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In the spirit of alleviating my whiny brat-itude
The Dime
1. Reply to this post, because I would like to say a couple words about you.
2. I will also tell you what song you remind me of.
3. I will also tell you what celebrity/public person/fictional character you remind me of, either personality-wise or looks-wise. Since this is not my forté, I will instead write an imagistic scene for you to appear in.
4. I will also give ONE WORD that I associate with you when I think of you.
5. We all could use a boost now and then, so steal this for your journal and make someone else's day as well. Spread the joy people!

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You? Whiny brat-itude!?! Never! ;-) LOL

1. I must say that I am thrilled we've managed to become friends and maintain that friendship, especially when it means comic borrowing for me! ;)

2 3 4. In the Hall of the Mountain King begins playing. We see Glen, atop a small hill, mighty mountains in the background's distance. A few scant trees about him show that this is autumn. He is wearing a breast plate (the medieval equivalent of a wife-beater, strangely enough) with a red cape that billows lightly behind him. There is a hammer in his hand. He begins to walk, taking us with him on his slow, purposeful stride from the hilltop to the side of a cold, Scandanavian lake. More sorrowful trees drop tears of golden yellow leaves that rustle in the wind about him. He reaches his destination: a carved block of stone upon a crude Viking altar. With one harsh swing of his hammer, he shatters the stone, and when the dust settles, a perfectly clear martini awaits him. Triumphantly, he brings the drink to his lips and tastes of its clear wonder. As the final crescendo hits, Glen raises his hammer again in homage, and we are greeted with the word MJOLLNIR.

Whiny brat-itude is sometimes warrented.

considering I only know you as a cyber floating entity, I'm afraid any statements I make will have to take even longer for me to craft...

1. Reading your LJ posts, I can't help but think there's something inside you that's even more hidden and even more glamorous.

2 3 4. Harajuku Girls by Gwen Stefani is blasting through her earphones. No one else can make out what's playing, though it's obvious that something is. A moot point, though, since it's a rare time of day when the streets are deserted. Concrete grays loom everywhere, complimenting the gray-blue sky. The sun has been lost for days, but there is enough of it's light to make the moon, now a crescent, a faded image rather than a silver queen. She bounces her head, and shakes the can of spray paint in her hand. A bare wall in front of her, ready to accept whatever bright neon life she is brave enough to breathe into it. She pushes down, there is a hiss...

She paints the word PHADE.

1. You are the one who showed me not to belittle my love of fantasy; that the genre is worthy of respect, analysis, and criticism on the same level as any other.

2 3 4. The Highwayman (as performed by Loreena McKennit). You've sung a thousand songs before, in the courts of kings and taverns. Regents, peasants and all God's creatures in between have listened to your lilting voice and delicate strummings of your lute. But your secret, the reason they throw the coins down and clap for more, is that each song is first sung to you by the Divine Bard. Now is such a moment, deep in your travels from one province to the next. You have donned your travel gear, only slightly less luxurious than your stage wear. Impressions must be good, even on the road, and your maroon and black garb cannot help but impress. You've reached a winding road that climbs a series of cliffs, and now stare off into the land you are leaving; you can see vast expanses of forest, rolling hills, and the golden light of the sunset. Amongst it all, there is a song, being sung for you alone, a new song for you to cherish and share. You long ago realized that awe and devotion where not the proper offerings. When the song is given, you stand proud and confident in your worth. The song comes because you are strong enough, because you see through the false trappings. It is why they call out for more from the bard CLARITY.

That's so...resonant with something somewhere in me, Zach. I...thank you.

1. I think it's great, though a tad strange, that I know more about you through LJ than I learned at L'Homme Dieu/Deiu/Duei/Dude

2 3 4. Independent Women Part II by Destiny's Child. "I don't get this song," he says, struggling for something worthwhile to say. He's failed. You'd almost prefer the awkward silence as you pull the three objects that meet his requirements. You've got miles and miles of shelves, all meticuously planned and plotted, though the system is one only you could decipher. You present him with three choices, each matching perfectly the vague, sometimes contradictory descriptions he gave you. He considers, thinks, critiques, backtracks and 'settles' on one, and you are glad to send him on his way. Besides him being an idiot, you've got something important to do. Way in the back, a quarter of a mile past "Things that could be hats", next to "Grecian Party Toys", there's a small door. It leads outside. And outside, there's a pile of old artifacts, crumbling far past use or even morose appreciation. They've been soaking for days in gasoline. You smile. This is how you relieve the stress of idiots. This fire will be great. The air will gasp, the flames will jump, and the earth will be scorched with the word ACTION.

I'm back in the cities now so we should hang out sometime. I also find it strange that I feel like I know you more through this than before, but it is also kind of cool to keep in some kind of contact with you.

Oh man, your #3 has not only piqued my interest, it has grabbed hold of it surely. Good sir, I am here for your evaluation! Honesty is a precious and welcome thing.

1. So, wait, let me get this straight. Married, living in CA and working at a game store? KITTENS? I'm quite envious of how your post-Mac life is going thus far.

2 3 4. Roses are Red by Aqua is being blasted through huge speakers that could easily double as low-income housing. The black lights are on and off, strobes filling their down times, and everyone at the rave is so lost, they don't realize they are grinding to songs that were no longer underground campy-chic, but not yet underground retro-chic. She knew, but whatever kept the children occupied was good for her. And children was the right word, maybe not in age, but in purpose. She strode in silently, offering the bouncer not a glance, but a quick glance at ringing steel from sheath. She didn't even need to look in his direction to know he wasn't going to give her problems. A path was plowed for her through the throngs, not by fear or awe, but by simple, wordless suggestion to the ectasy-fried dancers who barely saw her. She had made no effort to blend in, rather taking the rave-couture as her own; a belt of dangling glo-sticks, her hair in tight pigtails with ribbons. She didn't loose her edge, though, couldn't be mistaken for anything except what she was. So it made sense that the three bodyguards, one to each side and one near the back, immediately picked her out of the crowd and zeroed in on her. It was much in the same manner she was targetting their ward, a late 20s man lost in his own rave-fantasy, unaware she was here to kill him. But soon enough, he and his three guards would all have her mark upon them. She unsheathed and marched forth to carve one word into their skins. RIOT

(actually I work at a game developer and they're training me as a designer. Teehee. I know - SCORE! ::grin:: But even better awaits you - I feel it in the water, the air, et cetera. I know it, I)

This is the most awesome of the things in this world that are full of awesomeness. I am in awe. I am humbled. And I deeply thank you. ::bow:: W00t. It will be saved forever.

1. I miss ya a lot, truth be told, and I desperately want sophomore year, j-term to happen again.

2 3 4. You're one in a Million He leans over the edge, staring down 8 stories into the lives of the little ants below. But they weren't ants, he knew. They were people, whole humans, lives complications, desires, wishes. Too much. That was why he had left, to live on the rooftops, to leap from sky to sky. Here he could gaze down into their world without having to be a part of it any more. Here he could be one step closer to the cold kiss of the stars, which shone so much brighter now that he lived above the harsh thief of the streetlights. He pulls the leather band tighter around his arm and comes away from the edge. He's set up a table on this rooftop, a quaint café table for one in the middle of a rooftop barreness. A table for one and the stars. There is a bottle waiting for him, of simple tap water, but the kind that he prefers, pilfered from the water fountains of the parks. One glass for him, one chair, one world he abandoned, and only one person in the new one he had chosen for himself. He looked up. The stars made words he never otherwise would have learned to read. Tonight, they said PINING.

I agree with 1-4...mostly 1...but I am smitten by 2-4.

Your accuracy and ability to describe your perception of another in story form is amazing.
I would say you are probably dead on.

Some day I shall return to Minnesota and much fun will continue to develop.

*also, did you get Neverwhere back from Ian??? I was dreaming about it this morning*

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