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insurance was a word you didn't understand, and didn't NEED to understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Money didn't exist, things magically appeared. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summers lasted forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Naps weren't needed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday morning cartoons were the highlight of the week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You didn't have to work to get anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disney was God, and you didn't know the political side of the company. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christmas presents were stacked to the ceiling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7150131534790717666?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7150131534790717666/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/10/memento-mori.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7150131534790717666'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7150131534790717666'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/10/memento-mori.html' title='Memento Mori'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8988568895695978521</id><published>2009-10-03T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T17:51:00.710-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This Man Makes Me Happy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SsfxZUB0lNI/AAAAAAAAAFU/gJGemiJljFA/s1600-h/leatherface"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SsfxZUB0lNI/AAAAAAAAAFU/gJGemiJljFA/s320/leatherface" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388540896347460818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My one true love. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8988568895695978521?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8988568895695978521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-man-makes-me-happy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8988568895695978521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8988568895695978521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/10/this-man-makes-me-happy.html' title='This Man Makes Me Happy'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SsfxZUB0lNI/AAAAAAAAAFU/gJGemiJljFA/s72-c/leatherface' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8580625685686874112</id><published>2009-09-23T00:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T00:02:22.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The days of my early youth were like candy,&lt;br /&gt;the kind that melts in your mouth where the taste lasts forever.&lt;br /&gt;The air was a sweet incense,&lt;br /&gt;the leaves laughed in the wind.&lt;br /&gt;The Water tasted like wine,&lt;br /&gt;the grass turned into a jungle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nowadays I puff on twigs,&lt;br /&gt;and watch the grass turn brown.&lt;br /&gt;The sun is a fading light bulb, &lt;br /&gt;I pour dust over dead trees. &lt;br /&gt;Suckers dissolve into ash in my mouth,&lt;br /&gt;Music is honking horns.&lt;br /&gt;I breathe in cotton,&lt;br /&gt;and consume tar. &lt;br /&gt;Time moves fast,&lt;br /&gt;too fast, and too slow.&lt;br /&gt;My teeth are now barbed wire,&lt;br /&gt;and my mouth is stapled shut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8580625685686874112?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8580625685686874112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/days-of-my-early-youth-were-like-candy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8580625685686874112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8580625685686874112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/days-of-my-early-youth-were-like-candy.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2138743047373538054</id><published>2009-09-19T04:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T23:07:38.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Leave me alone."</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2138743047373538054?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2138743047373538054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/leave-me-alone.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2138743047373538054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2138743047373538054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/leave-me-alone.html' title='&quot;Leave me alone.&quot;'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-4789303765070497230</id><published>2009-09-11T15:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T15:15:18.092-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NO ENTRY! *slam*</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqrL7_rqpLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/kfNN2-BfOPc/s1600-h/aristoshits.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqrL7_rqpLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/kfNN2-BfOPc/s320/aristoshits.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380336936414782642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a hilarious excerpt from "Painters and Public Life" written in the 18th century.&lt;br /&gt;The narrator was just refused early entry into the Louvre gallery, and found himself stranded in a courtyard of other-equally rejected- hopefuls as this happened...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"... a grand carriage, flying more than rolling thanks to the dashing speed of the chargers that drew it, pulled up to the desolate portal. The luxury of the vehicle and its lackeys told me what I was about to see emerge from the compartment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first to appear was a young man made more out of costume than he was out of flesh. It would have been more accurate to call him a richly dressed phantom. The color of his diaphanous visage was almost the same shade as the powder that weighed down his hair. His arms and legs had the appearance of belonging more to a skeleton than to a living body... I believe he only lived by an artifice of vanity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There then appeared a lady about forty years in age. Her bearing was haughty, her speech sour-sweet, and although already obese, she seemed to gorge herself further on the glory she extracted from the carriage and retinue. The sight of this crowd of people waiting on the good humor of the Swiss guard inflated still more the volume of her self-regard, which triumphed completely when, realizing that entry had been forbidden these onlookers, she imagined that she would thus be exercising an EXCLUSIVE PRIVILEGE on entering, one that would command the deference of all eyes kept to a strict ration. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A younger woman, of pleasing proportions but whose looks were more flashy than refined, was barely twenty. Her glance might have seemed modest but was really only guilty. She only half opened her eyes, but did not for that see any less: she turned them on you only in secret, but it was easy to recognize in this suspicious reserve that she was the willing pupil of her fat companion, whose jaded glances said no more than hers... She attracted all eyes to her by the vivacity, not to say the dizziness, of her speech and manners, managing it so well that whatever happened she could count on shooting sparks into the art of any man around her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not speak to you of their complexions. You know wonderfully well that the women of Paris pride themselves on never having any. Lotions, ointments, white lead rouge: these are everything. Each one manipulates these drugs to her own fantasy, how then can one discern the skin underneath?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The face of the older one carried a violent hue, and one could not have accused her of trying to deceive anyone by the art with which she deployed her rouge. Her cheeks were two placards, more painted than any mask, and I was astonished to see anyone so made-up so early in the morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The younger one had not received the same treatment, and when taken on her own seemed to be in excellent health. But when one contemplated her at the same time as her companion, one perceived in her a languished quality, a kind of listlessness, and on final examination, she could be seen to have just been patched up with white plaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were both, moreover, in a state of undress as indecent as if they had never left home, but rich enough to rival the finery of much more illustrious ladies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their escort knocked on the door, with the assurance of a man to whom no door is closed. But he did not find there even the pleasure of a response. Vainly, after a long monologue worthy of the character I have painted for you, he humiliated himself to the point of pleading, of begging. All was deaf and dumb to his entreaties He found there an incorruptible integrity. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ladies were not silent during all this: they complained bitterly of the lack of consideration being shown them. the gaiety they had brought at the gallop suddenly deserted them and let collapse the graces it had sustained. My God, but mortified pride cuts a sorry figure. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are other vices that adversity chastens. This one is just the most ridiculous and the most unjust. He who had wanted to bestow this gift ended up swallowing it, and taking the blame as well. the fat women quarreled nastily with him as he re-entered the carriage, whose horses, less intelligent than those of HIppolytus. Instead of having 'a mournful eye and downcast head' better 'to conform to' their 'sad sentiment,' left as smartly as they had arrived, taking this humiliated trio off to parts unknown." -Narrator&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's wonderful to see the collapse of social barriers of art. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-4789303765070497230?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/4789303765070497230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-entry-slam.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/4789303765070497230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/4789303765070497230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/no-entry-slam.html' title='NO ENTRY! *slam*'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqrL7_rqpLI/AAAAAAAAAFE/kfNN2-BfOPc/s72-c/aristoshits.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-240328092781851835</id><published>2009-09-06T03:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T03:40:25.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqORiu8itKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/QNZ47_bxHaM/s1600-h/DSC04979.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqORiu8itKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/QNZ47_bxHaM/s320/DSC04979.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378302405914047650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-240328092781851835?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/240328092781851835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/240328092781851835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/240328092781851835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqORiu8itKI/AAAAAAAAAE8/QNZ47_bxHaM/s72-c/DSC04979.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3291224275667805340</id><published>2009-09-03T15:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T15:38:31.850-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mormon'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='smoking'/><title type='text'>Another day in a smokers life... Facebook thread</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqBFYlk8ZcI/AAAAAAAAAE0/i8Uo_taGv6o/s1600-h/Photo+9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqBFYlk8ZcI/AAAAAAAAAE0/i8Uo_taGv6o/s320/Photo+9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377374243786614210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mormon boy Spencers status: My Crusade against smokers will involve me carrying around a fire extinguisher and drowning anyone with a "lollipop that is on fire"........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reply: I'll be sure to keep my distance. Or if you are ever sucking on a lollipop i'll come up and be like, "here let me get that for ya." And light your lollipop stick on fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lady named Audrey: I've thought about getting all their personal information address, phone number, social security number, so later in life when I have health problems caused by second hand smoke, I can sue them all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reply: @Audrey, you wont be able to do that later in life, because we will already be dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer: They say it is a personal choice, but when you smoke in public it totally isn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy named Tom: You fight them Spencer, tell them who's Boss!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reply: Yes we are a bunch of unhealthy sadists with an unfortunate habit. Fight us off, please.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer: You know maddie, i might just let you live because you humor me. I will let you die a slow a painful death fighting cancer, breathing through a hole in your throat, so on and so forth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reply: Sounds like the future I embraced. Hope you enjoy the cancer i give you from my exhaust.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spencer: No, see, i am going to but you in a bubble. YOu are not only going to get first hand smoke, but second hand, and maybe even thirdhand..... from yourself..... if that makes sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My reply: That's a bit kinky....... and you kind of sound like Hitler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;no reply&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"they this" and "they that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As my sister says: "99.9% of mormons don't know what the fuck they are talking about before they open their mouths and judge everyone but themselves."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3291224275667805340?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3291224275667805340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-day-in-smokers-life-facebook.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3291224275667805340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3291224275667805340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-day-in-smokers-life-facebook.html' title='Another day in a smokers life... Facebook thread'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SqBFYlk8ZcI/AAAAAAAAAE0/i8Uo_taGv6o/s72-c/Photo+9.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8298363687925531259</id><published>2009-08-30T23:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T23:38:24.132-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ze Smokers Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sptv2W6i77I/AAAAAAAAAEs/YYyk_HDV-TE/s1600-h/smoking"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sptv2W6i77I/AAAAAAAAAEs/YYyk_HDV-TE/s320/smoking" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376013559851577266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Smoking kills."&lt;br /&gt;"BLAAAAAAHARFGF, that's what your voice sounds like!"&lt;br /&gt;"Enjoy your black lungs."&lt;br /&gt;"Have fun with the hole in your throat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously you guys... you think I don't know?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8298363687925531259?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8298363687925531259/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/ze-smokers-life.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8298363687925531259'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8298363687925531259'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/ze-smokers-life.html' title='Ze Smokers Life'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sptv2W6i77I/AAAAAAAAAEs/YYyk_HDV-TE/s72-c/smoking' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2270692064573039043</id><published>2009-08-28T09:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T09:24:24.148-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Giant Dorm-Geyser and a very... VERY stupid freshman.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpgEsF8g55I/AAAAAAAAAEk/Z7wdW8aCzdk/s1600-h/geyser"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpgEsF8g55I/AAAAAAAAAEk/Z7wdW8aCzdk/s320/geyser" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375051310823434130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is something I believe you should remember for the future: if ever a fire alarm happens to go off again, make sure you use the bathroom before you leave. ESPECIALLY if the fire alarm is what woke you up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The management in your head&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Dorms,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now let me make this one thing perfectly clear..... &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;A HUGE PILLAR OF FUCKING CLEAR WATER IS NOT SMOKE!!!&lt;/span&gt; *ahem* That little freshman chap or chapess that pulled the fire alarm is responsible for waking up every dorm on the U campus on FRIDAY MORNING. Which means, the day after thirsty thursdays. Great idea. However, I am somewhat indebted. For if this had not happened, we (the classy ladies of 74101) would not have noticed that the fire alarms in each of our rooms didn't work. Thank goodness the one in our apartment foyer works. Then again, I wish it didn't in a case like this, just so i didn't get woken up 2 hours early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-The Classy Ladies of 74101&lt;br /&gt;Residents of the Green Sustainability Floor&lt;br /&gt;U of U.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2270692064573039043?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2270692064573039043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/giant-dorm-geyser-and-very-very-stupid.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2270692064573039043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2270692064573039043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/giant-dorm-geyser-and-very-very-stupid.html' title='Giant Dorm-Geyser and a very... VERY stupid freshman.'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpgEsF8g55I/AAAAAAAAAEk/Z7wdW8aCzdk/s72-c/geyser' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5877027209813391111</id><published>2009-08-24T16:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T22:23:30.025-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpMi7r7yNOI/AAAAAAAAAEc/MUsyJ3_ey7s/s1600-h/belushi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpMi7r7yNOI/AAAAAAAAAEc/MUsyJ3_ey7s/s320/belushi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373677189184238818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First day of school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since i'm back in the dorms it feels like i've never left this place. Stale lettuce, moldy bread, and chocolate milk with far too less chocolate... it's all the same. I wasn't nervous or anything, kind of excited. But now i'm just exhausted. German class was the only one I was kind of sweating about, seeing as how i haven't practiced at ALL this entire summer. So, I walk in the classroom and it's humid as Hell. I look around... nobody I really recognize from the previous year (seeing as how this is the only German 2010 class offered, I figured more would show up). And they did... 2 minutes before class started... what can I say, the old group has style. I sat there and stared at the X-files shirt the kid in front of me was wearing. Mulder was scolding me, shaming me for not practicing over the summer as Scully ran a few lab tests and concluded that I just fail. In big, red, smash bros. letters... FAILURE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Math... the professor tried (emphasis on "tried") to give us this stirring speech on the anthropology of mathematics. Siiiigh, I have a bad feeling that he's going to put me to sleep. He also wants us to call him by his first name. I don't know what it is, but I have issues calling professors by their first names... I don't know, I guess I like the formality of it all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drawing... hmmmm. End story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Art history tomorrow, i'm excited to go to a class where I feel completely confident in my abilities. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now i'm tired. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzZZZZzzzzzzzz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5877027209813391111?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5877027209813391111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/first-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5877027209813391111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5877027209813391111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/first-day.html' title='First Day'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SpMi7r7yNOI/AAAAAAAAAEc/MUsyJ3_ey7s/s72-c/belushi.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2229798809229655222</id><published>2009-08-18T04:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T04:24:18.362-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I learned Summer of 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SoqPUcvSWAI/AAAAAAAAAEU/87YzA_VmRWw/s1600-h/DSC04809.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SoqPUcvSWAI/AAAAAAAAAEU/87YzA_VmRWw/s320/DSC04809.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371263087067420674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Being a hermit can be fulfilling and yet... not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- A Lord of the Rings Extended Edition marathon CAN happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- The Hobbit can be read in one night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- The Appendix to LOTR is fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Half of my summer has been walking to bookstores and reading Tolkienlore for hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Marlboro 100's are the buzz from heaven... but leave nasty looking spots on the lungs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Stretch marks can take the form of trees which can create happy-fun-time with a sharpie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Choice of soap is Dial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Most fun can be had with Claricedear and Jimmyboy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Talking like Sean Connery is addicting and can be mixed with Christopher Walkin and other random accents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Star Fox N64. Still badass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Doing a barrel roll can save your life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Peppy in the newer Star Fox series is weak and lacks his usual... erm.... charm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- One can get E-coli and Salmonellabella at the same time... poor Claire...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- G. I. Joe fails, but makes good boom boom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I'm a ninja.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Great Danes make great conversation whenever they deem it fit to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Drugs are bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Bicycles are handy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Meryl Streep should go on Colbert more often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Omegle.com is lovely when you find someone who makes great conversation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Taiwan looks like it has awesome food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Left 4 Dead completes me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Mario Bros. fan fiction is...................... lovely. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Morgoroth is more badass than Sauron.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I will buy a Shenai and become a snake charmer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I will physically disable myself and become a bell ringer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Coffee. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Nurse Jackie is a lovely way to pass the time until Weeds is on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Weeds just isn't as good as it used to be. (Seasons 1-3 rock.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Watching the sunrise and watching it the sunset every day is worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Getting up for school is going to bite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Cats are fun to take pictures of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- The show, Roseanne can be entertaining... but not worth repeating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- John Goodman... FAILURE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Shopping is stressful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Living without money is great... until you go to a bookstore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Playing with swords is fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Going to movies with Claire is enjoyable... especially during the previews. &lt;br /&gt;(Claire: Wait, isn't D.C. inland?&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: It got flooded Claire... DUH)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Julia Childs is adorable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Iron Chef has proved that you can make multiple courses by just using artichokes (including ice cream).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- My grammar still sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- 10 dollars does NOT go a long way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Drunk facebooking is not a good idea... but it does leave funny memories. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Big bells = Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You can miss friends a lot and when you meet up with them you can fall right back into where you left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Scrubs come in a variety of different cloths. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Box Elder Bugs are of LUCIFER.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Finding a job is a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Withdrawls are not worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Camping by oneself is fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Sprinklers in the middle of the night by oneself is also fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Where your tongue goes when you make a "t" sound still blows my mind in an odd way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You CAN fall asleep in the shower... for a long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Indoor plumbing... is a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Baby giraffes are cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Stage moms are frightening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Kill Bill..... Mmmmm...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- There are thousands of youtube to mp3 converters. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- You can become disillusioned with 4chan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- It is no long LGBT but LGBTQAIA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Paid Programming is sorrowful for the insomniac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Baby Mr. Coffee brings joy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Hans Zimmer warms ye ole soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Mario Tennis can be INTENSE when played as the Williams sisters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Faramir and Boromir in the LOTR movies both have big noses. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I'z Hobbitz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Dry skin is uncomfortable... especially without lotion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Having an the extra month of May added on to summer vacation just gives one more time to do nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- True friends are willing to drive way out of their way to hang out with you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2229798809229655222?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2229798809229655222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-i-learned-summer-of-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2229798809229655222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2229798809229655222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-i-learned-summer-of-2009.html' title='What I learned Summer of 2009'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SoqPUcvSWAI/AAAAAAAAAEU/87YzA_VmRWw/s72-c/DSC04809.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1080841609238236335</id><published>2009-08-07T01:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T01:54:33.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trapped In The Wild</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnvrwZR0mvI/AAAAAAAAAEM/LEDq750T5tU/s1600-h/wild.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnvrwZR0mvI/AAAAAAAAAEM/LEDq750T5tU/s320/wild.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367142597593963250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of the most beautiful moments i've ever had in my life have happened when i'm completely within the realm of solitude. Many amazing things in life that happen to me I don't tell others, simply because I would end the story with, "I guess you'd just have to be there." But some of the really amazing things that occur that can actually be explained and appreciated I DO tell. Simply because I want to share the joy, and can't help myself from telling somebody... anybody really. It's like the movie "Into the Wild" when the main character finally realizes that real happiness is only worth something when shared. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We would all like to forsake our identity, name, and all the numbers that come attached... and just run full speed into the Wild. Into the great outdoors where you are your own master, where you live off of the earth, experience the life that surrounds constantly. But the sad reality is that we cannot forsake everything as we'd wish. The sly hint of rational dictates to us that we want to be around other humans. We want to share things. We can have our bits of down time to be by ourselves... but reality tells us that humanity is King. We really want it. We need it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1080841609238236335?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1080841609238236335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/trapped-in-wild.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1080841609238236335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1080841609238236335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/08/trapped-in-wild.html' title='Trapped In The Wild'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnvrwZR0mvI/AAAAAAAAAEM/LEDq750T5tU/s72-c/wild.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6087541088663567941</id><published>2009-07-29T11:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T11:46:11.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Screw Hollywood. Chat.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnCYf4XmkrI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Rq4I0wYre30/s1600-h/war.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnCYf4XmkrI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Rq4I0wYre30/s320/war.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363954829673009842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Claire&lt;br /&gt;WWWWWHHHHHHHAAAATTTT?????????&lt;br /&gt;NOW THE LAWNMOWER GUYS????&lt;br /&gt;DO NOT ADD TO THIS!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:18Maddie&lt;br /&gt;WHAT?!&lt;br /&gt;MORDOR HATH UNLEASHED ITS FURY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:19Claire&lt;br /&gt;IONIA WILL FALL IF WE DO NOT FIGHT HARDER!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:19Maddie&lt;br /&gt;PUSH THE 1ST AND 5TH PLATOONS UP THE LEFT FLANK!&lt;br /&gt;IN SHORT, CRANK UP DEM TOONS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:22Claire&lt;br /&gt;ALL SQUADRONS ARE IN PLAY!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:23Maddie&lt;br /&gt;NO! Our reserve forces are still at bay&lt;br /&gt;keep them there and bide!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:23Claire&lt;br /&gt;SED 'EM IN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:23Maddie&lt;br /&gt;NO&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:23Claire&lt;br /&gt;*SEND&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:23Maddie&lt;br /&gt;BIDE&lt;br /&gt;BIDE&lt;br /&gt;IF WE SEND THEM IN, WE WILL BE UTTERLY DEFENSELESS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:25Claire&lt;br /&gt;WE'RE DYIN' ON THE FRONT LINES HERE!&lt;br /&gt;WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:26Maddie&lt;br /&gt;KSSSHHHHH look, we cannot deploy our reserves. Pull back so our 2nd and 7th platoons can push the offense! KKKSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:28Claire&lt;br /&gt;THEY'RE DEAD!&lt;br /&gt;THEY'RE ALL DEAD!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:28Maddie&lt;br /&gt;WHO?! KSSSSH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:29Claire&lt;br /&gt;HHHHSSSSSHHHHKKKKSSSSSHHHHH THE SECOND KKKKSSSSHHHH AND KKKSSSRRRRRSSSSSHHHH 7TH KKKKKKKSSSSHHH!!! WE'RE GETTING KILLED OUT HEREKKKKKKKKKKSSSSS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30Maddie&lt;br /&gt;2nd and 7th are with me here, what are you bitching about Lieutenant?! KSSHSHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30Claire&lt;br /&gt;BETA TEAM KKKKKKKK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30Maddie&lt;br /&gt;SENDING IN THE OUTER DEFENSESKKKKKKSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30Claire&lt;br /&gt;THE FRONT KKKKSSSSSSSHHH LINES ARE BREAKKIINNGGG!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:31Maddie&lt;br /&gt;HOLD THOSE LINES LIEUTENANT GODDAMNIT KSSSSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:31Claire&lt;br /&gt;THEY'RE GETTING THROUGH KKKKSSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:31Maddie&lt;br /&gt;OUTER DEFENSES SWITCHING TO OFFENSE, PLUNGE IN! KSSH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:31Claire&lt;br /&gt;WE'RE FISH FOOD OUT HERE KKKKKSSSSHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:31Maddie&lt;br /&gt;CHANGE LOCATION!&lt;br /&gt;TEAM YOUNGESTCHILD CHANGE LOCATION&lt;br /&gt;KSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;I REPEAT, CHANGE LOCATION! KSHHH&lt;br /&gt;COULD LIGHTEN THE INCOMING FLOW OF ENEMIES KSSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:33Claire&lt;br /&gt;CAN'T&lt;br /&gt;WE'RE BOXED IN!! KKKKSSSSHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:33Maddie&lt;br /&gt;WHY NOT LIEUTENANT?!&lt;br /&gt;LOCATION NOT WORKIGN?!&lt;br /&gt;NOT EVEN THE LOWER BUNKERS?!&lt;br /&gt;KKKKKSSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:34Claire&lt;br /&gt;LOWER BUNKERS IMPOSSIBLE TO GET TO.&lt;br /&gt;KKKKSSSSHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:34Maddie&lt;br /&gt;HOW?!?!?! KSSSSSHHHH&lt;br /&gt;CLIMB DOWN THE MOUNTAIN PASS, IT'S NEXT TO YOUR QUARTERS WHERE YOU ARE CURRENTLY HARBORED!!! KSSSSHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:36Claire&lt;br /&gt;THE BASE IS TOO IMPORTANT&lt;br /&gt;THERE IS TOO MUCH TO LOSE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:38Maddie&lt;br /&gt;GODDAMNIT LIEUTENANT IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN TO THE LOWER BUNKER, THERE WONT BE ANY NEED TO WORRY ABOUT WHAT IS AT STAKE!!! LEAD THE REST OF YOUR COMPANY DOWN TO THE BUNKER!!! KKKKKKSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Claire&lt;br /&gt;WWWEEEE CAN'T&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:39Maddie&lt;br /&gt;CLAIRE, CLAIRE!!!&lt;br /&gt;CAN YOU HEAR ME!!! KSSSH&lt;br /&gt;THERE IS KSHHHHHHH AN AIR RADE KSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;THEY KSSSSSH ARE KSHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;HITTING US KSSSSHHH WITH OPERATION TODDLER KSSHHHHHHHHHH&lt;br /&gt;YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOKKKKKKKKKSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6087541088663567941?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6087541088663567941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/screw-hollywood-chat.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6087541088663567941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6087541088663567941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/screw-hollywood-chat.html' title='Screw Hollywood. Chat.'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SnCYf4XmkrI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Rq4I0wYre30/s72-c/war.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5281173803949931904</id><published>2009-07-22T22:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T22:34:21.129-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='snake'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shenai'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='india'/><title type='text'>Le Future</title><content type='html'>I looked into my future and I saw a snake, the Shenai, and India. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aThb251-Sk&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5281173803949931904?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5281173803949931904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/le-future.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5281173803949931904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5281173803949931904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/le-future.html' title='Le Future'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1103669098296452081</id><published>2009-07-21T02:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T02:54:47.005-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='shane koyczan'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><title type='text'>Atlantis</title><content type='html'>Your entire body shakes when you laugh.&lt;br /&gt;As if your sense of humor was built on a fault line,&lt;br /&gt;And the coast of your heart falls into the ocean of yourself,&lt;br /&gt;And I am left looking for this Atlantis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Left looking for this place that exists in stories told by old men&lt;br /&gt;Who were there when mathematics assured them,&lt;br /&gt;Their willingness to believe was greater than their determination to dismiss.&lt;br /&gt;I am left looking for Atlantis.&lt;br /&gt;Regardless of the scientists that insist my efforts would be better-spent unearthing clues to where the wild things went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dry as it might, faith can’t put a dent in fact.&lt;br /&gt;So we must settle for watching science reenact the world.&lt;br /&gt;As if the universe was curled around this globe.&lt;br /&gt;And if we consider that the universe is never ending,&lt;br /&gt;Then we are not even a microbe.&lt;br /&gt;We’re like a death threat from a pacifist.&lt;br /&gt;We’re nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the Heisenberg uncertainty principle states that nothing is fo shizzle.&lt;br /&gt;And the interesting thing about that is&lt;br /&gt;It ensures the principle itself can’t even be a fact.&lt;br /&gt;But we still act as if this time we can see the forest for the trees.&lt;br /&gt;Regardless of the soft wood lumber levy&lt;br /&gt;We fall in line like reforest pine&lt;br /&gt;It’s all straight rows,&lt;br /&gt;Where everything grows a little less wild&lt;br /&gt;And a little more humdrum, ho hum.&lt;br /&gt;We come from a mentality that rarely sees the horror in symmetry,&lt;br /&gt;Or the beauty in non-conformity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We insist that for us everything must be clear-cut.&lt;br /&gt;But what about philosophy?&lt;br /&gt;What about the tree that fell in the forest that no one was around to hear?&lt;br /&gt;It is a little less clear and a little more deep,&lt;br /&gt;Deep like if Oprah Winfrey farts in a bathtub&lt;br /&gt;And no bubbles come to the surface,&lt;br /&gt;Is there an alternate universe where the price of gas is cheap?&lt;br /&gt;It’s possible,&lt;br /&gt;But we can’t prove it.&lt;br /&gt;Anymore than we can prove that light can move fast enough to stop a monster&lt;br /&gt;Hiding in the closet.&lt;br /&gt;We deposit our faith in fear,&lt;br /&gt;But we clear our minds to the possibility that&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we as adults secretly sometimes still get scared of the dark,&lt;br /&gt;Things that go bump in the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can’t prove that I have ever loved anyone.&lt;br /&gt;But despite the smoking and the over weight body,&lt;br /&gt;I want to grow old with you.&lt;br /&gt;Go through muscle and joint pains,&lt;br /&gt;To the point that every time it rains,&lt;br /&gt;We can feel it in our knees.&lt;br /&gt;Get arthritis so bad that every time we move,&lt;br /&gt;We sound like two bowls of rice crispies.&lt;br /&gt;We'll snap, kracle and pop.&lt;br /&gt;But we still take the time to stop and take the time.&lt;br /&gt;I am looking for Atlantis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Letting faith turn this fiction into fact.&lt;br /&gt;As if I have tracked this missing continent for decades.&lt;br /&gt;And all I know so far is that it is somewhere under water.&lt;br /&gt;I am looking for clues in those blurry photos of U.F.O.’s&lt;br /&gt;And thinking “if aliens are so smart then&lt;br /&gt;Why don’t they start making their spaceships look like airplanes?”&lt;br /&gt;That way we would just point to the sky and say&lt;br /&gt;“An airplane in a common place&lt;br /&gt;and not at all suspect”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are all shipwrecked on this idea that everything has to be explained.&lt;br /&gt;But maybe we just need to believe that&lt;br /&gt;Lemmings jump off of cliffs to prove that they love us.&lt;br /&gt;And sure that sacrifice is as empty as the box of condoms&lt;br /&gt;Politicians used when they thought they could fuck us.&lt;br /&gt;But it’s nice to believe that somebody up there cares enough to plummet onto jagged backbreaking rocks in an attempt to tell us we’re beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;Tell us that as far as life goes,&lt;br /&gt;Our fingerprints are like snowflakes.&lt;br /&gt;We leave them on everything.&lt;br /&gt;But they melt in the time it takes to touch someones tongue.&lt;br /&gt;But if we’re lucky&lt;br /&gt;Maybe we’re a member along with the sunken cities of a lost continent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is for each child who is a monument to the ones who came before&lt;br /&gt;Maybe the best we can hope for,&lt;br /&gt;Is that those we leave behind find comfort in,&lt;br /&gt;Knowing they we were born out of love and not science.&lt;br /&gt;But biology explains the how, but love explains the why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in the event of our deaths we hereby bequeath all of these words to you&lt;br /&gt;And they are only meant to say that uncertainty is something that everyone goes through, &lt;br /&gt;And there is not much in the way of proof, but believe me we loved you.&lt;br /&gt;We held our breath for your first step, your first word, we laughed when it finally occurred to you lemons are sour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is for every time love become the finest minute in the darkest hour&lt;br /&gt;This is for those who scour the streets wondering where the wild things went,&lt;br /&gt;For the believers who lent us their madness.&lt;br /&gt;This is for everyone we miss.&lt;br /&gt;And this is for the children who are lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadness is nothing more than the cost of being able to smile once in a while&lt;br /&gt;And grief is the trial we stand to offer evidence&lt;br /&gt;That your fingerprints were left on our hearts and our skin&lt;br /&gt;And in terms of proof, love can be demonstrated in giving.&lt;br /&gt;Our lives consist of the effort we give in swimming towards the lost continent,&lt;br /&gt;Where you are rumored to be living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Shane Koyczan&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1103669098296452081?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1103669098296452081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/atlantis.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1103669098296452081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1103669098296452081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/atlantis.html' title='Atlantis'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8301231892887558879</id><published>2009-07-01T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T18:53:39.378-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tolkien's' Bitch</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkwTAqS6Y8I/AAAAAAAAAD8/Xddj20k2HOg/s1600-h/tolkien.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkwTAqS6Y8I/AAAAAAAAAD8/Xddj20k2HOg/s320/tolkien.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353674959111218114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I just spent 3 hours in Barnes and Noble reading about the history of Middle Earth and the forgotten tales by Tolkien (Which include stories preceding and running through the first three ages of Middle Earth, the story of the Ring Wraith search as told by Sauron, and the history of Celeborn and Galadriel). Good god. *head smack*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was fantastic. I loved every little nano-second of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8301231892887558879?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8301231892887558879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/tolkiens-bitch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8301231892887558879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8301231892887558879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/07/tolkiens-bitch.html' title='Tolkien&apos;s&apos; Bitch'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkwTAqS6Y8I/AAAAAAAAAD8/Xddj20k2HOg/s72-c/tolkien.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3874029834121860938</id><published>2009-06-29T01:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T01:08:22.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Skh2buUN6XI/AAAAAAAAAD0/-Ami9jmM4mE/s1600-h/sunset-boulevard_01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 253px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Skh2buUN6XI/AAAAAAAAAD0/-Ami9jmM4mE/s320/sunset-boulevard_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352658375791208818" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You see, this is my life! It always will be! Nothing else! Just us, the cameras, and those wonderful people out there in the dark!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3874029834121860938?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3874029834121860938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/you-see-this-is-my-life-it-always-will.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3874029834121860938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3874029834121860938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/you-see-this-is-my-life-it-always-will.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Skh2buUN6XI/AAAAAAAAAD0/-Ami9jmM4mE/s72-c/sunset-boulevard_01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7720855332429865675</id><published>2009-06-23T05:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-23T05:19:40.977-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tangled in Weeds</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkDIQQgAmQI/AAAAAAAAADs/F7AiYjOnP38/s1600-h/weedsss.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkDIQQgAmQI/AAAAAAAAADs/F7AiYjOnP38/s320/weedsss.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350496538948835586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love the show &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Weeds&lt;/span&gt;. End story. Watch it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;www.watchtvsitcoms.com &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7720855332429865675?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7720855332429865675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/tangled-in-weeds.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7720855332429865675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7720855332429865675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/tangled-in-weeds.html' title='Tangled in Weeds'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SkDIQQgAmQI/AAAAAAAAADs/F7AiYjOnP38/s72-c/weedsss.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2299878959766172357</id><published>2009-06-21T22:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-21T22:24:19.391-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='left 4 dead'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='zombie'/><title type='text'>Zombie Attackage!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sj8Ve1-4KwI/AAAAAAAAADk/_5bXyeeIVDU/s1600-h/zombie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sj8Ve1-4KwI/AAAAAAAAADk/_5bXyeeIVDU/s320/zombie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350018501970504450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally used the excuse of my little brothers visit to persuade my mom to get the freaking awesome game, "Left 4 Dead." It's a fantastic zombie massacre game. My little brother and I beat the whole game last night on co-op. My brain was tingling with zombie awesome and I couldn't get them out of my head. So, naturally, I ended up having a dream that there was a massive break-out of crazy zombies. When I woke up, I believed that my dream was real. The result: I jumped out of bed and ran away from the window and said out loud, "This is a horrible place to be during a zombie attack!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2299878959766172357?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2299878959766172357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/zombie-attackage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2299878959766172357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2299878959766172357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/zombie-attackage.html' title='Zombie Attackage!!!'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sj8Ve1-4KwI/AAAAAAAAADk/_5bXyeeIVDU/s72-c/zombie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2440383444736145878</id><published>2009-06-18T03:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T03:32:48.434-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Somnia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjoXyc-YppI/AAAAAAAAADc/WwlYQ-pIfkc/s1600-h/vegan_insomnia2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 303px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjoXyc-YppI/AAAAAAAAADc/WwlYQ-pIfkc/s320/vegan_insomnia2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348613662994638482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here I find myself again. Night after night as long as I can remember. Doing the usual rutine while everyone else sleeps. Some times there are subtle additions that vary my nightly rutine (just to keep me on my toes, i'm sure). These subtle additions usually come with where I just so happen to be staying that evening. I have grown accustomed to house-hopping (or couch surfing) for about two years now. Seeing as how I have been living in the University dorms during school, I only have to worry about this during holidays and summer vacation. The result of this couch surfing extravaganza is the variation of nightly patterns which rely on when my gracious host chooses to sleep, and what I have access to. Here are some examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mummy and her Boyfriend: They go to bed around 9:30-10:00 p.m. and I have access to satellite t.v. Unfortunately, no internet. It's a long long long night of Roseanne reruns and subpar history channel specials. But there is quite the nice leather couch that I have full access to... except I have to share it with the two cats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Downtown chums: No internet. No television. Small scractchy couch in the same room as the gracious host. Gracious host likes to have boyfriend over. A lot. It's awkward. They go to bed eventually...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sugarhouse buddies: These guys are great to stay with, but you don't want to overstay your welcome. They stay up until about 3 a.m. (mostly drinking and smoking hookah and weed). No internet, BUT there IS an N64. And there are a couple couches to choose from. Lots of merry company into the wee hours. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emergency residence: This is the place I go to if there is an option between this place and a parking lot. Not because it's trashy... because it isn't... but it's a home with a young family. I chill in the basement as everyone goes to bed at 8:00 p.m. and it's only for a single night if ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Home Sweet Home: This is the place I have found myself staying the most. Not out of my own personal want and need, but my more-than gracious host invites me to stay for long periods of time. Average bedtime here is 11:00 p.m. which is pretty good. I usually have a mattress, but I have been upgraded to a bedroom, huzzah! I have internet and unlimited access to food and t.v. at all hours. Only conditions (which I have made myself for myself) is that I watch my language a bit. Seeing as how they are mormons, I find that it is probably a courtesy I owe them. My sailor mouth must be leashed!... temporarily. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Couch-surfing has taught me how extraordinarily generous people can be. I hope that in the near future I can have the means to repay everyone who has helped me. For now, they have my undying gratitude. I just hope I can creep around as quiet as the little hobbit I am without waking them up during the wee hours.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2440383444736145878?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2440383444736145878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-somnia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2440383444736145878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2440383444736145878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-somnia.html' title='In a Somnia'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjoXyc-YppI/AAAAAAAAADc/WwlYQ-pIfkc/s72-c/vegan_insomnia2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7777403836781455105</id><published>2009-06-12T02:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T02:46:38.544-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Bottles, bibs, and briars rare,&lt;br /&gt;dressers full of underwear,&lt;br /&gt;giggles, gorging, gleaming eyes,&lt;br /&gt;little saucers tasting pies.&lt;br /&gt;Caster oil makes stomachs fly in the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes, nooses, and narrow crates, &lt;br /&gt;pimples pop like aging dates, &lt;br /&gt;questions, quivers, quizzes jive,&lt;br /&gt;Cashiers typing to be alive.&lt;br /&gt;Girls and boys sit and accept their fates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dentures, Dread, and Death surrounds,&lt;br /&gt;artheritis makes the rounds,&lt;br /&gt;Wrinkles, warriors, waffer dip,&lt;br /&gt;wheelchairs licking for a sip.&lt;br /&gt;Dignity is left for only the young.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7777403836781455105?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7777403836781455105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/bottles-bibs-and-briars-rare-dressers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7777403836781455105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7777403836781455105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/bottles-bibs-and-briars-rare-dressers.html' title=''/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-980798067230667576</id><published>2009-06-11T19:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T19:46:14.337-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog vs. Woman</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjHBb2gDeyI/AAAAAAAAADU/fKzXA3o2K9o/s1600-h/Great_Dane_brindle-54.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 275px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjHBb2gDeyI/AAAAAAAAADU/fKzXA3o2K9o/s320/Great_Dane_brindle-54.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346266916896078626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ziah. A giant great dane that tumbles in at the staggering weight of 793 pounds. Maddie, who weights somewhat less, takes on The Beast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today we find Maddie sprawled out on a couch watching "Modern Marvels." Her canine associate, Ziah, is waking up from a nap and bends his body in an odd squatty position over the carpet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: Z... what are you doing?&lt;br /&gt;Ziah: I've gots ta go.&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: Go... go... wait... GO?!  *runs over to the dog and starts to push him around the ribcage area* Move, move... you HAVE to do that outside!&lt;br /&gt;Ziah: No, I told you 20 minutes ago with a low grumble that i had to go, and you ignored it. Now i'm bursting, excuse me.&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: Ew, Ziah common... go outside! I have to clean this up!&lt;br /&gt;Ziah: Oh, DO you? In that case, excuse me as I plop out a couple more.&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: AAAAAHHH NOOOOOOOOOOOO &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the story ends, we find Maddie whimpering in the corner with a gas mask, and Ziah... sleeping victoriously under the television... proud of the stone henge he so graciously created on the green shag carpet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-980798067230667576?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/980798067230667576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/dog-vs-woman.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/980798067230667576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/980798067230667576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/dog-vs-woman.html' title='Dog vs. Woman'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjHBb2gDeyI/AAAAAAAAADU/fKzXA3o2K9o/s72-c/Great_Dane_brindle-54.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7265374745176204499</id><published>2009-06-11T18:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T18:14:14.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sitting on Houses</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjGr2h-4nHI/AAAAAAAAADM/ezIft5Ys5WQ/s1600-h/house-sitting.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjGr2h-4nHI/AAAAAAAAADM/ezIft5Ys5WQ/s320/house-sitting.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346243185988902002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So i'm house sitting for a friend of mine while her family goes to the Bahamas. My duties include feeding the dog and the Beta. &lt;br /&gt;I don't know about any of the other people of the world, but I get incredibly paranoid when I have to house sit. I always feel like there are camera's everywhere and that the family is actually watching me chill in their house. So i never do anything out of the ordinary. I'm pretty paranoid that there are camera's everywhere. Really odd. O_O&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7265374745176204499?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7265374745176204499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/sitting-on-houses.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7265374745176204499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7265374745176204499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/06/sitting-on-houses.html' title='Sitting on Houses'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SjGr2h-4nHI/AAAAAAAAADM/ezIft5Ys5WQ/s72-c/house-sitting.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8166115350709722058</id><published>2009-04-15T22:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T01:33:24.429-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lucia ripped my heart out!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SebtT8tfX2I/AAAAAAAAADE/OG_LM_tO0-c/s1600-h/lucia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 231px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SebtT8tfX2I/AAAAAAAAADE/OG_LM_tO0-c/s320/lucia.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325204536382414690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three words: Lucia di Lammermoor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Holy geez Donizetti you've done me in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this lady, Lucia, is in love with a man named Edgardo. But this love is forbidden (siiigh opera) by her brother because he wants her to marry this rich chap named Arturo. Her mother just died and her brother has been nothing but cruel to her, but... being the noble soprano she is.... she will not let him dictate her love! And so, she and Edgardo get "married" together before God... which apparently is all you need back in those days as proof. (You married? Yes. Do you have proof? God says so. Oh, alright then that's fine). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Edgardo gives Lucia his ring as a symbol of their marriage as he goes off on some sort of business. Lucia's evil little greasy brother discovers what has come to past and yells (sings loudly) at Lucia of her betrayal against her own blood. He then schemes to end this affair. He writes a letter that is supposedly from Edgardo to "one of his many lovers." Lucia -being the innocent dwindling flower Soprano- is convinced and threatens to kill herself. Twenty minutes of threatening to kill herself she finally asks....... "what must I do?" her brother advises her to marry Arturo. But she rejects, but eventually gives in after a few more scales of operatic gold. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At her wedding to Arturo, she signs a wee bit of paper and exclaims... "I have signed my death warrant." By now the audience realizes she's all talk and no action... so they sit back and chill. But WAIT... who is this thundering through the door?! EDGARDO!!! *gasp* He sees what has happened... and begins to accuse Lucia of treachery! He yells (sings VERY loudly) at her, telling her that she has betrayed heaven and love!&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Lucia, is not receiving any of this well. Her brother and her lover are yelling (duetting their hearts out) at her, calling her a whore and what not. She zones out as her brother and Edgardo get in a singing battle of who has the better insults. At the end Lucia is seen going positively INSANE and hitting a high C while she's at it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next act opens up with the Minster tumbling down the stairs of Arturo's mansion and telling all of the wedding guests that Lucia has killed her husband, and has gone positively mad. Lucia is seen coming out of the room and down the stairs in a blood soaked dress with a knife in her hand. She has stabbed Arturo to death and has gotten it all over her nice white Versace dress!!! She glides down the stairs singing an eerie aria talking to her beloved Edgardo about their wedding, and how lovely it will be. The wedding guests all shift around and none bother to grab the knife out of the madwomans hand. Lucia starts to have a duet with a flute and while she is distracted (being entrenched in her beautiful Soprano voice) the Minster grabs the knife. AH HA! finally, someone does something! Audience looks displeased with that though, that means no action... and yet, the scene remains haunting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is almost done with her aria when her brother comes in and starts shaking her yelling (singing INCREDIBLY loudly) "You stupid wench! Why did you have to go and kill your husband! You and your mad mind have ruined me! The minster finally pulls him off saying "dumbass... look at what you did to her!" Cruel brother "feels remorse." She finishes her aria while getting injected with some kind of relaxant by a doctor who magically shows up out of the party guests... ideal timing. Her brother stands aside bellowing, "ooooh why was i so cruel?!?!" And the minister turns to him and replies, "Yeah... friggin bitch... look what you did!" Lucia gets carried up the stairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Edgardo is still whining to himself saying that he is the last of a cursed family as he mucks about a graveyard. A parade of folks come by and tell him that Lucia is dead and has gone to Heaven. Maybe this is a Protestant thing... but as far as I know, Catholics damn sinners to Hell. Ah.. but they are Italian, maybe the Italian God is more lenient in terms of murder for the sake of beauty! So Edgardo starts freaking out that Lucia is dead and kills himself in the name of heaven and love... but NOT before he sings an aria! Nay! Aria... then death! OR... Aria and death at the same time... oooh yes, excellent idea... no no no... to messy... let's combine the two. RIGHT. So, Edgardo starts to sing about being reunited in heaven with his love.... he stabs himself... then continues to sing until the ghost of Lucia comes and kisses him at the end of his aria and he dies (again, they always appear in ideal timing). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;end&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take a breather. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a link to Joan Sutherland as Lucia. It's the last half of her looong madwoman aria:&lt;br /&gt; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Uez2D-E5yE&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8166115350709722058?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8166115350709722058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/lucia-ripped-my-heart-out.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8166115350709722058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8166115350709722058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/lucia-ripped-my-heart-out.html' title='Lucia ripped my heart out!'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SebtT8tfX2I/AAAAAAAAADE/OG_LM_tO0-c/s72-c/lucia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7922802284946967121</id><published>2009-04-12T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T11:01:11.895-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Disneyworld Auditions part 2- The End.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SeIsYUlYO1I/AAAAAAAAAC8/EjkS8OW6LRE/s1600-h/frowny.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SeIsYUlYO1I/AAAAAAAAAC8/EjkS8OW6LRE/s320/frowny.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323866505859316562" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Madelyn,&lt;br /&gt;We would like to thank you for attending the recent Entertainment audition in your area. Although you were not selected for a role as a Character Performer, you will still be considered for possible participation in the Disney College Program in a different line of business. You will receive your official notification within the next few weeks, and it will provide you with all the information you need.&lt;br /&gt;-The Disneyworld College Program&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ouch. Stinging. Painful. Depressing. Yet a shot of optimism.&lt;br /&gt;Could I be the next Jungle Cruise operator then? I'll have to wait a few weeks to find out I suppose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7922802284946967121?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7922802284946967121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/disneyworld-auditions-part-2-end.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7922802284946967121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7922802284946967121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/disneyworld-auditions-part-2-end.html' title='Disneyworld Auditions part 2- The End.'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SeIsYUlYO1I/AAAAAAAAAC8/EjkS8OW6LRE/s72-c/frowny.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5822883925632660435</id><published>2009-04-03T00:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T00:11:35.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Disneyworld Auditions part 1</title><content type='html'>Greetings,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So in about... 7 hours I shall embark to the last step in my Disneyworld Application process. For those of you who do not know, I am currently auditioning to be a character performer at Disneyworld (Florida). If I get in, I will be there from May of 2009 to January of 2010!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am pretty nervous and excited at the same time. This last audition we will be asked to learn and perform a dance as well as pantomime a scene. Now with the dancing, I'm thinking Disney is testing how much you love Disney. Because a friend of mine went through the audition process and said he had to dance to Highschool Musical. This is Disney in its sadistic form. "WILL YOU DANCE TO HIGHSCHOOL MUSICAL FOR US?!?! HOW MUCH DO YOU LOVE DISNEY?!?! ARE YOU WILLING?!" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pantomime can be a bit tricky. There are two basic scenerios (that I am aware of, not entirely certain). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) You (as yourself) meet a character. With this, you must interact with the invisible Disney character and portray (with pantomime) who it is you are interacting with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) You are acting like a certain Disney character, and must show WHO you are through pantomime while being given a scenerio (i.e. getting food)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've got my eyes set on meeting the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, and acting like Sleepy (one of the Seven Dwarves). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5822883925632660435?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5822883925632660435/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/disneyworld-auditions-part-1.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5822883925632660435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5822883925632660435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/04/disneyworld-auditions-part-1.html' title='Disneyworld Auditions part 1'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-9083128841373051618</id><published>2009-03-31T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T21:12:31.858-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Russian Deliciousness</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SdLpq_UgaCI/AAAAAAAAAC0/NZt0xIduBCA/s1600-h/russia"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SdLpq_UgaCI/AAAAAAAAAC0/NZt0xIduBCA/s320/russia" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319571034639198242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A list of my favorite Russian Composers (plus a key piece), you should look into them if you haven't already! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Mikhail Glinka: Ruslan and Lyudmila Overture&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Alexander Borodin: Polovtsian Dances (Prince Igor)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Cesar Cui: Orientale Op. 50&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Modest Mussorgsky: Pictures at an Exhibition&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) Pieter Tchaikovsky: Piano Concerto No. 1 (Notably first movement)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) Nikolai Rimsky Korsakov: Russian Easter Festival Overture&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Alexander Glazunov: Violin concerto in A minor, Op. 82 Allegro&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) Alexander Scriabin: Etude Op. 8, No. 12&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) Igor Stravinsky: L'Histoire du Soldat&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) Sergei Rachmoninov (who has BIG hands): Piano concerto No. 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) Sergei Prokofiev: Montagues and Capulets&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) Aram Khachaturian: Sabre Dance&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13) Dmitri Shostakovich (honestly, I don't like a LOT of his work, however... what I do like... I REALLY like): Suite Jazz No. 2 Waltz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-9083128841373051618?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/9083128841373051618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/russian-deliciousness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/9083128841373051618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/9083128841373051618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/russian-deliciousness.html' title='Russian Deliciousness'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SdLpq_UgaCI/AAAAAAAAAC0/NZt0xIduBCA/s72-c/russia' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7142659662762335233</id><published>2009-03-28T12:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T12:32:39.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Books Books Books</title><content type='html'>That's right, i'm publishing a lame-ass survey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) What author do you own the most books by?&lt;br /&gt;Yikes. It's a three-way tie between Dostoevsky, Dickens, and Forster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) What book do you own the most copies of?&lt;br /&gt;Bleak House by Charles Dickens. My mom loves to get me different versions of it because it is my favorite Dickens novel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Did it bother you that both those questions ended with prepositions?&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, I did not even think of that until now. But that just shows how much English speakers want to feel special and structure their sentences off of Latin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) What fictional character are you secretly in love with?&lt;br /&gt;Ooooh, secret? You see many people know of my blatant love for Marvin from Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, it's hard to think of a "secret" love. Um... probably Dr. Zhivago from "Dr. Zhivago" by Boris Pasternak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) What book have you read the most times in your life (excluding picture books read to children)&lt;br /&gt;Again... there is a three-way tie. "Bleak House" by Charles Dickens, "The Captive Mind" by Czeslaw Milosz, and &lt;br /&gt;"The Canterbury Tales" by Chaucer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) What was your favorite book when you were ten years old.&lt;br /&gt;JRR Tolkiens, The Hobbit. Hands down. I read that and all of the Lord of the Rings when I was 10. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) What is the worst book you've read in the past year?&lt;br /&gt;"American Chica" by (I can't remember authors name). I had to read it for my LEAP class, and it was painful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) What is one of the best book you've read in the past year?&lt;br /&gt;"The Story of Buddhism" by Donald S. Lopez Jr. or Tao Te Ching- Lao Tzu. &lt;br /&gt;Can't say that I read a whole lot of fiction this previous year... but I definitely recommend Lopez for anyone who is interested in Buddhism. He brings the ideals of Buddhism down to the simplest of terms, so it's easier to understand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) What is the last book you read, or are currently reading?&lt;br /&gt;I actually just finished this book called "Der Richter unde sein Henker" by Friedrich Duerrenmatt. Hardest thing of my life so far. haha... as you've probably guessed, it's in German... and I had to read it very very slowly. But i'm currently reading "Zen in the art of archery" and another book on Rembrandt for school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) If you could force everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?&lt;br /&gt;Er... i wouldn't force people... ha, but I would probably recommend The Federalist Papers. It's interesting to see what the "founding fathers" wanted and what we have today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7142659662762335233?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7142659662762335233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/books-books-books.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7142659662762335233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7142659662762335233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/books-books-books.html' title='Books Books Books'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5080345928881667734</id><published>2009-03-24T23:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T23:34:45.819-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scheiße...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScnQgElwCKI/AAAAAAAAACs/e3kUUO04Vd4/s1600-h/fuck.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 197px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScnQgElwCKI/AAAAAAAAACs/e3kUUO04Vd4/s320/fuck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317010084494051490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just found out that I share a birthday with Anita Bryant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5080345928881667734?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5080345928881667734/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/scheie.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5080345928881667734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5080345928881667734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/scheie.html' title='Scheiße...'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScnQgElwCKI/AAAAAAAAACs/e3kUUO04Vd4/s72-c/fuck.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5617998365220115246</id><published>2009-03-22T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-22T11:41:34.172-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First Impressions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScaGVdbR9KI/AAAAAAAAACk/0SuF-x1A8AU/s1600-h/sunsetb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScaGVdbR9KI/AAAAAAAAACk/0SuF-x1A8AU/s320/sunsetb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316084113391875234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this morning I had a long sit-and-think about the first impressions i got after watching some of my favorite movies. One of the main ones I thought about was the claaaaassic film "Sunset Boulevard." I first saw this about 5 years ago and didn't really watch it... then i saw it again this last year in my film class. I think it made a bigger impression on me because it was on the big screen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just remember sitting in my seat watching this absolutely fantastic film and just enjoying myself. But then at the end where Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson) comes walking down the stairs and just gazes hauntingly into the camera... aaaaaaaagh i just about cried. It is so beautifully tragic. Definitely one of the best film-noir's i've ever seen. I walked out of that film simply entranced. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I thought of another movie, "Kill Bill vol. 1." In my opinion, one of Quentin Terrantino's BEST films. It had just the right dab of everything. I walked out of that movie wanting to kick ass with a samurai sword. haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that's all I have to say about that. I'm just going to list off some of my favorite films (in no particular order excluding MANY foreign films):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marx Brothers Movies&lt;br /&gt;Buster Keaton films&lt;br /&gt;Boy in the Striped Pajama's&lt;br /&gt;Charlie (or Syd) Chaplin Films&lt;br /&gt;Sunset Boulevard&lt;br /&gt;Psycho&lt;br /&gt;Requiem For A Dream&lt;br /&gt;Strangers on a Train&lt;br /&gt;North by Northwest &lt;br /&gt;Annie Hall&lt;br /&gt;Alien &lt;br /&gt;Aliens&lt;br /&gt;Full Metal Jacket&lt;br /&gt;The Graduate&lt;br /&gt;A Clockwork Orange&lt;br /&gt;Gone with the Wind &lt;br /&gt;Memento&lt;br /&gt;The Machinist&lt;br /&gt;Ironweed&lt;br /&gt;Wavelength&lt;br /&gt;Holy Mountain &lt;br /&gt;Fightclub&lt;br /&gt;The Dark Crystal&lt;br /&gt;Sophies Choice&lt;br /&gt;The Muppet Movie&lt;br /&gt;Muppet Christmas Carol&lt;br /&gt;Muppet Treasure Island&lt;br /&gt;2001: A Space Odyssey&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping Beauty&lt;br /&gt;Snow White and the Seven Dwarves&lt;br /&gt;Alice in Wonderland&lt;br /&gt;Pinocchio&lt;br /&gt;any CLASSIC Disney movie&lt;br /&gt;Foreign Films&lt;br /&gt;60's/70's Horror films&lt;br /&gt;Amadeus&lt;br /&gt;La vie en Rose&lt;br /&gt;Carrie&lt;br /&gt;The Bridges of Madison County&lt;br /&gt;Jean du Florette&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And many many MANY more...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5617998365220115246?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5617998365220115246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-impressions.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5617998365220115246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5617998365220115246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/first-impressions.html' title='First Impressions'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScaGVdbR9KI/AAAAAAAAACk/0SuF-x1A8AU/s72-c/sunsetb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1445706510193159628</id><published>2009-03-22T01:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-22T01:20:04.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I Learned this Winter of 2009</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScX0p2ALYTI/AAAAAAAAACc/vvYvclhphtA/s1600-h/pastoral.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScX0p2ALYTI/AAAAAAAAACc/vvYvclhphtA/s320/pastoral.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315923934888812850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of this'll be crude. But hey, it's a blog... meant to be semi-personal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- imaginary numbers exist by not existing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Rembrandt can be appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Buddhism is a lot more "hell fire and damnation" then you'd think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- 3 month art slumps are not good for mental health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Second confirmation that weed and alcohol do not mix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- It is possible for a father to disregard his "old" family altogether like a faulty science experiment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Underground Utah Meth Lab world is insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Re-confirmation on how much i love love love LOVE Opera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- When your shoes have such big holes in them that they are no longer shoes, it's time to get new shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Some people can see MORE colors then others. (This has a specific name but it escapes me). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Stumbleupon is addicting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Lucia de Lammermore has one of the BEST "going insane" scenes in operatic history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- Reading "The Hobbit" in one night is a mindfuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- German is even more of a badass language then i thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- I still don't know when to use "then" and when to use "than."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- There is some point in a persons life when innocence is thrust from you. As you get older and look in the mirror you see your face all tattered and beaten with age, sun damage, and the world. You wonder how you lost everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-To see nothing is to see everything&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1445706510193159628?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1445706510193159628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-i-learned-this-winter-of-2009.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1445706510193159628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1445706510193159628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-i-learned-this-winter-of-2009.html' title='What I Learned this Winter of 2009'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/ScX0p2ALYTI/AAAAAAAAACc/vvYvclhphtA/s72-c/pastoral.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-5892269749421810226</id><published>2009-03-17T11:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T11:57:46.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Me no likey game shows...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sb_yoou5nAI/AAAAAAAAACU/8kGRCvNaU0M/s1600-h/alien.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 316px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sb_yoou5nAI/AAAAAAAAACU/8kGRCvNaU0M/s320/alien.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314232865263295490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; This is why I don't watch game shows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trivial Pursuit: America Plays was on T.V. today. The story unfolds...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Host: For $5,000... what was the name of the spaceship on the movie, "Alien."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: Nostromo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lady: Um...um... i'm not sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maddie: NOSTROMO... NOOOOOOOOSTROOOOOOOMOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lady: Um.... Ridley?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maddie:  MOTHER-@$%^**(*(%*#($*%(@#$*@#$@#$@#%$#^%&amp;%^&amp;$%^# &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*shoe flies into the television*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-5892269749421810226?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/5892269749421810226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/me-no-likey-game-shows.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5892269749421810226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/5892269749421810226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/me-no-likey-game-shows.html' title='Me no likey game shows...'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/Sb_yoou5nAI/AAAAAAAAACU/8kGRCvNaU0M/s72-c/alien.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1175579149485661663</id><published>2009-03-13T00:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T00:11:42.034-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Opera makes incest FUN!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SboHIaD3LdI/AAAAAAAAACM/TjBQh4DC1qk/s1600-h/mozartfigaro.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 190px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SboHIaD3LdI/AAAAAAAAACM/TjBQh4DC1qk/s320/mozartfigaro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312566551452790226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I have student season tickets to the Utah Opera and this evening I had the pleasure of going to see Le Nozze di Figaro (by W. A. Mozart). &lt;br /&gt;It is one of Mozart's most acclaimed Operas and one of the funniest out there. Basic story plot: Figaro and Sussana are the servants of a rather frisky Count and a heart broken Countess. The two young lovers are looking to get married, but the Count wants to get in Sussana's skirt. So Figaro, Sussana, and the Countess come up with a plot of revenge to teach the Count a lesson. In the meantime this older lady named Marcellina has the hots for Figaro and she wants to marry him. So she and this guy named Antonio attempt to use an old loan to trick Figaro into marrying this expired broad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time comes for the marriage of Figaro and Sussana. Marcellina comes in and breaks the whole thing up claiming that Figaro owes her one hell of a loan, and if he cannot pay... then they must wed. Figaro, being a poor servant, cannot pay. In a short paraphrased dialogue, the following conversation occurs:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Hellz no. I'm not marrying this hag!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Count: well you can't marry Sussana because I want to do her, I mean...  you don't even know your parents!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Oh common, that's a low blow. I've been looking for them for years! I know i'm from some rich cats, i've still got some stuff that proves my noble heritage!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina: What's this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Yeah, I was kidnapped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina &amp; Antonio: Kidnapped?! *exchange glances*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Yes, from outside a castle. And i'm just going to randomly insert a fact about a birthmark i have on my arm!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina: Your RIGHT arm?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Why yes, how'd you know that?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina: Oh my god it's Raphaellio!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antonio &amp; Figaro: Raphaellio?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina: Figaro... I am your mother!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   *gasps spread through the company while roars of laughter come from the audience*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Mother! *they embrace as Antonio tries to slip away*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Marcellina: And this is your father, Antonio! Look Antonio, the fruits of our one night stand!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antonio: Shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Figaro: Daddy!!!!!!! *awkward handshake/embrace*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And everyone forgets that Marcellina was in love with her own son for who knows how long. And everyone is happy-go-lucky while the Count gets screwed over by the end of Act IV. It is beautiful. *butterflies fluffy cloads rainbows*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1175579149485661663?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1175579149485661663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/opera-makes-incest-fun.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1175579149485661663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1175579149485661663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/03/opera-makes-incest-fun.html' title='Opera makes incest FUN!'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SboHIaD3LdI/AAAAAAAAACM/TjBQh4DC1qk/s72-c/mozartfigaro.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-6169268091953114563</id><published>2009-02-19T17:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-19T17:34:12.044-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Utah Uni</title><content type='html'>At present I have found myself to be in an "educational slump." What I mean, is simply that I am in no mood to receive or retain an education at present. And yet... the little lederhosen-wearing leprechaun in the back of my head reminds me that I really do. So, what do you do when your mind is having a battle for Middle Earth of its own and the bad side is winning? You blog of course!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so... I find myself here after invoking a facebook ban until I get back into the groove of things. Lately I have been slipping into spats of laziness (which consist of me not doing homework or readings... etc). This usually happens for one or two classes that I really do not care about like my LEAP class and Math... but this time I have been doing it for every single class. INCLUDING the ones I love the most (i.e. German, Buddhist Art, Baroque Art). So what will be the result of this ridiculous state of mind?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other side of things, I got my Buddhist Art midterm back today. I got a B+ and I am PISSED...OFF. I hate anything that is not an "A." I don't care if it's pretty good considering it's my first upper division midterm... I wants me an A! ha ha ha. I had done everything perfectly. The slide I.D.'s: perfect. Vocabulary: perfect. Compare/Contrast essay: perfect. The Four Truths Segment: perfect. The essay at the end: didn't have enough information. Godddammmnniit. I am not a fan. Ah well, I will just have to kick the trash out of the next one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-6169268091953114563?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/6169268091953114563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/utah-uni.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6169268091953114563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/6169268091953114563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/utah-uni.html' title='Utah Uni'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-4971708738668904771</id><published>2009-02-05T16:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T16:48:35.791-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Words of Encouragement</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYuI3Cwx36I/AAAAAAAAACE/vI9he4BopoY/s1600-h/rembrandthomer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYuI3Cwx36I/AAAAAAAAACE/vI9he4BopoY/s320/rembrandthomer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299479865747169186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I am in this Northern Baroque class that has an emphasis on the work of Rembrandt and we had to find some aspect of Dutch art and apply it to three works by Rembrandt that all focused in on a 5-10 year period. We had to formulate our ideas into either an abstract or an outline. I chose to do an abstract seeing as how i had only used outlines in the past (even then a couple times)... and I am not that big of a fan of how they are structured. So i fill out this abstract with great difficulty because I like inserting the classic "art history bullshit" with all the flowy adjectives and what not. I go to the class and I strike up a conversation with this other girl who i've talked to a couple times before. The conversation goes as follows, starting with me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I never really like doing these kinds of things, I like the bullshit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have you ever had Muller (the professor) before?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I haven't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh well this is all you do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Writing abstracts?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yup."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh... well damn."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah, I hope you do better on your first abstract than I did. It was the worst grade i'd ever gotten, I almost cried."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Um... yeah, thanks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I walk away. &lt;br /&gt;I'd like to thank that snippy little blonde for her words of encouragement. Thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-4971708738668904771?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/4971708738668904771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/words-of-encouragement.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/4971708738668904771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/4971708738668904771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/words-of-encouragement.html' title='Words of Encouragement'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYuI3Cwx36I/AAAAAAAAACE/vI9he4BopoY/s72-c/rembrandthomer.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-1250810620648971101</id><published>2009-02-03T16:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T19:04:00.268-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Day (Schlechter Tag)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYpXGhyImnI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7kTB4Y_VclI/s1600-h/pigeonfail.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 176px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYpXGhyImnI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7kTB4Y_VclI/s320/pigeonfail.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299143681214290546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How a generally good day... turned into a bad day in the course of one hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From 4:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. I discovered that two of my friends have cancer and that my "loving" father who was court ordered to take care of my insurance, let my health insurance and dental lapse so he could send his two step sons to fucking mormon camp. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-1250810620648971101?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/1250810620648971101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/bad-day-schlechter-tag.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1250810620648971101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/1250810620648971101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/bad-day-schlechter-tag.html' title='Bad Day (Schlechter Tag)'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYpXGhyImnI/AAAAAAAAAB8/7kTB4Y_VclI/s72-c/pigeonfail.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2057865860283610735</id><published>2009-02-02T10:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T10:24:28.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hookah</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYc6VODPZXI/AAAAAAAAAB0/1OM0FL-7SqQ/s1600-h/AliceCaterpillar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYc6VODPZXI/AAAAAAAAAB0/1OM0FL-7SqQ/s320/AliceCaterpillar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298267622848030066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my roommate and I are thinking of investing in a mini-hookah. Normally someone would want one that is over a foot tall, but those average out to $150.00 that neither of us have. So we are thinking of getting a small $50.00 one that we can just smoke in our bathroom with the fan on or something. We both discovered that we slept the BEST after smoking a bowl of hookah. Since we both have insomnia, this hookah thing is cheaper then actually going out and buying medication that may or may not make you sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hookah can get you sick, but that's after a lot of it (just like anything). I tend to have very blissful nights after smoking hookah. I get to sleep fast... I stay asleep... and wake up feeling like I had just hibernated for a good few months. Methinks a good dosage of this sleeping pill alternative about once every week will set me nice and easy no?&lt;br /&gt;Ah... yes yes... ich liebe es.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2057865860283610735?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2057865860283610735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/hookah.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2057865860283610735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2057865860283610735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/02/hookah.html' title='Hookah'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SYc6VODPZXI/AAAAAAAAAB0/1OM0FL-7SqQ/s72-c/AliceCaterpillar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-927144974526069835</id><published>2009-01-26T15:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T15:23:33.620-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Surreal Life Moment...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SX5FsO_wbTI/AAAAAAAAABA/8PK8jtouFDk/s1600-h/DSC04261.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SX5FsO_wbTI/AAAAAAAAABA/8PK8jtouFDk/s320/DSC04261.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295746838076353842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So earlier today I was thinking about one of the coolest things i'd ever done, and I decided i'm going to share it with you because I like telling the story so much:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August 1, 2008 6:00 p.m.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am on my way to a friends birthday party when my friend Bryan calls me.&lt;br /&gt;"You want to go to Disneyland?"&lt;br /&gt;"YES!!!"&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, we're leaving tonight. See you at the party!"&lt;br /&gt;"Wait, wha-" click.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3 hours later I found myself in a car with my friends Bryan, Cindy, and Megan bound for Disneyland on I-50 S. The reality of what was going on did not necessarily click. We stopped in St. George where I started driving. I drove from St. George to the Buffalo Bills rest stop a few miles outside of L.A. I remember having this insane battle from 1- 3 a.m. with this Minivan. We would pass each other at reckless speeds as we cruised along in the middle of NO WHERE Arizona/Nevada. I remember it was a man driving and his kids were watching "Finding Nemo." He started getting dirty by keeping his brights on as he passed me... so i returned the favor. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We reached Las Vegas and he got into the far right lane to exit. I looked over and he turned the inside car light on and waved a "goodbye and thanks for the entertainment" wave, and I did the same back. We reached Buffalo Bills at 4 a.m. And I switched to the front seat as Bryan got in the drivers seat, he was the only one that wanted to drive through L.A.  We got off on Exit 3 for Ball Rd. and drove towards Harbor Blvd. We reached the "moment of extreme anticipation." This "moment" is at the top of a we little hill, and just when you're at the top you can see the Matterhorn Mt. Rollercoaster. Screams broke out from the car as Bryan stepped on the gas. I was just WAITING for a cop to pull us over for speeding... would be all too typical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We parked in the Pinocchio section of the Disneyland parking lot. There, we got dressed, brushed our teeth, and surveyed our situation. Reality had not sunken in just quite yet. We took the precious lil tram over to the Disneyland gates. We got our (then $60) tickets for just Disneyland and not California Adventures and waited in line until the park opened at 8 a.m. The park opened and we clawed our way through the gates and skipped down main street. We then ran over to "Space Mountain." It was when we got off that we all just sat there... wind blown........ we were in DISNEYLAND. Probably the oddest sensation i've ever had. I actually DID something spontaneous. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later that day I called my mom and decided to tell her where I was. You see, none of our parents knew we'd gone and it was quite the deal then because we were JUST out of high school. So I call my mom and the conversation goes as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey Mads, what's up?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh.... nothing....." Snicker Snicker&lt;br /&gt;"What're you up to?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh.... nothing in particular... just, waiting in line for the Snow White ride."&lt;br /&gt;"What?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm in Disneyland!"&lt;br /&gt;"No you aren't..."&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah I am!!! Bryan, Cindy, Megan, and I drove here overnight."&lt;br /&gt;"Oh my god you guys are crazy........ have fun.... I HATE YOU! haha" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We proceeded to have a fun filled day of overpriced chocolate muffins, rollercoasters, Disney magic, and pure joy. We had reached nirvana without DYING. haha. We left Disneyland around 1 a.m. and slept at some crappy motel until noon the next day and drove home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disneyland in a weekend. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Full to the brim with awesomeness.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-927144974526069835?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/927144974526069835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/surreal-life-moment.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/927144974526069835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/927144974526069835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/surreal-life-moment.html' title='A Surreal Life Moment...'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SX5FsO_wbTI/AAAAAAAAABA/8PK8jtouFDk/s72-c/DSC04261.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-8755116066064095609</id><published>2009-01-24T13:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T14:01:09.695-08:00</updated><title type='text'>East side Po Po</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXuPoKzjrbI/AAAAAAAAAA4/218nXp_ZJQ4/s1600-h/madhatter.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXuPoKzjrbI/AAAAAAAAAA4/218nXp_ZJQ4/s320/madhatter.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294983707162291634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The police department of Salt Lake City's east side is BORED. They have to be. Instead of trying to crack down on the underground meth society of Salt Lake, they decide to just bust parties. &lt;div&gt;Here is the story:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night I went to my friends house (the apostles) for a triple kegger they were hosting. There were quite a few people there already at 8:30 and by 10:30 the house was completely packed. Then, by 12:30 the house was full ready to explode. And what do you know, it did. I was standing in the upstairs area when all of the sudden this huge fight broke out for no reason but human drunkeness. Nobody really knows. There was just a lot of kicking, punching, and blood flying all over the place. It got on my arm, face, pants, and sweatshirt. Preeeeeettty gross. So then the fight broke up and everyone calmed down... then it started again and got taken out to the front lawn.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's when the neighbors called the po po. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then the police show up and I walk out the front door. Because if you start running to the back/side door and jumping windows while spazzing out, they are going to take notice. So I act all chill and I start walking out of the front door and a policeman points his flashlight in my face and says, "Are you the owner of this house?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"What happened?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Just some idiots trying to prove their masculinity." and I kept walking until I got to my car on the other side of the street. I sat outside of it trying to get ahold of my friends who were hiding in the basement somewhere. So I look at the other side of the street and this kid, who was at the party, goes walking up and the cop gets right in his face and the kid says, "Hey man... what happened?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'M A COP YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT HUH?!?! HUH?!?!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Oh whoa, no man..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I'M A COP YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH ME? HUH PUNK? IS THAT IT?!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No no... "&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Time to get home, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then the angry and stereotypical cop looked at me and yelled, "GET THE FUCK IN YOUR CAR!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I did. haha. And that is where my episode with the po po ended that evening, but my friends had some more tales about the asshole cops. Those are so explicit, that they shall not be shared on the internets. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Farewell! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-8755116066064095609?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/8755116066064095609/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/east-side-po-po.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8755116066064095609'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/8755116066064095609'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/east-side-po-po.html' title='East side Po Po'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXuPoKzjrbI/AAAAAAAAAA4/218nXp_ZJQ4/s72-c/madhatter.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-7805317030784382870</id><published>2009-01-21T15:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T15:53:28.583-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes life hates you</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXe1b0Bh4hI/AAAAAAAAAAo/trVEPnwN-XE/s1600-h/dancefail.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 316px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXe1b0Bh4hI/AAAAAAAAAAo/trVEPnwN-XE/s320/dancefail.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293899376423461394" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know when the cosmos is telling you that you shouldn't live today and you do anyway?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is my tale of a realistic series of rather unfortunate past-life karma induced events:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am walking down to the Utah Museum of Fine Arts to do a review on an art gallery when I decide to cut across the main concrete path and walk down this wee little hill that's covered in grass and mud. I'm walking down, things are going great when I slip and fall on my ass with my arms swinging around all over the place like a loon. And where did I fall? Or rather, into WHAT did I fall? Into a big awesome section of muddy sludge. So, with mud on my pants and determination for a good grade in my head I continue on my way (now on the concrete path) laughing about my greatness. Just when I was internally giggling about my glorious display in the mud, my ankle rolls and I face plant into the snow while scraping my left knee on the concrete. All that ran through my head was... woooooooooow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After my UMFA adventures I was walking up to the Union building to catch the shuttle ride up to the dorms when I puked. Full on. In a bush. Awesome I tell you. Awesome. Now I think I have the flu because my stomach is still a bit queezed. So I get on a shuttle to discover that there is a "shuttle driving trainee" manning the bus. I spent the whole ride falling over people while people fell on me as we swung about clinging for dear life. The suffering from the new drivers' wrath did not help the stomach situation. I tried to suppress the spreading of my possible flu, but it was kind of hard seeing as how the contents of the bus resembled a big mass of tangled bodies...... probably because it was. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes, the cosmos is out to get you. Today... bad karma day. What the hell did I do in a past life to deserve this chain reaction?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-7805317030784382870?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/7805317030784382870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/sometimes-life-hates-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7805317030784382870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/7805317030784382870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/sometimes-life-hates-you.html' title='Sometimes life hates you'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/SXe1b0Bh4hI/AAAAAAAAAAo/trVEPnwN-XE/s72-c/dancefail.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-2753444730811983364</id><published>2009-01-20T17:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T17:19:40.962-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Banned Books</title><content type='html'>I found a website that has a list of the most banned books ever and the reasons as to why... it is really........... funny. I love how OFFENSIVE "The Diary of Anne Frank" is.  :)&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Enjoy:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;title.forbiddenlibrary.com&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-2753444730811983364?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/2753444730811983364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/banned-books.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2753444730811983364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/2753444730811983364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/banned-books.html' title='Banned Books'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-342191540028669092</id><published>2009-01-20T17:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T17:16:18.775-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Porn Industry Wants a Bailout Too! :)</title><content type='html'>Well let's not forget that everyone has been thrown off of their usual course due to the economy. Many people have to make great sacrifices... for example: canceling or limiting subscriptions to Hustler and limiting Pornflix hits. You would think that because of the economy, the porn industry would have a substantial growth in its business, however it has gone to a negative turn! Or, at least, according to the attached link. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes ladies and gentlemen, the porn industries are asking for a 5 billion dollar bailout. Seeing as how they are a beneficial part of American society, it seems only fit that their demands be met. Come on guys... let's stop the online porn-pirating and ease back to the classique magazines eh?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's help an American business in need. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-342191540028669092?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/342191540028669092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/porn-industry-wants-bailout-too.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/342191540028669092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/342191540028669092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/porn-industry-wants-bailout-too.html' title='Porn Industry Wants a Bailout Too! :)'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4280721847019459932.post-3233287795811962312</id><published>2009-01-20T16:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T17:10:40.932-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Godhead and Disciples of Cinema</title><content type='html'>And so, after much deliberation, I have narrowed my choices for my favorite LIVING female actresses to three. These three, I shall dub my Female Godhead of the Living Cinema. They are as follows (in no particular order):&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) Meryl Streep&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) Bernadette Peters&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) Emma Thompson&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But what would a Godhead do without Disciples? Sure these disciples do not necessarily expound the gospel of the Godhead, but what religion REALLY sticks to what is written anyway right?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Four Disciples:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Sigourney Weaver: this honor has been bestowed upon you due to your diligence as you sliced through Yale at the same time as Meryl Streep, your valiant demeanor as you torched and blew up aliens and was a key participant in the biggest bitch fight in Cinematic history in the marvelous movie of "Aliens." And for your supreme bitchiness in the movies "Holes" and "The Working Girl." And you also get a bravery award. This award comes with the mere knowledge that you and Rick Moranis got it on in "Ghostbusters." Congratulations gate-keeper. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Gillian Anderson: you have been chosen as a disciple because of your excellence as Agent Scully in the X-Files series. You endured at least 6 or so years of Sci Fi television, and for that you are commended. You are also singled out to be great in the majestic role of Lady Dedlock in the mini-series of awesome "Bleak House." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Dame Julie Andrews: you are blessed with the rare gift of awesome. Such an awesome that can be taken in both the literal and slang terminology. You have been loved from My Fair Lady through your rebellious anti-Mary Poppins phase where you revealed your "dirty pillows" to the camera and now to your Disney empire. Ich liebe dich meine freunde. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;-Carol Burnett: How can words describe the adoration that is held for this comedian. Many children have been raised underneath her........ child-appropriate skits... *cough cough* and have molded the young minds of such crazed people like the humble creator of this post. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;May these women continue to be blessed with the power of AWESOME.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amen. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4280721847019459932-3233287795811962312?l=beetzart.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/feeds/3233287795811962312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/godhead-and-disciples-of-cinema.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3233287795811962312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4280721847019459932/posts/default/3233287795811962312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://beetzart.blogspot.com/2009/01/godhead-and-disciples-of-cinema.html' title='The Godhead and Disciples of Cinema'/><author><name>beetzart</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04216863995591941069</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='23' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NONgzJVN-ME/TJ729TVqybI/AAAAAAAAAGY/AXDQPuKrgg4/S220/innsbruck.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
