"They Gonna String Me Up!"

Today we were at our diner, clearing off tables like any perfectly normal waitress, and there was this little (two-ish) girl who suddenly stood up on her booster seat, pointing at us and screaming "Look, Ma, look!" We love kids, but that is CRUEL AND UNUSUAL.
Anyway, more to the point: we were reading one of the catfights in the comments on the "You Know You Love It" blog (further proof that fashion is a bitchy, vapid industry), and the little bitches were arguing the use of the word "wigger". Now, we don't believe in using racial slurs, but Leith's defense of it made us wonder: Is it the employment of stereotypes in forming our opinions of other people that propagates said stereotypes, or the stereotypical behavior of said other people? Are stereotypes just recognizable patterns of behavior, or ignorant assumptions and bias? The vapid industry of fashion has finally given us something to think about! Shocking.

Scary Toes

Yesterday was our first day of school, and we are very proud of ourselves for not having a spasm during own second period History class. History is primarily our worst subject, meaning that we have a vague awareness of who George Washington was, only because all our money is in dollar bills. Who the fuck is that guy on the ten, anyway? So, our professor, who we will call Anna Wintour, because she reminds us very much of her, was wearing these stylish sling-back sandals, and she had these really long, boney toes, with red toenails. So the entire time she was lecturing the class on our group assignments and our presentations, we couldn't stop staring at her toes, and thinking about how much they looked like chicken toes. By the end of class, this was seriously beginning to frighten us, even more than the thought of having a group assignment. It was nothing like English, during which we were asked the obligatory "Tell us your name and why you're here and something interesting about yourself". We said "Our name is Thea and we're here because we didn't want to go to high school," only without the creepy Royal We. We never actually got a chance to say something interesting about ourselves, because our professor (who we will call The Empress - because she likes it) and the rest of class started talking very loudly about us and how weird we were last year. It's probably for the better: the only interesting facts we were coming up with went something to the effect of "We want to spend the rest of our life with the criminally insane" (literally) and that would've been more or less a bad move in the social Risk game. And now we have a thirteen page syllabus to read, so goodbye.

Dead Birds

We are not going to devote this blog entirely to our mental vomit, although there will undoubtedly be an abundance of it. This blog will henceforth have an ongoing theme: our creative progress and our artwork (once again we steal our ideas from Random). It is also devoted to the observations we make, which are generally of our surroundings. Yes, we are just over the Mason-Dixon, and yesterday we watched a compelling documentary about the South, and now we are intrigued by it, instead of just amused and mildly repelled. In other words: while we're not whining about our peers and Southern tradition, we'd like to stick to the theme of our artwork and its development. We started writing this because we have the most awe-inspiring idea for a novel; the most deliciously brilliant idea, and today, for the first time, we actually began writing it, and got off to a start that we did not immediately dismiss as pure crap. Not immediately. The first chapter is called "The Dead Bird", and it is actually about a dead bird. The dead bird is a genius plot device to introduce our main character as a child. It came to us in a moment of madness this morning, as we were listening to our ancient Blues compilation tape. This ancient Blues compilation tape is currently the inspiration for our novel - and we've only listened to side A. We dreamed up this dead bird because we are passionately against introducing the main character first. So passionately that we will linger on the most trivial details or entirely expendable characters in order to delay introducing them. In the case of this story, we are willing to linger on a peripheral character named Mother Hubbard and a bird corpse. Oh, the lengths to which we will go...