I shower naked.

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A modernish piece of crap, by yours truly.

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I sleep in because I have nothing better to do.

I waste time because nothing’s really worth attention.

I dream because reality is for people who lack imagination.

I write because someone will understand.

I talk because I have a way with words.

I smile because it confuses people.

I laugh because it’s ridiculous.

I play because I’m a child.

I cheat because I don’t like to lose.

I’m loud because it’s fun.

I’m infatuated with you because you wouldn’t look at me twice.

I’m curious about what makes you tick.

I’m interested until I get bored.

I insist because there’s something about you.

I don’t know what to say because I can’t really think things through when you look at me.

I walk on eggshells because I’m stupid enough to think there’s a chance.

I stay away because I fear rejection.

I’m pessimistic because I don’t want to be disappointed.

I envy because something’s always missing.

I criticise because I’m not perfect.

I work out because I feel weak.

I’m mean because you’re weaker than I am.

I wouldn’t give you the time of day because you’re interested in me.

I’m alone because no one is ever good enough.

I shop because I’m not really happy.

I torture myself because no one else does it better.

I shower naked…

Just because.

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Red doodles courtesy of: Yasny-chan at DeviantArt

I [hate] dancer movies

And yet, in spite of the title, I still watch them. Despite their undeniable predictability and overly likeable characters, I still watch. I just did.

If there was any way to explain myself, I suppose I would say that I’m a having an exceptionally dull vacation and I just happened upon “Step up” whilst playing with the remote control. But why not just say that I really love to hate these movies and the people they present to me?

Well, how about because it sounds kind of stupid? And yet I do. Apparently, I enjoy watching all of those impossible situations with all of their stupid inadvertencies and the retardo-virginal behavior of the *obviously* smitten main couple.

For one thing, it’s interesting how all of the characters are smoking hot. Actually, this is a general trait of films portraying “high school life.” And the more important the character is in the plot, the sexier they are, as well.

It makes me wonder whether or not the producers/writers/directors have actually ever been to high-school. I guess in their world having one skinny/fat kid walk by the rehearsal studio at the beginning of the film proves that not everyone there is hot. *Q.E.D., anyone?*

Then, of course, all the well-built studs and lovely dames are almost always amazing dancers or, if not, they manage to become incredible dancers in record time and win the competition by the end of the story. *cue happily ever after*

And speaking of happily ever after, have you noticed how the hotties always fall for each other? When’s the last time you saw a teen-focused movie where the guy she fell in love with was actually in love with someone else, or at least completely uninterested in her? Or vice-versa? You know, the kind of stuff that happens down here in real life?

I guess people just don’t appreciate good old tragedies anymore. You could say that we experience enough “downs” in our own lives to go out to a movie and see a bunch of beautiful people suffer.

On the other side, I can’t really figure out how someone living the classical ‘urban tragedy’ can feel better about themselves by watching other people live their perfect lives and fulfil their dreams.

However, I digress. I was going to say something about how the happy little teens always avoid admitting that they’re falling head over heels in love with each other.

And their friends always figure it out first and tell them; even though said friends are themselves incapable of recognising that they are going through exactly the same thing with someone else. Of course, even after repeated conversations about how stupid they are, the characters continue as before, in just as much [if not more] denial. Leave it to hormones to confuse everyone.

The filmmakers seem to really enjoy stretching out the whole denial phase, even though the characters’ dances are practically like having sex with clothes on. So you have these really sexy, young people grinding around on a dancefloor, or wherever, holding each other closely, more closely, very darn closely; and then they part embarrassedly.

I might have slightly more liberal views regarding sexuality than your average Joe, but when the sexy street dancer is literally putting the moves on the hot ballet dancer and doesn’t kiss her/him, then he/she is definitely playing for the other team.

And then, they always get that “inspirational” thing going in these movies. Basically, you take people from completely different backgrounds, but who all have a love for dancing [or are likely to discover it within 20 minutes of the film's beginning] and use a barely believable, but noble excuse throw them in together and get them shakin’ their stuff around for the camera.

Then you play the “different background” theme against the “I’m young and would like to follow my dream, which almost certainly involves winning a dance competition” theme.

After that, you proceed to involve some old friends getting ditched, usually on the “poor” side, and the boyfriend/girlfriend who is left behind for the new, hotter dance-person, generally on the “rich” side.

You might get someone killed or wounded [but never one of the hotties], just for good measure. Add friction between the main characters, lots of touching, but no kissing until after 75% of the film has gone by, and top it all off with a sudden revelation about how one must follow their dream no matter what and yatta-yatta.

End it with sexy dancing, lots of clapping and some light, innocent kissing, to avert all suspicions regarding your characters’ sexual orientations. *finally*

Well, somehow I always knew I’d missed my calling, but left to myself I never would have figured out that I should have been born either to a very poor or very rich American family and gone to Art School to study dance.

All you hot guys and girls, American Dance School is where it’s at. Now we all know what we missed.

What’s done is done

This pain in my stomach
Won’t go away
I assume this is punishment
For all mistakes I’ve made.

Limp Bizkit – A Lesson Learned

Regret is such a powerful and somehow useless feeling. The number of times it brings you down pointlessly clearly outweighs any chances of self-improvement it might offer. So why have it?

Everyone seems to think that a life without regret is something extremely desirable. If you want to know what I think, [and you might, since you're reading] such a life simply involves giving little or no thought to your actions and their consequences. And, of course, depending on the person, or the period of their life, or who knows what else, it’s more or less easy to live without feeling something like this.

What’s interesting, though, is how we all pretend never to regret anything. We, the people, absolutely adore to talk about how nice and non-regrettable our lives are. Anyone you talk to about this will say that they try (and invariably succeed) to accept the past and either live the moment or look forward to what’s coming. And it’s a great concept, because, like I said, regret is pretty far from constructive in these future-oriented times.

Wouldn’t we all just be better off like those little brainwashed robot-people with their stupid placid voices and idiotic facial expressions that blab on about being positive, setting long-term goals and crapping pink hearts? Of course we would! Come on, thinking is overrated; you never know when you might end up contemplating the pavement, following a ten-storey fall.

So don’t think, be positive, turn everything into an achievable and desirable goal, keep that brainless grin looking like it was (badly) carved in wood and, well… I don’t really know, this kind of crap doesn’t work on me.

Seriously, I’ve tried the whole goal and self-reward and whatever thing, but by the end of the week I’m back to doing nothing, period. Hell, I guess I’m just too smart for all that. In fact, I’m so smart that I’m completely missing my point; let’s get back to that, shall we?

I was saying that there’s no regret for the modern man. Granted, I’m not a man, but I also indulge in thinking that I’ve no reason to feel sorry for anything in my past. I do have a great and fluffy life, I’ve always had it, and there are people who have nothing, whilst I have most things that I could wish for and so on and so forth. But that’s not how regret works, is it?

Seeing as how I’m so brainy, my regret-function is also quite intelligent, playing on things that I believe I lack. Former friends, better chances in life, second chances at not wasting time at some points, they all come in and bother me now and then, when I start to feel down.

Then, I think about “What if…?” and I imagine things, sometimes I might even obsess about them, and everything becomes so goddamn massochistic and stupid that I end up finding solace in the pretence that I need regret nothing.

After all, if anything in my life needs fixing, only in the future might I manage to set it right, don’t you think?