Purple cardigan.

So.
There's been grumbling about this blog. In an attempt to be more exciting, we (Justin and I) are going to try to do something interesting every week.

Now.
Clearly we're going to start on the small easy stuff. But just think! After a while, we'll run out of small, easy things to do, and we'll be on to weird and exciting things!

So.
Eventually it might be interesting.

I don't know.

Anyway, the point is, this week me and Justin (Justin and I) decided to do some character sketches. I hadn't done any before, so Justin had to explain the rules of the game to me.

Long story short, we both did sketches of a young (somewhere between 14 and 28) androgynous girl in a purple cardigan at Barnes and Noble and compared them. Here they are for your reading pleasure.

Justin's sketch:
Miranda Heltzer
Miranda was androgynous in her style. She wore cardigans that looked appropriate on old men, and eccentrically stylish on her. Her hair was Peter Pan style, her face plain and without makeup. She wore Keds of all colors, except for white and black.
She worked at a record store, the kind that had ultra-rare B sides of The Funky Loves (an experimental piano rock band whose members all died of overdoses or AIDs before making it), but never carried anything on the Billboard Top 100.
Miranda enjoyed doing studies on people. Once, she put a slit big enough to expose her left ass cheek in her jeans, then walked around the mall. Several people laughed, two different groups of young males whistled. Only one well-intentioned person (a young man) nervously informed Miranda of the rip.
Miranda didn’t have a bank account; instead she converted all her cash into coin form—she was afraid of house fires.
She read Palahnik, loved punk rock, and thought America would parade the rest of the world into the apocalypse.

Phillip's sketch:

Sam Stevens
Sam Stevens wanted a house. A big house. It didn't have to be a nice house, just a house. She and her boyfriend Ryan would live there. Maybe some of her friends, too. She didn't really care who else lived there, just as long as they made rent. Preferably someone with a good pot dealer or maybe just someone who would buy her a case of beer every now and then.
She imagined the house everyday while she was up in her room listening to music: Wood floors, wide open living room, dingy white walls plastered with posters and her paintings. Maybe she would put up some Christmas lights too. That'd be cool.
She would host house shows, at least two a month. Punk bands and soft-voiced folk guys could play. Maybe some hip-hop. Hip-hop was cool.
She would need a good name for it. She made lists in her notebooks when she was bored in class:
The Pop House
The Bird House
The Sea House
But none seemed fitting. She ultimately decided that she would have to wait until she had the house. Talk to her roommates, her boyfriend. The house would name itself, and in turn, make a name for her.