I should be a game designer

So, it's CIS. We're all completing Excel spreadsheets for our grades. David and I have already finished ours, so what are we doing?

Playing Mario, of course!

It's all fun and well until I see that there's an option on the main screen called "edit level." An evil grin passes my face.

I present to you: Kate's Super Mario level of Doooooom.

Hey, this level looks all right... wait... why is it called that? Is... is that its title?

Ok, so, um, that's a little unsettling. Never mind though. Tum tee tum...

Ok, so, let's start. Hm, we're in the castle.
Oh, ok, we start out with some coins and a block. No big deal.
This looks pretty easy. Who designed this anyway? PSH- LAAAAME.

So I'm just gonna come over here and-- wait... what the fuck, is that a fire swirl?
..and...flying turtles? And fireballs? Already?

I don't... HOLY SWEET JESUS WHAT THE HELL
Wha... wha.... .......?!?
YES. THAT'S RIGHT. FIFTY THOUSAND FIREBALLS, FLYING TURTLES, FIRE SPINNERS, A GIANT CANNON, AND TWENTY CONSECUTIVE VENUS FLYTRAPS ABOVE A LAVA PIT.

But clearly, the only way to get across it is with the invincibility star, which I have very kindly and secretly planted in the beginning spaces.

If you are somehow able to get past the hell-fire pit of death and destruction, you come to a simple staircase with a pool below.
That tunnel doesn't go anywhere. Obviously I am not a very good programmer.


Then you literally run through about 7000 miles of pure nothing before you get to the finishing tunnel.

Why? Because I got bored of it and stopped making things.
(You see this screen for about 4 minutes)
Keep on truckin', Mario....

Then there's finally the ending tunnel. What is at the other end?

BOWSER!
...who will ultimately kill you. See, this is you getting killed by Bowser.

Yes, there is no way to win Kate's Super Mario Level of Doom.
It is like life. You will always die in the end.

(Moral: I should not be a game programmer)

So, I really hope I get this job in Maine. I have some alternatives in mind if I don't, but here is a rough list of my summer possibilities:

1. Work in Maine at the Quisisanaiansna whatever it's called, and make moneys.
2. Stay in Texas and do voice overs... which I don't want to do because Texas is hot as balls and grody, and there is no pool at my parents' house.
3. Stay in the city and audition for lots of stuff and work some menial job at a restaurant or bird store.
4. Live on the streets with a guitar and make people give me change.
5. Go to Japan, raid one of the idol agencies and demand they make me famous.
6. Go to India, become elephant trainer.
7. All of the above...?

And with someone else I'll hold to the ground

I started a new stop motion today. It's nothing ground breaking, nothing exceptional. Nothing, even, much different from any stop motion I've made before. Making the little movies is my way of dealing. It's a therapy. It's an outlet. A creative outlet, a painkiller, cement for the hole.

My roommate is bugging me to get ready to go to the gym downstairs with her.

How do you run off two years?

Plans

Today New York is filled with an epic cold. It isn't normal cold, it is epic cold. Painful and epic.

Today's plan, forever's plan... the plan for today or tomorrow.
1. Read the Diamond Sutra
2. make tea
3. do CIS homework (before midnight)
4. get mail and packages
5. go vegetarian (and this time, mean it)
6. meet Dalai Lama
7. ignore the pretentious ass who sits in front of me in Buddhism class wearing a beret
8. end war
9. live in following places: Zaire, New Zealand, Ireland, England, Singapore
10. clean room

Fish?

The only place to get a fish around here is Petland. FUCK PETLAND.

I don't even know what stores to damn trust anymore!

Further proof my dance training in Texas was ACE.

These were a fun bunch of kids back in those days.

I WILL tase you, bro

I think I should invest in a taser. It would allow me enough time once I knocked the person unconscious with enough electric volts to run away into a subway station somewhere, where I would hide until the next creepy old man would come around and kill me.

I don't know why this sudden paranoia came on. Maybe it's because I went to a killer sweet Superbowl party at Olivia's place in Washington Heights. Now, her apartment is HUGE, and beautiful. She has enough room for a table to eat on, even. It's very un-New York. And they can climb out onto the roof for this awesome view of the bridge. Granted, she DID get it through a broker, which is damn expensive, which I most likely won't do, but still. It's a really nice place for a very, VERY decent price.

And anyway, first off, I feel like if I lived in that neighborhood I would have to learn Spanish, fast.

Secondly, my fellow dorm-er from the party and I left around 11 to take the A back to campus. Mind you, it's Sunday, so everything runs local. It took us more than an hour to get home and I've never felt so skeezed out in my entire life. The usual paranoia of getting stalked by strange lonely rapist men increased tenfold as we were surrounded on the train and I actually felt acutely aware of us being stared at from multiple angles.

Perhaps I'm overreacting, as I usually do. I'm just so very conflicted because Liv's apartment is so big and lovely, and it seems like a nice place to live, during the daytime. But at what point should I sacrifice cheap living for a decent neighborhood?


Postscript: The poll indicates that 77% believe a taser is a better investment than a fish. I'm still getting a fish.