NEOBlog: Canonically Irrelevant

Because I decided to get an annual pass to Disneyland at the start of the year, I've been finding myself there several times over the last month. Today, however, was probably the longest tour of duty that I have yet engaged in, and it is with great magic that I present the event log for the day.


12:00 PM ARRIVE DISNEYLAND RESORT

Enter CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
1. Get fastpass for "Tower of Terror"
2. Ride "Soarin' Over California" (40 Minute wait)
3. Ride "Tower of Terror" (10 Minute wait)
Exit CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE

Enter DOWNTOWN DISNEY
4. Eat lunch at Tortilla Jo's
5. Get coffee at Compass Books
6. Walk through Grand Californian Hotel to try to get back to CA Adventure... fail.
Exit DOWNTOWN DISNEY

Enter CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
7. Ride "Grizzly River Run" (50 minute wait)
8. Get in line for "Toy Story Mania" (50 minute wait)
9. Get out of line to go run to Disneyland and get a fastpass
Exit CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE

Enter DISNEYLAND
10. Get a fastpass for "Indiana Jones" that activates 5 hours later
Exit DISNEYLAND

Enter CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE
11. Return to and ride "Toy Story Mania"
12. Get a churro
Exit CALIFORNIA ADVENTURE

Enter DISNEYLAND
13. Contemplate the Matterhorn's ridiculously long "35 minute" wait queue
14. Watch "Honey I Shrunk the Audience" (5 minute wait)
15. Get a fastpass for "Autopia"
16. Ride "Space Mountain" (60 minute wait)
17. Eat dinner at Pizza Port
18. Ride "Autopia" (10 minute wait)
19. Ride "Big Thunder Mountain" (25 minute wait)
20. Ride "Splash Mountain" (30 minute wait)
21. Ride "Winnie the Pooh" (5 minute wait)
22. Get ice cream at Gibson Girl Ice Cream Parlor
23. FINALLY Ride "Indiana Jones" (15 minute wait)
Exit DISNEYLAND

11:20 PM LEAVE DISNEYLAND RESORT

As you can imagine my feet are going to fall off. Also, I'm done with Disneyland for awhile. Read entire post...

LOUISVILLE, KY, US	12/18/2008	4:00 P.M.	DEPARTURE SCAN
	12/18/2008	11:47 A.M.	ARRIVAL SCAN
COLUMBUS, OH, US	12/18/2008	7:33 A.M.	DEPARTURE SCAN
	12/18/2008	5:22 A.M.	ARRIVAL SCAN
NEW STANTON, PA, US	12/18/2008	1:15 A.M.	DEPARTURE SCAN
NEW STANTON, PA, US	12/17/2008	1:58 A.M.	ARRIVAL SCAN
LAUREL, MD, US	12/16/2008	8:34 P.M.	DEPARTURE SCAN
LAUREL, MD, US	12/15/2008	9:07 P.M.	ORIGIN SCAN
US	12/15/2008	7:42 P.M.	BILLING INFORMATION RECEIVED

Seriously UPS, are you purposely trying to not get me my holiday cards? Read entire post...

My current living situation following my departure from Santa Barbara has enabled me to have my first taste of constantly being on the road. As a resident of a city that is 20 miles away from the festive mothercity, which is itself another 10 or so from filmland, I have come to know something that I haven't really had to experience since my days at Fairmont: the commute. Growing up in the Los Angeles metropolitan area, albeit in the upper-class echelon of its vicinity more commonly known to Fox-watchers as "The OC," I learned to accept the inevitability of the necessity of commuting. For the first chunk of my time at Fairmont I rode the aptly named school bus, which meant that I had to be at the stop in Whittier a good hour before school began. This was greatly shortened to 20 minutes with my acquiring of more Southern Californian method of transport, a car, in my sophomore year. Yet with the deregulation of my morning schedule came my first experience with the intricacies and complicated nature of rush hour travel. Leaving at 7:35 became my prime departure time due to the nature of the 5 freeway at the time I arrived there, however on times that I left earlier I discovered that I was met with significantly less traffic.

These slight inconsistencies later paved the way for my acceptance of the common Los Angeles description of time between any two places within the city as "20 minutes." Indeed, in my head I am 20 minutes away from Fairmont, Jon's house, Julia's old dorm, Angel Stadium, the Block, the Fullerton train station, Birch street (on a bad day), and even downtown Los Angeles (on a good day), despite the fact that the distance of these locations from my residence vary widely. Another important thing that I incorporated into my figures of distance was the "-with traffic" suffix which denotes my estimated arrival time (of 20 minutes) with the added exception of more time should I be "caught in traffic." Traffic in Los Angeles, as you know if you've ever lived here, varies exceedingly wildly depending on time of day, time of year, time on Tom Cruise's Scientology clock, and the positioning of the harvest moon in the sky. Thus, traffic is an every day occurrence and only rarely does it not occur. In my frequent trips to and from Santa Barbara I have attempted to establish a reliable time to travel when I do not get stuck in traffic. I have failed in most of my attempts, thus it takes me anywhere from 1 hour and 50 minutes to 5 and a half hours to make the journey. Even at 10 o' clock on a Sunday I managed to encounter traffic in Hollywood. Where are people going at 10 o' clock on a Sunday? I guess I'm not "in" the industry deep enough to understand.

This discussion of traffic, while longer than I intended, leads into my intended topic. A little while ago I made the journey from The Orange County to Santa Barbara with a stopover in Century City for a job interview. My interview was at the unorthodox time of 5 o' clock on a Friday, so naturally assuming there would be traffic, I left my house at 3. To my surprise, I found that no traffic awaited me on the 5, despite the fact that two weeks prior I had left my house at the exact same time in the exact same direction and experienced traffic from Norwalk to San Fernando (about 35 miles). This unexplainable difference led me to arrive at my destination a full hour early, thus enabling me some time to cruise around Beverly Hills (looking for, admittedly, a Jamba Juice). Having reach Santa Monica Boulevard I invariably entered into the most traffic I had experienced all day. Somewhat bewildered, I remained in traffic until I decided that I should forgo the smoothie for after the interview. At the point when I was about to turn, however, I discovered that the cause of the traffic was the reduction of lanes to accommodate a funeral procession that was about to start. No sooner was I turning than a casket, accompanied by mourners, flash bulbs, and policemen came out of a church and headed towards the street. Only later did I discover this to be the funeral of producer Merv Griffin, accompanied by a plethora of famous people, including the governor, Pat Sajak, Alex Trebek, and Nancy Reagan (who I recognized as someone famous but didn't identify who immediately). Only in Los Angeles would a funeral cause such a commotion, and only there would I drive by and think, "oh, famous person died," and continue on my way.

Following my interview I once again departed on the road, taking the treacherous 405 out into the valley. Again, I was confounded at the lack of traffic. This did not last, however, and I ran into traffic upon my approach to Camarillo, of all places (long time readers of this blog will know of my affectation for the city). This traffic lasted for quite some time, and I became eager to know the cause of it. Eventually I discovered that the cause was not an accident, as I predicted, but instead a lone stalled car, in the center divider. The car itself did not appear to be in any sort of condition that would encourage rubbernecking, instead it's two attractive female passengers, straight up from LA and perched on the divider with arms folded and blonde hair flowing in the breeze, were enough to cause a traffic backup for a good 10 miles.

God Bless America.

I do look forward to experiencing more of the quirks that makes Los Angeles' mass freeway system so amazing, and hopefully in my commuting travels between home and my new job in Century City will provide me with more fodder for reflection on the state of this great city. That, or I'll end up going nuts and taking the metrolink. Read entire post...

For all who are interested (as well as those who aren't)...here's a little status update on my current situation.

I graduated from UCSB back in June, and officially finished up my classes two weeks ago. I've thus moved back home to Orange County until I get some money and job experience. I've had one interview thus far (meh), and I've got another one tomorrow and yet another on Friday... hopefully something good comes of either of them. Until then I'm stuck in THE OC with not much to do. I'm still editing Brains and Brawn, and I'm also looking to start writing again. I'm not quite ready for the "big project" that I have in my head so I want to see if I can do some shorts first. Also it'd be cool if anyone else is doing something that I can help on. I'd be more than willing to help out. I think it'd be a good idea if we formed a network so we always know what's going on with each other.

NEOFilm wise, I've sold out of the first run of Open Toes DVDs, with more on the way. I'm really impressed at how quickly I went through 50 DVDs. It's great that so many people were interested in the show.

I've also finished my NEOShorts, Volume One DVD, which contains every short film that I've done...ever. It's doubling as my reel so there's even some stuff from Vincent Lin Must Die! and Brains and Brawn on there. I'll be putting that up on my site as well.

Anyway, that's what's going on with me. I'll be up in Santa Barbara from time to time, including this weekend. Keep in touch. Read entire post...

[EDIT] I know this looks funny on Firefox at the moment. I'm seeing what I can do to fix it.

You might say I left my heart in San Francisco.

After months of uncertainty, Jon and I finally managed to make it up to the Bay Area this past weekend, albeit not on a road trip, but in an airplane. This unfortunate situation led me to declare the road trip as officially starting when Andrew picked us up in San Jose, and lasted for about 30 minutes as he drove us to his Stanford residence in Palo Alto. It then picked up again by means of trains and buses the following day, and culminated in the drive from Millbrae to Palo Alto the day after that. Nevertheless, it was still a fun experience overall. What follows is a typical description of my adventures in classic Trip Report format.

Upon our arrival in Palo Alto, it became apparent that our sleeping space over two of the following three nights would be relative small and crowded. Andrew, of course, remained in his own bed, while Jon and I wriggled uncomfortably together on the ground in a totally non-gay manner, with about three inches separating us from a Brokeback-esque emasculation scene. Obviously with my known sleeping issues, I failed to achieve sleep and eventually moved out into the common room and crashed on the couch, unseating its occupant and effectively blocking off the path for those who had to wake up early.

The next morning I was stept on by Andrew on his way out for work, and thusly amused myself with a bowl of oatmeal while Jon sleepily arose from his restful slumber. Following our individual grooming we subsequently headed out towards the sparkling gem of a city that is San Francisco, utilizing a shuttle, commuter train, light rail, a streetcar, feet, and a bus before reaching our destination at the north end of the city. If you're interested, we took the shuttle bus from Stanford to the Palo Alto Caltrain station, from which we took the train to its terminus on the south end of the city. Following a brief stop at Quiznos, we boarded the MUNI N line around the ports to Market Street, at which point we took the tourist-laden streetcar F line down Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf. We then walked across Fort Mason and boarded bus 28 to the Golden Gate Bridge. If you're not interested, just forget everything you just read. At the bridge, I let Jon talk me into walking its entire length, which was interesting and fun except for the part where we had to make the return trip. By the time we returned, my feet hurt and I was hungry, however Andrew was finished with work and met up with us at chocolate haven Ghiradelli Square. Following a red meat-laden meal, we walked to North Beach, the Italian part of the city, checked out the hipster City Lights bookstore, and then continued on into the Financial District where I ostensibly attempted to locate a restroom for the public amongst the lofty skyscrapers. If you're interested, there's one on the 3rd floor of an Asian bank building across the street from the Transamerica Tower. There's also one in the nearby Starbucks, but the guy I was waiting for to leave the restroom is probably still in there.

Our endeavour ended at our hotel of choice (Ramada) in SOMA, which was split into two buildings across from each other with a sketchy street between them. Of course we were put into the secondary building. Following check-in, my dear friend Julia arrived in suburbanite minivan (driven by her friend Mira) and took us to the modernized Brea Mall of San Francisco, where we ate at a food court. After much pronging and speculation, she then took us to the best place she could think of for entertaining Orange County-based tourists: The Castro District. For those unfamiliar with San Francisco, Castro is the GAY district. My lofty Republican reader-base just left my blog. In Castro I experienced a new sort of shop, namely, the male sex shop. It was a life-changing experience to be sure. Following these mis-adventures we decided to leave for places north, and at the insistance of Mira, ended up with cereal and milk at Julia's midscale house. This lasted a short while, however with our hotel being effectively across the city, we were forced to leave relatively early and retire for the night.

In the morning I left Jon and Andrew at the Ramada and successfully tackled the MUNI system in an attempt to reach the Filmore District, which I hoped would be better than the president it was named after. Luckily it turned out to be so, and I met Julia at a non-chain coffee shop (read: NOT Starbucks) for an enlightening conversation on yuppies, city life, and male sex shops. I said goodbye to her for at least a month and a half and made my way back to Ramada, where I learned that Jon and Andrew had gone to said coffee chain themselves a little while earlier. As we left the city, I left behind fond memories and gained a somewhat confusing feeling over personal matters, which obviously won't be explained in a public blog. This isn't Xanga.

I can safely NOT recommend You, Me, and Dupree. I make mistakes, I know, and we should've seen The Devil Wears Prada. But I was in the mood for something light. The movie doesn't know what genre it's going for and as such fails to successfully court the Owen Wilson slapstick genre and the Kate Hudson romantic genre. Why Matt Dillon, after starring in the mildly good Crash, chose to go with this movie is somewhat bewildering, but all three actors did well. A really old looking Michael Douglas is in it too, but don't expect an American President. He's pretty much just an old douchebag. The movie gets a 5/10 from me. It's sometimes funny, and sometimes romantic, but not enough to really succeed in either genre.

As for the rest of the trip, it was fairly uneventful, with the highlight being a semi under the influence romp around Stanford at midnight, much to the chagrin of people attempting to study (on a Saturday, for that matter) in the library. Upon our return to the room, noisy party aftermath accompanied my desire to sleep, which had to fulfilled for our early flight the next day. On the way out, I declared the road trip over, and bid farewell to my Stanfordian friend for a few weeks, boarded the plane with Jon, and flew back to the shelters of Orange County.

But as I said, I left my heart in San Francisco. Read entire post...

So, I was going to update this blog daily with details of my travels around the glorious midwest, however my laptop went out of commission while on the plane. Needless to say, I am heartbroken and downtrodden. I only hope Alice can be fixed soon, because NEOLab (the old desktop) is a big old clunker. With that said, it looks like I'll be doing my trip report in flashback mode.

The aforementioned failure of Alice on the plane marked the beginning of the excitement that could only occur on a trip to our nation's armpit (in case you were wondering, Texas is the nation's groin). You see, I had not yet completed my last paper that was due last Friday by the time my trip got underway, so I planned to finish it on the plane and e-mail it out to my professor. With a dead laptop and no means of finishing (or retrieving) the paper from Alice's hard drive, I went into a panic. Fortunately, the Chicago Marriott I was staying at had a "business center" with Microsoft Word and internet access, so I spent the latter half of Thursday and early morning Friday re-writing and turning in my paper. This was further complicated by the fact that, for the first time in years, I received the blessing of airsickness. The fun of the airsickness carried over into the rental car, and whilst sitting in beautiful Chicagoan traffic (you think LA is bad? go to Chicago) I had to qwell my desire to hurl.

For whatever reason, the massive "luxury" Chrsyler that had been rented for the trip made me consistently nauseous when riding passenger. This reached its pinnacle about halfway between Chicago and Normal, IL (yeah, the town is called Normal), when my mother was forced to pull over and let my stomach have its way with me and the side of the highway. Anyway, I drove for the remainder of the trip and was just fine.

You may be asking what the hell I was doing in the Midwest. Well, I was visiting baseball stadiums. Starting in Chicago, then moving south to St. Louis, heading back north to Milwaukee, and finishing off again in Chicago. You may think this is crazy. Well it is. I don't advise anyone to ever travel to the Midwest (ok, maybe Chicago) ever, especially if you're and OC type person. The air is hot and humid, and rain falls in sheets. On my way north from St. Louis, I was driving along when all of a sudden rain came down in buckets. I mean BUCKETS. For a time I was literally unable to drive and had to pull over due to the density of the rain. Then, quick as it started, the downpour ceased. It's like God decided to fuck with the minds of all of the hapless people who made the mistake of being born in hickville. I'm sorry, but I'm a California person, and seeing weather like that makes me appreciate my earthquakes. Like hell if I'm going to be on "Tornado Watch." Speaking of earthquakes, whoever the hell designed to highways and roads in Illinois needs to be shot. There's so much gridlock over there that it makes a commute up the 5 at 6 o' clock look like a Sunday drive. It's not like you don't have space to widen shit out there, you're in the freaking plains.

Despite what my complaining may seem like, I did enjoy the trip. Milwaukee was an interesting town with absolutely GORGEOUS chesse. Cheese alone isn't enough for Wisconsin to upset Camarillo as my new favorite place, but I suppose it helps. I'm a sucker for cheese. Also, if you haven't been to the Arch in St. Louis, I highly recommend it. Although the attraction is a tourist trap, which I usually hate, anyone who has the balls to ride in a Mercury-sized capsule for 5 minutes (it took less time to go up the elevator in the much-higher Sears Tower) only to be trapped in a small walkway with a few tiny windows to look out of and not go completely insane is a hero in my book. Speaking of the Sears Tower, that's kinda cool too, but the Malaysians beat it in height by a few feet several years ago so it's not the tallest structure anymore. And I suppose the baseball stadiums were nice too.

Seacrest out. Read entire post...

As some of you who know me know, I have many adventures when I travel between point A and point B. A great many of those adventures deal with my frequent excursions between Santa Barbara and Orange County, my old stomping grounds. Let's just say that today, I had the adventure to end all adventures. Except maybe that time where my train was delayed for 2 hours because of a bomb threat. And the time it took my 5 and half hours to get home on a Wednesday. But...it still ranks pretty hight up there.

So this adventure started as any other Sunday commute back to Santa Barbara. After spending the day with my good friend Julia, I embarked on a series of freeways to eventually lead my back to the inevitable 101. It was on the 101 just out of LA, however, when I realized that...something was different. Something was...amiss, if you will. Indeed, as I entered Calabasas, I developed a hunger for something that I do not normally hunger for. I developed the hunger for TACO BELL.

If you've never had a beef and potato burrito from Taco Bell, you don't know what you're missing. Having one of those burritos, with their majestic blend of spices and processed meat and vegetable products, is like spending 5 minutes in clogged artery heaven. It was this burrito that I suddenly had a craving for. I resolved to stop at the first Taco Bell that I came across and order a pair of the delictable concoctions. Unfortunately for me, finding a Taco Bell off the 101 past Los Angeles is like finding a gay black Republican in Massachusetts. As I drove into Ventura county, I knew my chances were becoming slim. Would I really have to wait until I got to Santa Barbara, where there are an abundance of Taco Bells, in order to have my fill? Why were there so many McDonald's and Jack-in-the-Boxes? I decided to try my luck at a random exit. Gas, food, lodging. Surely there would have to be a Taco Bell at one exit.

My first attempt was rendered useless. I found, indeed, a Del Taco, but it was not Dan the Del Taco man that I yearned for on this cloudy evening. As I wandered through Thousand Oaks, my mind began to wander. What if there was no Taco Bell to be found? What if I had to settle for a Jumbo Jack or a...dare I think of it...Big Mac? No. I would not let that happen. And yet, as I got deeper and deeper into Ventura County, there was one thing that I knew for sure. Time was running out. I got off for the third time in a city I had heard little about: Camarillo. Being from the city, I had already formed impressions of the rural villages that lay on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Little did I know that this fine hamlet had in store for me. As I exited the freeway at Lewis Road, I discovered a quaint road that ran parallel to the highway. "What luck!" I thought to myself. Surely I would be able to find a Taco Bell along this corridor of businesses. As I turned the corner, I discovered a Jack-in-the-Box and a Wendy's. Undanunted, I continued along. Unfortunately, the word got narrower and less business-like. Shear horror came over me, the kind of horror that could only be felt by a prostitute in church. Panicking, I knew that the next corner I turned might be my last before I was forced to get back on the 101. The DAMNED 101, with it's lack of food chains visible from its lanes. Turning the last corner, however, I discovered the holy grail of my quest: The finest Taco Bell ever to grace my eyes.

And just then, it started to rain. And I started to cry. And that is why this quaint village of Camarillo is my new favorite place. Ever. Thank you, wise city planners and Camarilloans, for building a Taco Bell at such an opportune location. Read entire post...

More on Wellesley fun!

[ 02. THE PETER PAN BUS. ]

So there's this bus that takes the girls from Wellesley to other nearby locations, such as the mall or Target or downtown Boston. This bus is chartered by the Peter Pan bus company, thus its name. Now, normally, I have no problems with public transportation. The problem herein lies in the fact that it is chartered, not public, transportation, thus the buses and drivers are only responsible to the company. It so happens that during my tenure in Wellesley, I took this bus twice. The first time I took it was to go into the nearby town of Natick (NAY-tik) and visit the oh so exciting Target located there. After my purchasing in Target was through, I inquired as to when the bus would return. Much to my dismay, I discovered that it next came by, on a Saturday, in no less than TWO hours. Now, why exactly would I need to be at Target for 2 bloody hours? I could maybe understand running the bus every hour...but for the life of me I cannot think as to what I could possibly be purchasing at Target that would allow me to take up 2 whole hours in the store. Now I know I'm just bitching, and I'd really be ready to let the matter go, if it wasn't for my second half of this saga, which I will now be describing. The second time I had the joy of taking the bus was when I decided to accompany Leslie to an MIT frat party. Yes, that's right. So we go, and it's called, but whatever...the fun occurs when we're ready to leave. So according to the schedule, a bus is supposed to come at 12:50, and we all prepare to go take that one back home. The problem is I discover that in my hurry to leave the frat party I had taken the wrong coat, so I have to go back and get my coat, which means that we miss the bus. No problem, we'll just take the one at 1:30. But see, it IS a problem, because the 1:30 never comes. So the situation now is a small group of girls and two guys are sitting out in the cold, waiting for a bus that never comes. We ended up moving into the foyer of an MIT dorm (we can't go in the actual dorm) and waiting for the 2:10 bus. Mind you, these times are all in the AM, I was tired to begin with, AND Leslie is getting "really angry" with the bus company on her cell phone. The 2:10 bus eventually comes, and it ends up being really crowded with people (many of them drunk) "standing" in the aisles. I finally got back at 3 in the morning and passed out, exhausted. This is why I hate the damn Peter Pan bus.

Read entire post...

It's been a long time since I've done a trip report, mainly because I haven't gone anywhere of importance as of late. This last weekend, however, I did go somewhere important. Where was this important place that I went to? Why, it was none other than:

(Image deleted)

Those of you reading this on your subscription page will of course be in the dark as to the wonderful image that I put up above, however I can assure you, it's only purpose is to serve as a device that will make you actually click on my profile. In any case, I went to Boston. Well, on retrospect, I didn't actually go into Boston that much, I actually went to Wellesley, which is both a college and a town about 30 miles or so from the city proper. It was in Wellesly College, the all-girls exploratorium of knowledge and pretentiousness, where I spent the majority of my time. The purpose of my visit was a two pronged assault on my friends Leslie and Grace, the latter of which had no idea I was coming, as part of my birthday present to her. Well, actually, it is my present. Or was. Whatever. There was much revelry to be shared by all three parties, however I do believe that an extensive look at my last four days is in order.

[ 01. WELLESLEY GIRLS. ]
Going into Wellesley for the first time, one will obviously have some sort of expectations. What sort of expectations come out of a California male on a prestigious, all-girls school? Well, for one, everyone, should be lesbians. For another, they should all by dykey lesbians. Lastly, they should all be staunch feminists. So how many of these steroetypes proved true? Well, most of them. Don't get me wrong, I met no one who fit into each of these well organized, manly categories. But I did find a sort of "anti-men" air amongst the campus. Apparently it's bad to call the first-years "freshmen", because the word "man" or a derivative of it is present in the word. Seems a bit much to me, especially since "woman" contains the suffix "-man" as well. But I digress. Next, there was a bit of a contradictory feel to many of the elements there. Visitors are allowed on campus and such, but there's no male bathrooms in the dorms, instead, we have to put up with this multi-function restroom with no lock whose occupants can be dictated by a sliding bar outside the door that slides between "men" and "women." Regardless of the sign (since I was told that it really meant nothing), I had to knock on the door and declare my manly presence whenever I had to use the facilities. Talk about being opressed. Interestingly enough, there were plenty of random men being cavorted about by their respective girlfriends, slave to their shadows out of fear of being glanced at threateningly by the alpha females who romaed the halls and dining commons. Also, the apparent lack of men seemed to have driven some of the women into what can only be described by my virginized ears as a "fit of hormonal desire", and by this I refer to the occasion where I ended up sitting on the bus (more on that later) next to 2 other females who were apparently discussing their male conquests of previous nights like, well, men. I found these two extremes most interesting and fully independent of one another. As for the lesbian stereotype, literally every-other girl that I met was a lesbian. I also found that many people thought I was, in fact, gay as well. I'm going to venture out a slightly bold statement and assert that the amount of lesbianness present is caused by the same thing that causes gayness in prisons and such: the lack of availability of the other gender. Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticizing gay people in the least, I'm just saying the phenomenon, from an objective standpoint, seems to be similar, and fairly interesting, although I suppose one could argue a chicken-or-the-egg thing for this. But enough of the scientific-like rambling for now, let's move on to lighter subjects.

Part 2 will come later, I have class now... Read entire post...