the ballad of john and yoko
11.16.03 @ 6:18 p.m.
Apparently my constant cursing when I type gets me some weird as all hell google hits. Yick.
Today has been a bit of a waste. I spent a whole bunch of time doing stupid things like reading one of the first fanfics I'd even found and decided to save because I enjoyed it. It's not a particularly good one, it's just an odd bit of nostalgia. Then when I was sitting around thinking of something to do (having just gotten dressed despite having showered long before... I have a bad habit of picking up a book or something while I'm blow drying my hair and end up sitting around in a robe or a towel for three hours) the doorbell rang. It was Ena's friend dropping off a birthday present (she turns 21 tomorrow, and as a result we're deluged with phone calls from Taiwan which I presume are wishing her a happy birthday, but I don't speak Mandarin so I don't know) and she was too out of it to even notice that someone was at the door. What the hell. I think she fell asleep listening to Dark Side of the Moon, personally. She seemed like she just woke up. Heh, if it was anyone else, being dazed and coming from an incense soaked room with Pink Floyd blaring in the background, I'd suspect something else entirely. But I know her too well. She ended up wandering into my room and poking around my desk for like an hour and a half, which didn't bother me, really. Just one of those "Let's sit and chat for a while" things. And we listened to a bunch of Nesmith and most of the White Album.
I wrote my "Revolution" listening report, drawing pretty heavily on John's own comments out of the Anthology book. Yay for having far too many Beatles resources in my house. Well, actually, two of my three gigantic Beatles coffee table books are photos only and the third is Anthology, stolen from my brother. Well, stolen from my house where my neglegent brother left it for two or three years. The only Anthology thing I don't have is the DVDs, actually. And I think my dad taped them all off TV back when they aired.
My big rock'n'roll books are right next to my sketchbook on my bookshelf and I went to put this 8 x 10 of the Who that Martha gave me last year for my birthday (before we all went to see Igby Goes Down) back in the sketchbook while I was talking to Ena. I freaked momentarily because I thought she wanted to flip through it to see if I've done anything new. I didn't want that to happen because I was INCREDIBLY depressed last night and wrote this self pitying stuff about how I spend too much time inside my head pretending to be anyone but me and then drew some big dark squares and rectangles because I was feeling desperate need for artistic outlet but no inspiration whatsoever. I ended up playing guitar which eventually made me feel better after some violent random chord playing. I also burned through almost every chord progression in the old Monkees P-V-G book I found in a box of my stuff. Chords that used to seem really hard are so easy now. I played everything except songs I hated and things that had too many changes, which made me impatient.
The (not very) funny thing was that I went from being kind of "angst, angst, here I am all by myself" to be totally resentful when Ena actually came home. But I got over myself and called my parents (I didn't realize how much I missed them in the course of a week) and cooked myself a proper dinner, and all was pretty much right with the world again. For all that the chicken took FOREVER to be done.
I lazed, I watched British comedies and an episode of Law and Order, and SNL. I got very little writing done because by then it was two, maybe nearly three and I just wanted to sleep. I told myself I was going to write today, to no avail. I have a whole bunch of the Aeneid to read after our teacher got mad at us for not having read or at least being unwilling to discuss the assigned chapters and ended up giving us a pop quiz. Of course, I haven't read more than half of the first book and had forgotten to bring it with me, so I wasn't even able to skim the reading before class like I usually do, so I really need to read the first five books or face the wrath of Professor Jaeger.
I did all this proper cooking last night, mashed potatoes, lemon pepper chicken, and salad, but tonight I'm hearing the call of ramen. Cooking bad.
Oh, yeah. I just remembered. Our neighbors have moved out or are in the process, anyway. It's very odd. I'm sad that they're going, and yet I'm anticipating them being out so I can put my bike where their bikes are in the connecting room between our houses. Last night I read an article on how to pick a pin and tumbler lock (standard doorknob lock) and as a result I kept dreaming about breaking into their house as soon as they move out. I actually want to try picking a lock, but I don't know if I want to try any of the ones on this house. Maybe at home, where we never lock the doors. Except I think that the locks on the doors at home don't work. Whoops. Anyway, all you need is a screwdriver and a paperclip as far as I can tell, though it's much easer with special tools. Wouldn't that be a cool skill to have?
[Sometimes I name entries after what I'm listening to when I get to the end of the page. Is there a problem with that?]
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
