success story
11.03.03 @ 11:57 p.m.
I don't think I have much to say lately, which I find slightly distressing. I'm so used to this being my brain's dumping ground, where I can get everything out on a daily basis and all is well, and so on and so forth.
It could be that I'm steaming along with NaNoWriMo. I need to actually give over some of my writing time or, you know, give up the internet a bit because if I continue not doing my homework, I am fucking screwed. I haven't done homework in an age. And I'm strongly considering skipping Italian again tomorrow. I've skipped either two or three times so far. Agh. I should go tomorrow anyway, even if I haven't done the reading or whatever. Plus there's always the magical chance we'll watch Pane e Tulipani. Rosalba's so cute in her escape to Venice. Her husband's a jerk. She deserves a break.
My nailpolish is chipping all to hell... which is a bit of a reminder as to why I almost never wear nailpolish.
Um, the party's going all to hell. I think that it's Paige's fault, actually, for not making placeholder plans with the subject of the party far enough in advance, so now she's made her OWN party plans, plans that I am not willing to host. Why? Because it's a 21st birthday and apparently there is boozing planned, and little miss prententious non-drinker doesn't want to be cleaning up other people's boozy puke. Or spilled alcohol. And frankly, I am not amused by intoxicated people.
Did you know there was a study done that shows that the Beer Goggles phenomenon actually works in reverse on women? Ladies are more enticing with every one a man tosses back, but men get more repulsive the more a lady imbibes. I think you can find the appropriate link to the news story on Dave Barry's blog from sometime in October.
So it looks like it's becoming a lunchtime party. That works for me. I've basically made a blanket offer of hospitality from Friday afternoon to Sunday afternoon. Done and done.
I'm mildly annoyed by the fact that we're watching Motown stuff in Rock Hist. Not that I don't like Motown, but that as far as I'm concerned, we've been over all this before. I've written all these notes already. I already know that James Jamerson and Benny Benjamin were Funk Brothers, that the Motown building said "Hitsville USA" outside, that the Motown motto was "The sound of young America." Come on, man! How many times can I watch that episode of Ready, Steady, Go? (Oh the hypocracy... Even as I type, I have the DVD of The Kids are Alright in my laptop so I can watch the same bits of RSG or The Old Grey Whistle Test ENDLESSLY. Because how can you ever tire of watching Pete dance during "Shout and Shimmy"?
Really. I can't fathom it.
That's about it, except that I've finally finished the prologue to Traveler, the High Commander (who, in his own quirky and meglomaniacal way, has worked his way into my heart) is finally dead with his bizarre, worshipful secretary collapsed at his feet... And now I've delved into Celeste's existance. She's... not quite the main character because I think of Traveler as the main character, but I'm telling it in third person with her as a central focus. You know? The nice, omniscient camera follows her around rather than Traveler. So she's blooming as her Amazonian incarnation as a prisoner of war/captured bride of a tribe I'm just calling Gregoff's people for now. They're pretty nastily agressive. I wrote less than minimum quota today, which is disappointing, but I guess that's why I have all that extra writing... as a safety net.
[title track is a Who song that I only know part of, but it's running on endless loop through my brain]
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
