Heart racing, quickly around corners, drifting its way through the neverending lap.
Which race?
The Can-Indy 4354, of course.
Pounding like a rain soaked lover after walking 500 miles and then 500 more to fall down at your door.
Jumping out of my chest and not just with the force of feet against the ground.
Its getting trampoline height.
Walking on the moon height.
It works, like the finely tuned gears of a watch.
It's alive like frankenteins monster and all it wants to do is love and be loved.
Here's to surpassing misunderstanding.
It still exists, like the rest of the world because we've yet to manage to blow this planet up and that alone should give all men hope.
Becuase we're all still alive.
We're all still able.
Still capable.
Still ready and willing to do what it takes when something comes along.
Something right.
Something beauful.
Something perfect.
So here's to you and yours, world.
And here's to hoping your glass is raised and on the verge of making contact with mine.
Here's to the both of them being half full.
Here's to everything this journal has been because from here on in, this is the end of the chapter that you've all known as fakemeasmile.
But don't worry all you high and mighty lj gods, and my fellow livejournalists, I'll come back.
I'll have a new one ready because it's a new dawn.
It's a new day.
It's a new life.
It's a new life for me....

and I'm feeling good.
:)

/scene.

My last entry sounded a little bitter.
I apologize for that.
Being sick is lame and so are you, thats all it was.
Understandable bitterness, but still... I don't want LJ to have to listen to that.
He's got enough bitter, angst-filled teenagers shouting at him right now.
He doesn't need someone with a disposition such as mine preaching the petty.
The Lori Petty. (Free Willy, Tank Girl, In The Army Now)
I actually looked her up today on imdb.
Why Lori Petty?
I was on a movie trivia site and they were showing a picture of what looked like a tinkerbell, and for soem reason it slipped my mind that they JUST made a Peter Pan in 2003 and I'm like "Well, what the fuck could this be from?" and it vaguely looked like Lori Petty, so I looked her up to see if she ever palyed tinkerbell.
She didn't... obviously.
But, she was in Free Willy, and thats classy.
Isn't it?
I think it is.
Oh, do yourself a favour and if you ever get a hold of Free Willy on DVD, put the part where Willy jumps over Jason James Richter on slow mo.
Terrible 3D animation.
Terribly hilarious.
Also do yourself a favour and put the part of 10 Things I Hate About You where that dude gets side swiped on his bike and hes going down the hill and you hear him say "My balls!" on repeat.
Thats just pure humour.
Hahaha... his balls.
*shakes head*
Whatever happened to Alex Mack?
*looks her up*
Not much.
Okay, I don't know where I was going with this.
I'd started on a rantangent of lame and got lost in conversations, so I'm going to end this.
Peace out, bitches.

Oooooooh St. Patricks Day yesterday was a blast.
I loved spending it in bed with a fever of 101.
Exhilerating.
I mean, sure, I wasn't going to drink for it anyways, but I was looking forward to hanging out with everyone for a bit. That just wasn't a possibility, though, so I spent it in bed staring at my ceiling and listening to Broken Social Scene while thinking about how if my fever got worse, no one would be around to help me if need be and then I might die and I just didnt feel like dying, you know? I need to do some serious preperation before that happens. Luckily a cold cloth and said ceiling worship did the trick and it subsided within a couple hours.
I thank everyone who wished me better, though.
I appreciated the sentiments.....?

I hope you all had a great St. Patricks Day.
I cant say I hope you're not feeling too rough today, though.
Its only fair that you're all a bit hungover.
No?
Yeahhhh... of course its fair.

Okay, I really don't have much to say.
Just wanted to give the ol belated shout out for St. Patricks sake and complain about my cold.

Say Goodbye, Craig.

Goodbye, Craig.

Well hello there ladies and gents.
It is I, Sir Craig of Thunder Bay... which I wish had a better ring than that.. something like "..of Sussex." or "...of Worcestershire." Okay, maybe not the latter, cause if that was the case I might just have to choose "...of Soya." or "...of Plum."

Sir Craig of Soya.

Haha, okay, I can dig it.

I come to you today because its been a while since I have posted and I thought that there might be a possibility that someone missed me? Anyone? No? Not even a little bit?
Well, thats okay.
I didn't miss you either.
But the LJ Gods are apparently pissed off at me so I have to make at least a little contribution.

I woke up this morning with the lyrics "You raise me up blah blah blah mountains... balls." in my head and being told it was Michael Buble when I heard it last night over the speakers at the mall, I thought that I had an extreme distaste for Michael Buble and his contemporary christian singing ass. However, a little birdie let me in on a little secret today: Michael Buble does mostly covers ala Swing/Big Band style and that he's actually pretty good and instantly I thought "Well then I must have Josh Groban stuck in my head." because I knew if it wasn't one, it had to be the other.

In conclusion: fuck Josh Groban, Michael Buble is kickass.

He does a pretty awesome cover of Can't Buy Me Love and it makes me want to spend a few bucks to see if I can at least attempt to. I suggest checking some of his stuff out, because if it makes me want to drink martinis and snap my fingers, you can only imagine what it'll make you want to do until you give it a shot.

If thats not inscentive enough to do a little downloading, I don't know what is.

I just... don't.

In fact, during the course of writing this post I started off in one of those "I ate too much so I'm tired and grumpy." moods and since I threw the Buble on the ol winamp I'm... well, to quote the song that plays right now... I'm Feeling Good.

Anyways.
I didn't come here with the intent to sell you all on Sir Buble of Winamp.
I didn't really come here with much intent actually, other than to keep the Gods happy.
So here's hoping I'm doing a good job.

Speaking of being happy, though.
I'm there, baby.
Its not just the music, and the overeating state of sour I just mentioned is pretty much the only time I've been remotely down in weeks. I'm up, up, and away, and to speak frankly, I like it.

I like it a lot.

And this isn't the happy you've all known for the past couple years.
You know, that "I'm happy yet still pretty pessimistic about the human race and the planet they're destroying."
No, this is a differet happy.
A better happy.
Its pure optimism, baby.
The world is mine to grab by the balls and make it wish it had ovaries.

You know when you go to the dentist to get fillings and he freezes your mouth and you end up leaving, sure, with fixed teeth, but with the anesthesia also still doing its thing and you don't notice you're drooling all over yourself? Well, even though I felt repaired, I was still drooling all over myself for the past couple years and finally I'm in a place where the numbness is subsiding and you have no idea how good that feels.

In fact, thats exactly it.

I had no idea how good anything felt because I was so frozen.

But here I am.
Here we are.
Large and I.
This is our moment, whatever it may end up being.

So heres to you, Sam.
This ones for you.

I'll make a real update soon enough.
Hold on to your panties.
But, while you're holding, do me a favour and take on a little survey action, will ya?

( Richard Dawson ain't got nothin on me. )

Chek it.
Deez hoz be all up in mah grill, see?
And I tells dem "You best be gettin out mah grill befo I hav 2 get up in deh meself and back'and yas out."
And den dey av da nerv to back'and me in me own grill.
I don't kno's bout dat, but me finks dats not righ'.
Whatchu fink?

So, Da Ali G Show obviously rubs off on me and forces me to post in sloppy british ebonics.
I don't mind.
Hes a classy mother fucker.
Respect.

Seriously, though.
Watch that show.
Its priceless.
Literally.

On another note, murder, she wrote.
Angela Lansbury, angel of hands buried?
I want to own Mad Gab.
I'm tired and don't know why I'm posting.
This game makes no sense.

Shenanigans.

64451...1.

Meow.

Go directly to jail?
Do not pass 'Go'?!
Do not collect 200$?!?
Monopolize this!

I'm getting out of jail for free and theres nothing you can do about it, fuckers.

Salute.

Life is silly.
It's a good thing I like silly.
How could anyone be serious and get away with it their whole lives?
Yahoo Serious.
He was silly too, though.
Do you yahoo?
I google.
Yahoo is for suckers.
Google(googol) is a 1 with one-hundred 0's.
Thats this many: 10000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000.
Reason #1 that life is silly: a scientists child named the googol.
How long do you think it would take to count that high?
I'd say you could cover 3 or 4 numbers per second earlier on, but once you get up higher you're probably looking at a minute per number. Plus, I dont know anything past a decillion... nonillion... octillion... septillion... sextillion... quintillion... quadrillion... trillion... billion... million... thousand... hundred... one.
I mean, just try to say 1342432576789685746736079867398475 alone.
One decillion, three-hundred and fourty-two nonillion, four-hundred and thirty-two octillion, five-hundred and seventy-six septillion, seven-hundred and eighty-nine sextillion, six-hundred and eighty-five quintillion, seven-hundred and fourty-six quadrillion, seven-hundred and thirty-six trillion, seventy-nine billion, eight-hundred and sixty-seven million, three-hundred and ninety-eight thousand, four-hundred and seventy-five.
Seriously, say it.
There is also a googolplex, which is 10 to the power of 10 to the power of 100.
10 to the power of googol.
10 to the power of shut the fuck up.
The fuck-up.
How do you shut one of those?
Do they bear hinges?
Cranks?
Zip-locks?
Latches?
Can you slam them?
Or are they hydraulic?
Do they have knobs and locks?
Are they wooden, metal and glass?
I guess it doesn't really matter.
We all make mistakes and should never really be shut anyway.
So, feel free to open the fuck up.
Comprende?
Bueno.
I want to learn to play the piano.
A few months ago I went to the music store with my brother and I honestly don't think I've ever known a love for an inanimate object stronger than playing a perfectly tuned piano. Provided all I really know is Colorblind and I toured the room playing it on every single grand, baby-grand and upright, it was enough to make me fall for their sweet, sweet voices.
I bring this up now because The Rocket Summer, Straylight Run and anything else piano always seems to have this ability to blow me away that much more than music without it.
So, me want learn peas.
Call me John Tesh, but I think I could pick it up a lot easier than the guitar, to be perfectly honest.
But whatever.
I probably wont because I'm too cool for it.
Yeah.
I think thats it.

In.
Fat.
You.
A.
Shun.
No less.
More later.
I like to think that the world is all within arms length and despite 'travelling time', we can all ultimately get anywhere we want in the blink of an eye. But, by blink, I mean half of a blink and keep it closed and vacate.
( I know I will. )