I fixed my iPod. It had been broken, as I dropped it in a certain female's parking lot. It was a weird sort of broken, though, it played music and was completely packed full, but it wouldn't get mounted by my computer.
Tee hee. Mounted.
But I fixed it! All by my lonesome! I'm amazing, I know.
So it works, now. And I renamed it from the lame "Krister Rollins' iPod" to the lame "Troubadour." Troubadour's, of course, were the wandering minstrels of France in the...time period. 1500s? 1400s? I don't know. Wandering minstrels, at any rate. Which means they were portable music, much like the iPod itself. I'm pleased with the connection.

I would like to make so many clones of myself that they collapse into each other and make a black hole. I would then have a KriStar to wield. Plus, being a rip in the space-time continuum has always been a goal of mine, and I think with gravity like that I'd be able to grease the right gears to get the job done. Or maybe it'd just be cool to be a part of the universe that no one will ever forget.
I would like to be a part of history. I guess I am already, technically, but if people could read about me at some point in the future, that would make me happy. Especially if its nice things, a Picasso situation, as opposed to a John Hinkley Jr. situation.

Santa Rosa de Lima

This is a problem I have with the church. Women saints. I don't have a problem with the fact that they are women, as mother's are saintly just by virtue of motherhood, but the steps they have to take to become a saint.
Isabel, Sta. Rosa's birthname, lived a painful life. She was a masochist. She was anorexic and self-abusive. If she were alive today she'd be a High School Sophomore. And she'd need mental help. It says right in the write-up of her that she suffered from mental problems.
I don't like that the church encourages harmful behavior towards women. Or encouraged. Either way, its bad. Isabel was rewarded for self-mutilation. She was a beautiful girl, but not allowed to exist as such because of her religious indoctrination. As punishment for being beautiful, for being a woman, she starved and beat herself and scarred her face with lye. And the website tries to sell it as "devotion." I think she crossed the devotion line, and was utterly insane.

I think I want to put her in a movie. An anorexic, self-hating girl. She'll go to counselling and become healthy. I guess she can still be faithful, I certainly don't have issues with people having faith, but her actions were cultish and freaky, like the Heaven's Gate Cult's men's missing genitalia.

I just watched Donnie Darko. With that in mind:
I'm afraid of Jolly Ranchers. I like the taste, but its simply not enough of a draw to overcome my fear of them. Also, the post-disolve residue is unpleasant.
The fear begins backstage at a production of some musical. I have a cup of ice. Cubed ice. Because its hot out and all, I grab a cube and pop it in my mouth. Then I chew it up and eat it. All is going well with the ice for a time, until a pop gets a little overzealous, and soon an ice cube is lodged halfway down my throat. No amount of swallowing, coughing or dry heaving is moving it. By some weird twist of physics I have no problem breathing around it. I think it was already partially down the esophogus. Anyway, I had to wait around with an uncomfortable chunk of ice lodged in my throat and tears streaming out of my eyes until it melted enough to slide the rest of the way down my throat.
Whenever I think of Jolly Ranchers, I get a sudden and vivid flashback of the feeling of the ice caught in my throat. I'm terrified of the same thing happening with a Jolly Rancher, because if it didn't suffocate me, it would take a hell of a lot longer to dissolve, and that's just far too uncomfortable to imagine.

I discovered some refrigerator magnet poetry I wrote earlier in the year. I used a template handed out by R.I.T. to incoming freshman last year.
Here it goes:

Break her
She Bad
Bad

Me Friend
Like Eat

I please you?

I think it's a vast improvement over my last piece. I can't for the life of me think of a title, though. To that end, I leave you the reader (note the singularity of that subject, Mom), to title it.
Although, I'm suddenly strucken by the thought that I should title it I please you?

In an effort to become a compendium of all sorts of useless shit, I find myself visiting eHow.com and Dictionary.com with relative frequency.
I'm learning how to tie a bow tie right now, as I have one and think it needs more use.
If you can think of an excuse for me to wear it without looking extremely out of place, you get a prize, and I swear it'll be better than a kick in the teeth with a rusty bucket clad foot. Sorry Grampa!

Oh! Also The Guide.

I do believe that this article needs a headline change. Because that's all you need to read.

Hey! Lets read about what happened today!

Break update:
Here is a recap of the events of this last break from school, for those who missed it.
My car died. She had an operation here, an expensive operation, but it did nothing. I got home and sent her to the morgue. Latest news, however, says that the Lazarus effect is kicking in, and I'll be able to drive her soon. Theoretically drive her, she's in Maine and I'm in New York.
So I didn't have a car at all over break.
When I got home, I also didn't have water. My house had no running water. I had to go to my dad's house to shower and do laundry. We did, however, acquire water in a fairly speedy manner. I was relieved.
I read Lord of the Rings; Return of the King and The Da Vinci Code. Lord of the Rings is excellent, The Code has some cool ideas, but the writing is not fantastic, in my humble opinion.
I watched movies.
I snowboarded for a day with Jeremy. That was fun. Legitimately fun. I hadn't snowboarded in years, but it felt good. Although my bum was sore the next day. Not even from falling! It was from using different muscles differently.
I rode back to school with Jeremy and Patrick.
And finally I saw The Triplets of Belleville which gets a flamingly awesome recommendation from me. Be warned, though, others found it to be slow.
Mindless.

I recently found something online that I wrote years ago. Alright, found makes it sound like I stumbled across it. It was not entirely an accident. But I wanted to see if this was still up, which it was.
Ah the miracles of the internet.
The link: Blowing your nose (if you have one)