| Your leaking thatched hut during the restoration of a pre-Enlightenment state. |
Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
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Irving housing
got that wrong
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Fractal antenna
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Like my brownhouse:
Monday, December 22 1997
had weird dreams last night. In one, I was implicated in a crime, and there was no way for me to argue my way out of it. The matter wasn't cramping my style too much, my suffering was mostly simple humiliation. Then, just this morning in a second period of sleep, I dreamed I was going to a party on my bicycle, down a long hallway through a crowd, carrying my parent's stinky old dog Fred on the back (I don't know how, he's a full grown Australian Shepherd). I ended up having a remarkably mundane conversation with my former Dynashackian housemate Elizabeth.
classes at the web diva institute begin to pay dividends
forgot to mention this, but the other day, for the first time in my life, I was labeled emblematic of a "best trend," this one of the year 1997. (By the way, I was never voted "most likely to" anything in the small frog pond of my rural high school.) I bring you this news only to further infuriate Spaceman & Alan. I think Spaceman didn't really start hating me until Jennifer Wade had a, you know, dream about me. Heh heh heh heh heh. I think Alan's exploits with his young son are surprisingly touching. It's hard to imagine the guy being a daddy. Not that I wouldn't want him moving into Kappa Mutha Fucka with me.
ut Matthew Hart is moving back in, along with Angela and the newly sprung dog named Shira. I don't know how this will actually work on the ground, with a sudden swelling of the population, with the sudden dog-cat issues, but, as I've said before, there are bills that need to be paid. Matthew, Angela and the dog were all here with Deya and me tonight, very briefly, between a pool game and a visit to Matthew's mother. Angela was overjoyed that the housing situation was finally settled, that she can now default on her lease. Today, though, I found myself wondering apprehensively about how much she smokes, and whether it is as much as Steve Weiner used to before he quit. I wondered this because the poor dog smells like an ashtray, and she's only been out of the pound for a day. I wonder how Matthew, a non-smoker, can handle that. A big part of the reason I stopped hanging out with Elizabeth was because of her smoking (she's subsequently quit, and apparently taken up with Franz... sigh). But, according to Deya (somewhat sarcastically), love can transcend such matters. Unlike yesterday, I actually went outside today, to get a little fried chicken from the Old Dominion Chicken Factory. Not that it was a good day for such things; there was an accumulation of sleet on rooftops this morning, and the rest of the day a dreary rain fell out of boring executive skies. In all fairness to God, the weather has been beautiful lately; even when it's been cold, it hasn't rained much of late.
'm actually enjoying Ally McBeal tonight. It suddenly seems a little more complex than usual. It's still focused around bathroom scenes, but the humour doesn't seem quite as lobotomized as it did the first time I saw it. Perhaps it's the vodka/bitters concoction I'm drinking (it would normally be flavoured with tea, but the tea I have right now sucks). Something I considered today: the first time I ever noticed that the 80s had become a historic period was Spring 1994, when I heard an Oberlin retro band doing 80s hits, including "Land Down Under" by Men at Work, before a very appreciative crowd. I recently heard that the term "Generation X" started appearing as a description of my generation in 1994 as well. Now I hear the search is on for a name for the next generation.
If this site should go down (and it might), there is a new site you can try, http://www.spies.com/~gus/musings/. |
one year ago For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?971222
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