dum dum dum doo-ray
08.01.02 @ 11:45 p.m.
I feel like I've been doing work even though I, you know, HAVEN'T. I just cleaned out my email box (oooh), found a website award that is really quite old and that I forgot to ever put on the awards page on my site (how embarassing), and realized I have a bazillion emails from Martha that I still haven't deleted. That's partly because some of them are exchanges from the 'we're all pissed at Moni' period at the end of high school.
I believe I stated once that for all my good intentions toward the field of journalism, I think I'll end up writing pathetic Regency Romances (oh yes, this is a genre unto itself--You should see the rack of them at the paperback exchange at my local library! All things like "The Naughty Ward" and "The Alluring Countess"... "Oh, Sir William," she panted heavily as he cornered her in the shrubbery. "What of your engagement to the Duchess of Matlock?" and so on and so on and so on. Not that I've read any of them, I just read too much Jane Austen fanfic). Anyway, for some odd reason, I decided that I really wanted to read this book about 19th century English life. Basically, it's like a magic decoder ring for Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, and a whole host of other writers most modern readers avoid unless their English teacher is holding a gun to their head. (Can you just imagine? "You'll analyze Austen's perspective on fucking country life and like it, or I'll blow your motherfucking brains out!") (Ah, I amuse myself.) The book is vaguely interesting, but it seems to me a little to much like I'm doing research already, you know?
What I really, really want to read is local film critic Shawn Levy's book, Ready, Steady, Go, which is all about swinging London in the mid-1960s. Perfect timing, his publishing it at the same time the third Austin Powers movie comes out. Oooh, I really want to see that, but no dice until next week. I should have taken the risk and gone yesterday, regardless of Mom's jury duty.
And now I'm going to make myself look stupid: Today, I was listening to the Who at high volume and singing along and goofing off on my bed. Picture the resulting scene: A ghastly pink room (I am eager to paint) with a window looking out onto forest (that damn squirrel was probably out there laughing at me), "Call Me Lightnin'" playing loudly on the stereo, and me, curled up on my bed (with lovely metal headboard) clutching my elbow and swearing like a sailor. Yes, I was dancing on my bed, lost my balance, and knocked my elbow six ways from Sunday on the metal pipe headboard. I am a MORON! And my elbow hurts, too.
(PS- I'm not going to pester about my guestbook this entry, because M signed it and that's good enough for me for now. Plus I've had a couple of people sign (or try to sign, fail, and email me) my guestbook over at GCF, so all in all, I'm happy. Thanks, M.)
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
