brain or brawn or the month you were born
03.13.05 @ 1:11 a.m.
Out of context, that lyric is fascinating and could mean ANYTHING. And therefore I love it. (Not that I didn't love it before. Well before I got The Who Sell Out, "Tattoo" was one of my favorite tracks on Live at Leeds.
I'm guessing that the last thing I wrote was my up late in the library thing. I went back on Thursday night and stayed unil nearly five, and the part that kills me is that half or more of the research I did did not end up in my paper. Which, in hall honesty, is perhaps the worst thing I've ever written, EVER. At least in terms of schoolwork. I went to class at nine and turned it in, stayed for lecture (good thing, too, as he gave us the essay question for Tuesday's final and oh PS I'm screwed yet again, mainly because I could not force myself to read Dialogue Concerning Heresies. I guess I get to do that on Monday. I slept from 10 until 1, then spent the next three hours writing my first Paradise Lost paper, which I'm actually quite pleased with. It's even longer than the requirements, which is generally a stretch because I strive to be concise. (Haha, no, not here, but in schoolwork, yes.) I have another Paradise Lost paper yet to do, and I'm a little relieved that I decided to skip Gil's recommendation (make up your own paper topic!) and just go with one of the ones he assigned. Bet I can elaborate it out, anyway.
SPRING BREAK is coming, tra la, tra la, and we are going to the beach one day. I'm actually a little disappointed that it isn't a multi-day epic like we've done before, but when you think about it, there's usually just one good day. One day where we all go to the beach and do something like build an elaborate sand castle or the infamous re-enactment of the storming of the beach at Normandy, but that was just Andrew, Martha, and myself. I hear rumor that Slavik will come along this year, which is great. I half wonder if I should ask to invite Ryan, but I think we probably frightened him with Andrew's dirty, dirty Hoopla cards. There will also be some Starbucks-gathering, though at least one of those will be limited to a select few; that is, Amy-Martha-Ellen. I hope we work on our version of the story. I'm hugely pleased with it, especially the whole dark story of Oliver and Ena in Taipei. The "big" story (the one everyone is working on) got passed around at my housewarming in January, and Martha said, "Huh, in the story, as in life, Ellen plays the straight-man." It's true. As much as I admire and esteem humor, my best place is being the serious foil to everyone else.
THING THAT I FOUND INTERESTING: It took me until this term to fully appreciate the linguistic roots of "foil" as "something that sets off something else." I honestly don't know what I was thinking up to this point. ("Foil" being thin metal put under gems to make them shine more SEE SEE?) I guess I ignore this sort of thing, or at least don't ponder to the full extent.
Dumbrella, I think I mentioned, had to be utterly purged due to punk kid hackers (or "Haxx0rz" as the wacky kids today call them!) and I'm pretty pleased with Dumbrella Nouveu. And the other beautiful, beautiful thing is the Dumbwiki, which is like... the guidebook to Dumbrella, but still littered with the kind of in-jokes that make Dumbrella such a blatantly clique-y place.
I was supposed to show Bobby this weekend and I'm pretty happy that I'm not. Mom and Dad are at the Bob Dylan/Merle Haggard concert tonight and Dad didn't want to exhaust himself driving back and forth to Albany all weekend, and by the time I went to bed last night I had been up for 36 hours. So yeah, I would not have been in top form, showing Bobby at 10. Well, 10 would not be so bad, but courtesy dictates that I be there for Shepherds as well and they start at 8, fuck that. And Dad says Bezzie has a limp, AGAIN, alls well blah blah blah. It's not like I won't see my darling Robert in a week. Dad's rotating Bobby Dylan and Roger Daltrey in the house and in a pen in the back yard because he's trying to make a house dog of Roger for my sister, and Bobby yips and moans all day about his bro-bro being taken away from him.
Living alone wouldn't be half so bad if I could have Bobby with me. For a dog that isn't even a year old yet, and considering Roggie-Poop was my favorite initially (how does your heart not go out to the runt of the litter? seriously), I miss Bobby like an ache sometimes. Despite his being a poop machine (in the house no less), despite that day I didn't shut his crate all the way and he made a huge (and ultimately comical) mess of the Harris Street house, despite the unpleasantness of walking a dog twice a day no matter the weather, I miss him. He's my baby, more mine than any other dog. Frankly, I hope Dad doesn't dog-theft him like Mom did to me with Dolly.
Did I post this already?
Lastly, I made cinnamon struesel muffins today and oh my god I am so fat and full and mmmmm.
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
