sure, I've got time!

Does it seem strange to anyone else out there that this whole war was predicated on the "fact" that we knew that Iraq had biological, chemical, and nuclear weapons via intelligence that included satellite photographs detailing the compounds where they were being held -- but now that it's time to find these weapons of mass destruction, the administration is now saying these things take time? A paraphrased quote: "they've had 10 years to hide these things, and we've only been looking for three weeks." If they'd hidden them so damn well, then how did we get pictures of them? How were we positive that they exist?

Gosh, or maybe we didn't get pictures of them... maybe we went to war despite the fact that we merely suspected they had these weapons! Or maybe we went to war for other, more sinister reasons that couldn't be shared with the American public or the world... hmm...

You don't think Unckey Rummy would lie, do you? After all, he's been so straightforward about not giving a shit about the 8,000 years of human history that was destroyed under America's watch.

I am never having children.

I am never having children. I am never having children.

People - older people - laugh and say, "well, maybe you'll change your mind," meaning, "when you're older and not as selfish, you'll see that you actually want to have children." The reason I'm never having children, however, is because the world is not good enough to deserve them.

Funky days are back again

Today was freak out about taxes day. I did not cry or throw anything, not even once, which puts me up 3 points from last year. I was doing SO WELL this month with not spending money I don't have, but alas, the state taxes got me. Luckily the federal ones have my back.

And there went the weekend.

well, i just blew my own mind. i was looking @ my blog to see if all the changes i made (well, all two of them) came out alright, and decided to click "refresh" to see if the counter would count me twice. it was at 600 before i hit refresh, and it was at *603* after. so, a) people other than me are reading my blog, which is rad but also a trifle intimidating, considering that somewhere in the world, anywhere in the world, someone else is reading my blog, and b) i still don't know whether the counter is counting me.

truer words do not exist

It's like you come onto this planet with a crayon box.

Now you may get the 8-pack, you may get the 16-pack,

but it's all in what you do with the crayons, the colors that you're given.

And don't worry about drawing within the lines, or coloring outside the lines.

I say, color outside the lines. You know what I mean?

Color right off the page. Don't box me in!

We're in motion to the ocean. We are not landlocked, I'll tell you that.

~from Waking Life

run, dos, run

Okay, I finally got the granola thing under control. But (for unrelated reasons) my showering schedule is all thrown off, and I'm exhausted yet cannot sleep. Woe, woe.


I found out yesterday that another faculty member I was hoping to work with is leaving. Woe, woe.


I'm perfectly calm when I'm awake, but I think my panic is manifesting itself by wrecking my sleep. Right now I'm supposed to be grading papers, but I'm not - I'm posting. I got on the internet to look up a source that I suspected a student of (accidentally?) plagiarizing from (Bingo). And now here I am.

gastrointestinal hubris

I ate a big fuckin' bowl of granola, man. Why did I think I could eat so much granola?


Here is a theory. I used to eat granola every day for breakfast at the dining hall my freshman year of college. When I stopped going to the dining hall, I stopped eating granola, and I guess I assumed that the only earthly place one could get granola was at the dining hall.


Then today I went to the grocery store, and couldn't find Other's normal cereal, so I was scrutinizing the cereal isle box by box, and lo! Granola!


"Mmmm," I thought. "Granola."


Then I came home, waited until I got hungry, and then ate a huge fuckin' bowl of it. With a whompin' glass of orange juice.

In other non-war-related news, my dog talks, and it's not like he's speaking to me and only me -- no, he makes gutteral dog noises, and I do understand them, not because I am psychically connected to animals and therefore recognize that my dog is the reincarnated spirit of Ghandi, but because his utterances all mean the same thing: "Please. PLEASE. Pllllllllleeeeeeaaaaaase!!!!!!"


The scary part of this is that he's teaching my puppy to talk, and she seems to have a wider range of meaning than he does. "Please?" "Please!" "Pretty please look how cute I am gimme gimme gimme gimme now now now!" "I am mad, because you are making me mad." "I am mad but I would quickly forgive you if you would simply give me what I am asking you for ever so cutely." She combines these with head-cocks and I am beholden to her every whim.

Americans, don't go there

Following the reasoning of "freedom fries" and "freedom toast" to it's logical conclusion, wouldn't we have to start calling France "Freedom Land" and the French people "Freedench?" Well, whatever it takes to be American, I guess. Stupid Freedom Land, stupid Freedom Toads.

Maybe you were asking for it

So, found out yesterday that the person who had - no less than 1 month ago - agreed to direct my thesis, is leaving at the end of the semester. We wrote a dramatic monologue about it, which was sarcastic and mocking of course, but alas does not change the fact that I now lack a thesis advisor. I do not begrudge the great new job. I do begrudge the misleading information I was given.

Here is a helpful tip for those of you who are not sure how to write e-mail to your English professors: use capital letters and punctuation. This especially holds if you're asking for something from your English professor. English professors generally like capital letters and punctuation.

Is it a sign of depression when one finds oneself happy that it's Spring Forward the Clocks Day, because that means one less hour one has to find something to do to entertain oneself?

How the hell am I going to singlehandedly bring down patriarchy and capitalism and herald the new age of human enlightenment without a thesis advisor?

smells like a Barry White record in here...

so here i am, not capitalizing things and pushing my toe-cuticles back with a quarter. actually, only one of those things is true.

really i do not have much to say, but i also do not have much to do, so i find myself saying stuff. paradox. i take pictures of nothing because there's nothing to do, but then when there's exciting stuff going on, i'm too damn busy to take pictures.

i might enter a photo contest, because in the past i have taken 2-3 good photos and might just have another one in me. the problem is, i feel really stupid every time i go to the photo developing place because they always tell me either "your roll was really overexposed" or "your roll was really underexposed." now, because i fancy myself someone capable of taking a heartbreakingly good picture every 3 years, this hurts me a little. so i don't use a flash, so what? don't you see how pretty the light looks in the pictures where i managed to hold the camera still enough when the shutter was open? so i forgot to change the settings back to automatic when i got the camera back from my brother and so took every picture with an enormously long shutter opening, so what? it turned out okay, you know, these pictures actually look really cool all dampened grey and such.

vortex, latex, durex

convex. reflex. blistex.

today's blog post brought to you by the letter "e".

North Korea Who?

Well, it turned out that 98% of what I'd written was crap, and the 2% remaining were the words "Piers Plowman", "a," "an," "and," and the.

So I'm writing, listening to Van Morrison, and thinking about skinny dipping, for some reason. (Oh, the water.)