Meep. Poor Fa is currently writing college essays in the dead of night (which, for me, is the only good time to be awake). After finishing a decent, if slightly long-winded mini-essay on my perceptions of culture, I returned to my main essay. Which, because I enjoy amusing myself even if no one else cares to read my unappreciated nonsense, begins as follows:

I keep relatively few secrets. For example – that horrible stench in the school hallway, so very long ago, that everyone mistook for vomit? (Spoiled milk in my locker, which I later disposed of in a trash can to the chagrin of nose-pinching students.) However, there is one that still endures to this day… unwritten, unspoken, and badly suppressed. One that continues to haunt me during the bleary-eyed wee hours. And in the idiocy and desperation fueled by the lack of more suitable essay topics, I will now divulge it to the discretion of your honored admissions staff.

The term meep, by the way, is defined as follows:

meep | mēp |
exclamation
an expression of agreement, indifference, resignation, suppressed rage, or a natural utterance resulting from acute bodily pain or a pause in conversation.
ORIGIN the variegated lunacy of a certain Jenny-fa, who first adapted the term to her own use after glimpsing the word emblazoned across a creatively-spelled Chinese T-shirt.

And no, I am not submitting that anywhere. Funny though… I probe my mind for something serious and meaningful, and I draw a million blanks. Poke fun at someone or risk disrepute, and my fingers fly across the keyboard.

And secret? What secret?

I doubt any one of you would be man enough to take it.

Anyway. Black Friday shopping in two hours. Whoop-ee. And now my obligatory meeeeep.

"Last Resort," the next episode of House, looks traumatic. The plot: a deranged madman comes into the hospital with a gun, takes House, Thirteen, and several patients hostage, and demands treatment for his illness — or else. But the thing that really struck me were shots of the maniac shouting, "She takes whatever I take," and Thirteen crying, injecting herself with a needle. Apparently, the guy forces her to take the same drugs in order to make sure they aren't trying to dupe him.

Anyway. Traumatic. Bound to be one of those uncomfortable thrills.

For more info see this blog post. In the meantime, here's the promo from the official site.

I also glimpsed a few shocking spoilers for future episodes on the House Wiki (URL withheld), but one of them is so mind-boggling and unlikely, I'm doubtful whether it'll ever come to pass.

Update: It was an extended episode. Even with limited commercial interruptions, it went eight minutes over its official time slot. But I can't believe the previews for the next installment. I mean, they follow a life-or-death hostage situation with that?

Some rather unpleasant things happened yesterday. The unwelcome "blast from the past" and potential to emotionally scar notwithstanding, I think I've come to realize several things:

• There is no happiness and significance and grand purpose to life, no matter how many bastards tell you otherwise.
• Situations where I can survey the whole, contemplate individual beauties, and be apart from the clamor are scarce and not so spectacular.
• And even when I'm up there, in the cold and rain and beyond the pathetic, mundane realm, all I can think of afterwards is that I should've stayed up there longer.

OK, that was a rough list. Watch out, I think this one's even better.

• I've died and become a part of nothing. What is this "person"? Who was that moron? How can other people look at photographs, memories, each other, and identify?
• Fiction. Can it touch you with a sensate hand and tell you what where you've been, what you've missed, what is missing?
• A nascent or lasting reality? These figments of imagination…
• I have a feeling my "past" will keep severing itself.

Also, some "people" have told me that I'm an unpleasant "person." Which leads me to…

• If smiles and laughs and human expressions can't be genuine, then will they castigate "me" for it?
• Why does society viciously ostracize those they can't comprehend?
• Why does no one see? Understand?
• And not "my" trivial plights but those of the common nature.

Could you see a drop of water in a rainstorm?

The rest is silence.

One of my favorite remembrances of dear, lovely Cameron is during the episode "Allison from Palmdale" when she goes shopping for groceries. I don't really know why.

I've always thought this moment was adorable. You can't see it here, but as she's walking through the aisles, her head-up display (with all the numbers and crosshairs) is registering each of the items on the shelf and identifying their contents. I don't know about you, but that is how I've always wanted to shop.

Then some weird flashbacks/video transmissions start flickering across her head-up display. She picks up an apple and seems momentarily confused.

Oh, well, nothing's wrong with the apple. Now, where was I…?

Whoa! That was some weird glitch.

Anyway, at this moment I couldn't help but notice that awfully cute dress. I mean, when did she acquire it? Did she buy it herself? How does she choose her clothing? That would be an interesting episode, anyway. "Cameron goes shopping at the mall."

My darling, fashion-conscious Terminator…

I originally wanted to do a photo montage of Cameron being badass and taking out a bunch of unarmed men because they were a "security risk," but that kind of thing is better suited to a video.

The college application front is looking a bit tense. Unfortunately, I think I'll have to miss today's all new episode of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. The loss is going to be unbearable.

I hate essays.

What else… perhaps a commentary on President-elect Obama?

Ha ha… no.

You know what? Even chocolate and cheesecake become loathsome after a while. And you know, you don't hate food because you feel fat or something. Oh, no. You hate food because there freakin' isn't anything for you to eat when you're a vegetarian in this part of the country. And then you feel freakin' depressed and angry when you hate everything you eat.

And it's probably because your mental health has never been perfect, either.

See? Even that tofu smells terrible.