Status messages seen on G-Chat over the last few days:

You kiss like a dementor.

Pull a Pettigrew and go choke one out.

Your mom’s a horcrux.

—

Up until last night, I didn’t think I was adequately preparing for the imminent departure. Then I realized that I’ve been slowly shutting down, mentally, for a while now. How is this good, you ask? Well, I have a tendency to think, over think, and think some more, with a dash of thinking thrown in for taste. What is it that they say about MBAs? That they’re guilty of paralysis by analysis? Yup, that’s me.

So shutting down is good, in my case. There are non-essential matters that are taking up brain capacity (the delusion of inter-gender relationships, and their true evolutionary purpose, for example) and those need to be put aside, at least for the next year. Anything not INSEAD related is being filed away for future review by that green-visor sporting, vest wearing hamster that resides in my head. Christ on a cracker, we’ve got a nutjob in our class, you say? Where? Perhaps s/he and I will get along.

I’ve lost all motivation to write. Actually, I’ve lost all motivation to do anything but pick up and move.

A month and change left on the calendar.  As they say in France, le sigh.

Here’s a recent G-Chat conversation in place of a well thought out post.

C: when i had my xanga,

i tried to be cryptic about it for obvious reasons

first for the people that knew me, they would offer their 2 cents

but after awhile it was just a downer to read/write

 

Me: I kind of feel like that about mine right now.

I can stand on my soapbox and preach all day about all the negative shit I see at/about school

But it’s not funny.

And if I’m not making people laugh, there’s really no point.

 

Which makes me question why I’m writing this in the first place.

I haven’t gotten really “personal,”

 

and since I’ve established it as an anonymous blog, I can’t, really.

So it’s not a journal.

Is it just to make people laugh?

Then I should charge fuckers.

C: Also i thought shit, whats the point when I can’t really be personal, afraid of what people will find out about me

I remember you telling me about that re. myspace

= you cant get personal

which is true

yours isn’t that bad

and yes, entertaining or uplifting would be cool

but then again, if its too up lifting then it’ll be like Doogie Howser’s journal

PW:Today is Take Your Dog to Work Day

Me: Did you bring your dog to work?

PW: nope

I don’t have one

I was gonna bring my cousin’s

But, I couldn’t take the pug without making the min pin jealous

Me: Those sound tasty.

PW: Every now and then, I dream of sticking an apple into the 30-pound pug’s mouth and sticking him on a rotisserie

Dogs are like kids. I like playing with them and being able to hand ‘em back to their owners once the cute factor has run out.

Sent at 11:53 AM on Thursday

Me: Need content.

PW: Talk about Shrek

Me: I haven’t seen 1, 2, or 3

PW: About how ogre babies are so cute

PW: But, you can’t get a coo out of me over a human one

What started as a cameo role has quickly blossomed in to a recurring cast member position. Thanks, Professional Writer. PW definitely does not regress towards the mean.

I hopped on the Google Chat bandwagon at its release, but soon fell off since all of one person I knew was using it. Fast forward about a year, and here I am, using it again, but on a daily basis now. Insidious Google manages to insert yet another simple, useful, user-friendly program in to my life. They’re everywhere!

But this post isn’t about Google. It’s about movies. And since I can’t write about Shrek, I’ll blab about the last movie I actually made an effort to see in a theater: Venus. It was moving, in a squirmy, uncomfortable way. Seeing Peter O’Toole as an old, frail man is pretty depressing. Seeing in him the reflection of my aging grandparents and 80+ year old relatives makes it more so. Yeah; I’m not such a great movie reviewer. But don’t let that stop you from making an effort to see a great film.

If you’re in to depressing independent films, you may also want to check out Closer, which has an excellent cast, and the benefit of the brilliant and stunning Natalie Portman.

However, if you’re one of the three people who actually went out of their way to find the Rambo IV trailer, I’d recommend looking in to Boondock Saints instead.

I posed this question to a friend, yesterday. “Can one discern a writer’s gender through reading their prose?” Actually, it was more along the lines of the following exchange, but let’s not be picky, eh?

—

DTLF: Hi

Professional Writer: what’s crackin’ {I love how eloquent those who are paid to write can be}

DTLF: So, uh, does my writing make me sound like a man? Or a woman? Or both? Or an androgen?

Professional Writer is off line and will not receive your messages.

—

So, since Professional Writer left me high and dry, the ball’s in your court, dear reader(s). I don’t feel comfortable dropping those parentheses yet, as I’m convinced the only traffic I’m getting is from (a) friend(s) who is/are bleeding purple tears of boredom at work, or Necromonger , whose site I linked and who has been the only one to leave a comment. Pardon the parenthetical push.

Really though, is it possible to plop on the deerstalker cap, dangle a drop-stem pipe from the lips and deduce the gender of a writer based solely on the content of said writer’s writing? If so, how?

What if said writer were set on intentionally masking her/his gender by solely penning stereotypical testosterone laden posts on why the R32 GT-R can beat the living hoo-hahs out of a Hemi ‘Cuda on a quarter mile strip, or topics pregnant with estrogen about why frilly lacy bits from La Senza always seem to fit better than frilly lacy bits from La Perla?

Yes, yes, I’m fishing for comments, but I really am curious. Plus, my little Visitantes map looks oh so lonely. I want it to look like Zanat0s’ – plagued with chicken pox.