November 14th, 2003

running, bomb tech


I can walk, today. I've got my big fucking stick with me.

Mr. President evidently made an impression on Darkside.

Career Development is going to be an easy class for me.
running, bomb tech

State of the Lunatic

Today's a good morning. Friday is my easy day.

History was first: Sherwood lectured on colonialism vs. imperialism, and democracy vs. else. She didn't cover theocracy, though. Happily, I know the root words that she plays with a lot. The paper's due in February, though I'll want to turn mine in early.

Career Development is fun. We have to make up a list of ten strengths, expounding on the top three, and then three weeknesses (unpacked as well). Yay, me.

Now: an hour break. Mr. President says to tell the pink-haired chick that NO ONE stands him up. I'm chilling in the Wired. (They've got to have been watching Lain.)

Next, I have COBOL lecture.

I rock. Or something.

Today I'm wearing something a little unusual: black pants, my usual-for-now white shoes (the pale blue ones gave up), my floppy blue hat, and (the unusual part) a navy blue t-shirt. I don't tend to go out in color.
running, bomb tech

The Scarlet Door

I was correct, last night, when I proposed moving the plaque with the runic message on it: they are painting our door today, and it is evidently RED. It looks like kind of a blood-color, only muted.

I stood there behind the painter guy for a bit before asking if I should go 'round back. It wasn't so red as all that, so I got to come in.

Nice of management to, you know, TELL us.

But our door's been cream for the past two and a half years. It's probably time for a change. The green railings are evidently going goldenrod yellow.
running, bomb tech

Breaky, breaky

Don't mind if you don't see me online with any regularity this weekend. I will likely have family obligations tomorrow, and also Tigereye is being flaky.

(Flaky = stopping working on either the LAN or the big fat pipe to the 'net, with neither rhyme nor reason.)

I lost a cute post about cooking for an army. However, since no one except me eats leftovers, I'm cooking for an army of one.

The cats are catting about. My straw is too kinky for my milkshake.
running, bomb tech


One of the rules is that if the owner of a phone post transcribes it, game over: only they may edit afterwards.

So, I transcribed this latest one as garnetdagger, so if anyone wants to brave the task of describing the gigglefits, they will be able to.
running, bomb tech


Went down for a nap, and started to deliberately let my focus drift into dreaming. Almost got there, too, but for Little Fayoumis starting to be loud.

So I dreamed about grounding him. He kept disobeying while in the corner, and I kept giving him another swat on the butt (it had progressed to spanking already) and adding five minutes to the timer. Then I got in trouble with my parents for not doing something I was supposed to have done or been doing while I was gone or before I left. It was all very confusing, and I was simultaneously guilty (I hadn't) and frustrated (what I had been doing was trying to prepare things so I could do it) and trying to explain what was going on.

Woke up, then, and deemed myself too tired to give plasma. Shut off the alarm and crashed out again.

Wound up dreaming something about Mudd. Only, it was a surreal Mudd. It has sneaked into my view of "the college landscape", and assorted Mudd People were there. Also, people I associate with Mudd People.

Things happened. We went to a waiting vehicle at the end of the campus, some of us, for a weekend morning pancake brunch, or transportation thereto. I ran into my old ... flame ... Jay, who was evidently associated somehow with boojum and/or her husband. (It still weirds me to write "husband" as associated with you, because I remember when we were both teenagers.) pyrogenic was on the west lawn (not of any dorm west, but a lawn that was actually west of the row of dorms) dancing with a dress that was on a mannequin. He was fetchingly attired himself. Darkside was supposed to be over there somewhere, but I didn't see him before we left.

Somehow, it turned into "The Most Boring Movie in the World," which was supposed to be a movie that was not for plot at all, and didn't even have the camera pointed at the protagonist half the time, but instead recording the fantastic landscape around her. I was discussing how to best blur her out of the picture, when it actually turned into a real movie, and a real plot to go with it.

It was either Victorian or Regency era, and she was out being shown the world, complete with fantastic landscapes. She sailed down a tropical river (where we started), and was then walking or driving or both down a road lined with impossibly ornate large flowers that were tea plants. The road was drifted closed with snow, and it turned out that we had to take refuge with one of the locals. The guide/chaparone (male) declared that the reason that we had not been attacked on the road was because it was known that we were people of consequence, as evidenced by only the best being in our supplies, and if we let that falter for a moment, we were done for.

We stopped in at the place, and immediately my butler was challenged to a cake-decoration contest. Ooookay. So then he won it, hands down, and was hired on as one of the staff there, and the lady of the house (a little younger than I was) became one of my party.

There was also a monkey involved in the leaving-there process, and some people who we would have preferred to not associate with, and lots and lots of baggage.

It then turned into a road movie through a desert as written by Bill K'te'pe. "This was the summer in which, had people known that it would be known as [incomprehensible, but involving an utter lack of water], would have them mailing off hundred dollar bills to [something about bets]." That was one of the beginning lines from the novel. It was really interesting-feeling, but, sadly, I woke up before it could continue into the Dune-meets-Jackie Chan-and-Hunter S. Thompson's-illegitimate-love-child romp that I knew it was going to have to be.
running, bomb tech


I have Issues.

Anything where a parent, especially a male parent, moves violently or crashes something or makes loud noise when lecturing a kid -- I cringe. I can't take it.

Even if it's just something as simple as loudly pushing the keyboard shelf back into the desk before going over to lecture -- I flinch, I cringe, I try to go away.

Unless I get confrontational and yell at them to quit it, stop it. I get angry on behalf of the kid -- even if they don't have a problem with it.

I know why it's happening, now, and that's the first step to having it not happen.

g33k news, the propagation of...

How long has it been since the RIAA started the sue-y fun?

Just now, Certain Parties have heard of it.

I suppose he's living in the Real World.
running, bomb tech

More cross-cultural swearing

"Oy to the motherfuckin' vey."

I say this.

I was raised in a very isolated and sheltered quasi-Quaker mostly-caucasian environment. I have more environmental reason to cuss in Chinese (which I also do).

I am amused.
multiple user

"Refreshingly Sane"

It's all relative. It's all very, very relative.

If anyone thinks that they, or their friends list, has a monopoly on the "WTF?" kind of weird, and/or so forth, please do come and check out my friends list, and /friendsfriends. Tonight seems to be that phase of the moon at which weird stuff starts coming out of the corners. There's the ordinary oddness, and then there's the stuff that's just one up. It's not just where you are. Trust me.

popefelix was almost insulted when I said that he didn't worry me. Then I gave him an example of things that worried me, and told him that he was refreshingly sane.

Additionally, there's a lady in my immediate area, apartment-wise, who walks or used to walk up and down the complex, carrying on a loud and profane conversation with someone who no one but she can see. I heard that from her perspective, she is a military nurse in a war zone. There is also the lady who keeps looking for John. This area of the apartment complex has quite a few people who are living by themselves with people coming by to make sure all is well. They keep telling the lady who can't find John that he's probably at work. No one seems to know who John is.

So, in perspective, a little wackiness from someone who has a good handle on what is consensus reality and what is not, is refreshingly sane.
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