64 Degrees For the First Time In Forever

Oh, God it's wonderful. I can wear my favorite black & white stripe, extra super large sweater without melting!
When I find batteries for me camera and some decent light, I'll start taking pictures for this seriouly lackluster blog-that I ment to start in....August.

But, Oh, what tragedy is this! My favorite pair of Plato's Closet jeans, so soft and flattering not unlike those described in ye ol' Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, ripped too far in places so unholy this afternoony. It's really not that bad, and since I'm just being pathetic around my house and not going to the home coming game, I refuse to take them off. They are perfect jeans! And they are dying.

A couple weeks ago, Official Polyvorian asked me to do an interview for the blog. I filled it out as soon as I got the email, but have heard nothing since, and it's driving me BONKERS. Well, perhaps in the near future [winky wink], there'll be a right pretty post on me, Ducktape, on the Blog.

Deep Thought Question of the Evening-If you were born in another time, in another decade, pre-modern culture [IE, anytime before the time you were born], do you think you'd be the same person?
and
Deep Thought Question[s]-Do you think you'd be friends with your parents if you went to High School at the same time?

Well, it's like I said-I'm slowly easing my way into this blog thing. I'll post some drafts with Runway pictures and whatever momentarily. And soon, I'll start talking about what I ment for this blog to be about-finding culture in an armpit.
With Pictures! I promise.

Welcome to My Hell

You have never seen a slum so deprived as this:



And so maybe I'm exagerating, and maybe I don't get out enough myself, but where I live has got to be the most cultureless civilization in all the mighty state of California.
Thanks, but no thanks to the internet, I have since discovered a world out there I would have never known without it, except for whatever the TV would have to tell me. Since the dawn of puburty, I have slowly uncovered layers and layers of music, fashion, literature, and all other forms of art to nuture me with what my hometown lacked. But, internet be damned, it tortured as it nutured [ooh, I rhyme.], and, in this past year especially, I have found myself more and more lustful of what I could not live myself. Living vicariously through the web can bring pleasure only so long.
Then, a strange thing happened: I got out more. As much as a car-less, lisense-less 15-year-old can, anyway. And, in my wise oh-so-wise age of 15, I'm begining to see that through the cracks of white-bread, white-washed, white-trash that makes of up the surface of this city, there is culture.
And this is my quest to unearth it.
[Or create it, at any rate.]