Wednesday, May 01, 2002
howdy howdy howdy
Today I had my finger shut in a car door. It's the little finger on my left hand so I don't use it too much, and it doesn't really hurt, but I definetly don't have a full range of motion and it makes typing a bit of a pain. I learned my fancy-shmancy using-all-my-fingers typing from Keyboarding in school. Lovely class.
Also today some girl was walking down the hall with her boob hanging out of her shirt. I personally did not see this but apparently the rest of the world did. It was much discussed in my classes. What I don't understand is this: how did she not notice? I mean, wouldn't you notice if your boob was out there? Wouldn't you feel a breeze or something?
Check out *Me. It is the blog belonging to ma copine Helene. Very much worth it. By 'it', I mean 'reading'.
We have to do a project on a poem written before 1930. My poet it TS Eliot. The Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (which is one of the best books of poetry ever) was © 1939. Think I could get away with it? I mean, isn't 1939 close enough to 1930 to still be in the same writing movement? And you know, he was probably writing it in 1930 and only finished by 1939 anyways. Right? Right?
Sideways in all directions I can see it in my own reflection Sideways in all directions
O man I love the Sheila Divine.
HP just sent us a CD (kindly, free of charge) that is supposed to be like Ginko biloba for our printer. I already told you that he is named Woodrow, right? Well, this CD is supposed to help him remember where he is so that we don't have to fiddle endlessly with him, and plead passionately with him, and make him all sorts of irrational promises (like we'll get him his own fish bowl and fill it with copecks). This will make him just... print. Without any coercion at all. To tell the truth, I'm kind of used to dealing with Woodrow now, and I can usually get him to print off of AppleWorks anyways. But he categorically refuses to print anything, anything at all, off of the internet. I'm not sure why. Perhaps he is a ludite who does not believe in the internet.
You know what else is funny? I guess that HP has only one guy working there who knows anything about Macs. Because every time we called up their help line (this was before we got to know Woodrow's eccentricities), we got the same guy. We might start out with some other person, but the second we said that Woodrow was hooked up to a Mac, we would get transfered to this same guy. By now he is well-acquainted with Woodrow too, and he is starting to get to know us. This sort of thing infinetly amuses me.
Does the optical mouse use a laser, or an LED? Probably an LED, because it's ever so much cheaper and I have yet to blinded from gazing at it. It's pretty fascinating, so laugh if you wish, but it is well worth gazing at.
Goddamned electronic chirping!
We only come out at night. The days are much too bright.
Vampires, or Smashing Pumpkins? I ask you.
The phone rings. We screen, zoom in on the answering machine... never mind, my brother picked it up.
Hardly.... any... homework.... tonight. My joy is unbounded by the conventional restricting laws of nature and of homework.
don't look at this
If you are playing MechWarrior, BLORB makes you quite invincible.
The Brunching Shuttlecocks has a very funny review of The Scorpion King today. I laughed, ha ha ha.
Scorpion is a funny word. I always want to put a different vowel in there. Scorpian? Scorpien? Scorpiin? Scorpiun? Any one of them would make that same 'ihn' noise, I guess. But no, it must be O. O well.
Yesterday there was a HUGE spider in my basement. It was so big that you could see its eyes and its mandibles and the freaking hairs on its legs. It was GROSS. Of course it couldn't be squished down there because it would make a monumental mess of spider guts all over the basement. So my mother, who has an iron constitution, ran down with a cup and a napkin, scooped it up, and tossed it outside. Where it belongs. I don't mind spiders in their natural habitat. I just don't like it when they invade mine.
One day I will construct a satellite and name it after you
Cause you were the best friend of all
Except for when you split my lip in two
To see the look upon your face
As I launch you into space
I have found that there are occasions wherein a Siamese cat may look exactly like a polar bear. If he is a large and somewhat rotund Siamese. As my big Izzy is.
Our physics teacher emails us our homework lists for the week. I suppose that this is convenient for some people, but it is in the range of mildly sucking for me. I never know, at the end of the day, whether or not I need to bring my physics book home. Since the list telling my if I have homework in the book that night is at home in my emailbox. I guess I ought to print it out or something, but, as I have said, Woodrow objects rather strenuously to the internet.
Help me when I
Fall to walk unafraid
I'll be clumsy instead
O my love me or leave me
The vacuum! Run and hide run and hide run and hide! or you could just sit there and eat the spider plant.
Why does 'vacuum' have so many 'u's? I mean, a vacuum is emptiness, and 'u' doesn't particularily remind me of emptiness. 'o' does, if anything. So why isn't it a 'vacoom'?
Another choice site is sodaconstructor. I have yet to master it and I can't really do much more than muck around with the templates. But it's fun to play with.
I really am disinclined to read Bonjour Tristesse. I know that it's short. I just can't get into it.
Nice out. I probably should go and finish that watercolor I was doing of the rhodedendron out front. But I don't particularily feel like it. Hmm. Nope. O well.
Star Trek is on tonight. Hooray for Star Trek! It's on early too, so I can get to sleep early and maybe, just maybe, wake up early and go to that History session thing that is so unnaturally early in the morning. I mean, 7 am. Really. Who does that?
^that is the orange stool that is in my computer room. It is from Design Within Reach. They send us their catalog. It's very cool. I love looking through it and seeing how I would decorate my house if I ever had that much money. And then bugging my mother about why we can't decorate our house with that stuff. Then she gets mad and mutters about the sort of people who would buy a $3,000 chair and how no one would want to be with a person who does that anyways, because they must be out of their minds in a big way. Ha, well, we have some of it anyways. Like the stool.
Edward Gorey, I have decided, is one of my favorite artists. That guy is simply incredible with a pen and ink.
I also loooooooooooove Magritte. Dali. Seth Fisher. Sandy Skoglund. I know there are others but I am a-blanking.
I do not like.... guess who? O yes. You guessed it. Thomas Kinkade. The first time I saw one of those galleries I almost died of laughing. I went in with my mother out of morbid curiosity, like those people who pull over on the highway to get a closer look at a bad car wreck. I really couldn't stop laughing. There were some old people looking at the 'paintings' and the salewoman kept on glaring at me, but it was not a condition I could control.
When we left, we decided that the best things in there had been the fake fireplaces that were 'tastefully' scattered about the dimly lit little gallery thing. My mother wanted to get one.
All I have to say is that I learned two things. One. If I go into someone's house, and they have a Kinkade proudly displayed on the wall, I must travel far, far away in order to save myself. Two. People really will buy anything.
I do not like the idea of my smoke detector being radioactive. I do not like it at all.
Well. I do believe that I shall endeavor to read Bonjour Tristesse. I may later regret that decision. Mais, qu'est ce-qu'on peut faire?
Pet a cat today. It's the best. For everything.