Wrong Ass

I have had an argument over that very same word. After nearly resorting to the manly art of fisticuffs we ended up going to TiVo and Crank Yankers to prove me victorious.
I say you win a shrubbery for this post Chris.

Chris where you watching the Dave Chapelle Show?!?!?!?!?!
If you know what I mean, great skit, huh???

Thats what thats off of. Ive had that saying in my head forever and could never figure out where it came from! thanks Chris!

LOL, this was random.

That is also from a Missy Elliot song, ” keep your eyes on my badonkadonk”. I heard the song and laughed thinking about this blog entry.

From Amazon.com–>
“Wil Wheaton–blogger, geek, and Star Trek: The Next Generation's Wesley Crusher–gives us five short-but-true tales of life in the so-called Space Age in Dancing Barefoot. With a true geek's unflinching honesty, Wil examines life, love, the web, and the absurdities of Hollywood in these compelling autobiographical narratives. chronicle a teen TV star's journey to maturity and self-acceptance. Far from the usual celebrity tell-all, Dancing Barefoot is a vivid account of one man's version of that universal story, the search for self. If you've ever fallen in love, wondered what goes on behind the scenes at a Star Trek convention, or thought hard about the meaning of life, you'll find a kindred soul in the pages of Dancing Barefoot. In the process of uncovering his true geeky self, Wil Wheaton speaks to the inner geek in all of us. “

Shut the hell up you chicken heads! Skeet! Skeet! Skeet!

Dear Whomever May Be Reading ThisÂ…
Wax Museums, PT Barnum, personal campaign and mission to define the times, irony, love, heartache, love, the battle and fight for freedom and to live without being afraid, confusionÂ….. I am lost, I am alone, I am totally and utterly alone, but I find comforts in things so few understand or even acknowledge. Below is some of my story that is still being written. This is what I want to share with you.
WAXWORKS, MY CULTURAL OBSESSION
An Open Reflection Written By Jamie Leigh of http://www.jamieleigh.net ; please feel free to publish.
Moments defined in time. Moments captured in time. Moments constructed through time. Moments built to represent time. Moments built to hide the time. Moments built to preserve a time. Moments built to suspend the time…
…Artificial images to trick changing times?
Times goes by, yet certain images sustain the test of this illusion human beings have called 'time'. These man-made creations provoke thoughts and take the visitor, the looker on an emotional journey through redemption and salvation, light and dark, and the good and bad of human accomplishment. Within each floor is a new world, a journey through time, a new background and environment in which to get entranced in, and an atmosphere of silence and stunned movement that finally uses diversity as a means of celebration and unity, as apposed to separation and violence.
Yes, it's hardly a secret ; in fact, I've been extremely candid about my love of wax museums for as long as I can remember. A strange curiosity and even stranger sense of security and safety I get whenever I visit them. I've always talked about how they've managed to capture my imagination and offer some hope in the sense of a world and a magic that is so hard to come by these days, especially in a world filled with hate and constant fear. It's a universe of the unknown, a space galaxy where few are able to be transported because their own minds and inhibitions prevent them from letting go. These simple statues, these images, these characters, whether they be political figures, entertainers, sports legends, or people who stood their ground so strong despite the circumstances and hardships with which they were faced, continue to retain a sense of odd hope for me. Perhaps not what they are, but what they represent. The concept of re-creating someone and the process of doing it and then watching as others stare in fixation and wonderment continues to be one of my most favorite pastimes. An eerie almost creepy lack of understanding by some who hold little to no interest, yet to me, a beautiful sense of totality and escapism.
The provocative and wide-ranging exploration of wax as cultural metaphor. Something I've held a fascination and fixation with and dreamed of literally being a part of, has never once slid or been tested. A cast of weird characters in different settings, different eras throughout history and time, present a blanket of clarity to me that I only find in similar places of escape such as amusement parks or through films.
There they stand, demanding your attention, demanding your eyes read the tiny words explaining whatever significant achievement or addition to the universe they gave or died for while they were alive, and for those who are still living, what they've done up until this point. It's right there, on a tiny black piece of glass written in white clean lettering with a small spotlight glaring down so you can read. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of any wax figures descriptions is for those who still continue to live and breathe an open “1950 - ” space just anticipating their grand exit. I'll never understand that, nor the reason they are etched into tombstones just waiting… waiting to be finished off so the complete two dates can be idolized in stone forever. I want mine to never be revealed; for the space to remain blank and empty in an effort to prove my point of accepting that there are certain elements of magic and immortal excitement in the unknown and in the mysterious. You just never know, so you can only wonder and ponder possibilities. A giant question mark, it's how I dream and how I fantasize, and it's how I'd want to be immortalized.
London, 1921. The world's greatest wax sculptor watches in horror as flames consume his museum and melt his uncannily lifelike creations. Twelve years later, he opens a wax museum in New York. Crippled, disfigured, and driven mad by the fire, he resorts to body snatching and murder to populate his displays, preserving the bodies in wax. “In a thousand years you will be as lovely as you are now,” he assures one victim. In The Mystery of the Wax Museum (1933), director Michael Curtiz perfectly captures the macabre essence of realistic wax figures that have excited the darker aspects of the public's imagination ever since Madame Tussaud established her famous museum in London in 1802.
Obviously not alone in my intrigue (at least, not to my knowledge but you never know, especially with me), artists in general, have been fascinated by wax sculptures, seeing in them-and in the unique properties of wax itself-an eerie metaphoric power with which to address sexual anxiety, fears of mortality, and other morbid subjects.
I still to this day retain the fantasy of having myself waxed and standing next to all of the other historical and cultural icons that have helped shape this insane society we inhabit today. It's an unheard of fantasy and wish, but then again, most things I dream of are so surreal and unimaginative that this seems to fit in so perfectly ; but it's true. I'm not sure why I become in awe of such masterpieces, or why walking through a room of rubber creations makes me feel so safe and at home and at total peace. Sometimes when I'd be alone and no one was looking, I'd walk up real close to certain figures of truly historic significance and just quietly try to put myself in their shoes and think about what it must have been like for them to be who they were at that specific time. I walked past the exhibit of the Royals and as I passed Lady Diana in that long red beaded gown, I couldn't help but hang my head in sadness and pain and hurt, because in so many ways, her statue represented exactly how she lived her life ; in total silence, floating around and observing things like a ghost. It's like the elephant man in many ways. A figure so strange, so eccentric, so full of mystery and awe, that all people can think of to do when they cast their eyes upon it is stare. No words, no movements, just stare and watch. Funny how even on this day and at this present time, I still feel people would do nothing more but watch, not see, but watch, and then assume their own judgments on character and reason simply because of what they see. That's all they know. But, there is a distinct connection for sure. A sense of undisturbed stillness and frozen captivation. A stoic look from someone you'd never imagine coming face-to-face with.
Maybe I'll never know what it is about wax museums and their story and history that help me transport, or why they continue to offer some element of imagination and hope in me, or what it is about experiencing and learning about the process that seems so comfortable. And maybe I never will, and I suppose that's why I continue to trust it and find a personal sanctuary within them.
Written by Jamie Leigh from deep within her own self-created LABYRINTH walls at http://www.jamieleigh.net.
Curious? Confused? Want to know more, stop over, I promise you wonÂ’t see anything else like it.
—————————-
Jamie Leigh
The Official Jamie Leigh Website, LABYRINTH
“Reality Is Merely An Illusion”
http://www.jamieleigh.net
AIM: xanAmericanGrrlx
Email: jamieleighdotnet@hotmail.com
Current LIVE CAM IMAGE VIEW NOW: http://www.jamieleigh.net/cammy.html
Personal Diary: http://www.jamieleigh.net/log.html
Voicemail/MOBILE: 516.967.1513 (In New Jersey)
———
The Official Jamie Leigh Website, LABYRINTH
NOWHERE TO HIDE, GET LOST NOW.
http://www.jamieleigh.net

Ok…..