You may have noticed by my last blog that finals week has arrived here at the London Centre. Here is an incomplete list of ways we Londoners have come up with to avoid all things school-related:
-holding late, late-night sing-alongs
-teaching me how to play the guitar (i know four chords and can almost play part of 'leaving on a jet plane')
-composing elaborate poetry (containing nothing of educational value)
-spontaneously going to kahn's
-excessive napping
-myspacing and facebooking like never before
-encouraging others to create new blogs
-grocery runs
-overeating
-this one time we played settlers of catan
-1,000 piece puzzles
-homestar runner
-playing the google game
-reading pirate books (this one's mostly just me)
-watching "hook"
-gossipping
-blogging
If anyone thinks of more cool things, I'm running out of ideas
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Ode to Finals Week
I see no light at the end of any tunnel.
These walls hold in all thoughts and imagination
As we will never see London,
for we are to be confined to cement
and badly lit rooms of bitterness,
as we forge along in anger, we become
forever entrenched in a battlefield of
thought; we lose all hope of escape.
We are knights wandering hoplessly, looking
for salvation but find no hope through
desolate, dreary slumber.
We trudge
begrudged
sludge, sludge
as we fudge and muddle
through difficult passages
of speech and knowledge
as we fight...fight
stay alive
and regain consciousness
of the world
and city, yes city
London, we are
in London
By Ashley Anderson
Copyright Ashley Anderson 2006
These walls hold in all thoughts and imagination
As we will never see London,
for we are to be confined to cement
and badly lit rooms of bitterness,
as we forge along in anger, we become
forever entrenched in a battlefield of
thought; we lose all hope of escape.
We are knights wandering hoplessly, looking
for salvation but find no hope through
desolate, dreary slumber.
We trudge
begrudged
sludge, sludge
as we fudge and muddle
through difficult passages
of speech and knowledge
as we fight...fight
stay alive
and regain consciousness
of the world
and city, yes city
London, we are
in London
By Ashley Anderson
Copyright Ashley Anderson 2006
Guilty and celebrating
I just stole the good computer chair from the other computer. Think anyone will notice?
Also, I made it home from church today in just over one (1) hour. That is a semester-long record.
AND, I'm going to go the whole Sunday without a nap. We're making changes today.
Also, I made it home from church today in just over one (1) hour. That is a semester-long record.
AND, I'm going to go the whole Sunday without a nap. We're making changes today.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Grapevine
Today I overheard someone talking about me and she said, "she DOES have an interesting jawline."
It made me think.
It made me think.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I've learned a lot about geese
Goose facts:
1. They can't jump. Or they won't.
2. They don't like having yogurt thrown at them.
3. They still bother you even if you have thrown yogurt at them.
4. They look funny with globs of blueberry yogurt on their backs.
5. They can get vengeful gleams in their eyes as spiteful as any human or beast.
6. If you feed it to them, they'll eat turkey--their kin.
7. Ducks are their worst enemy.
On an unrelated topic, I hate life momentarily. Why must 86.8% of Things suck, all at one time? And how do I switch plane tickets if I'm not sick, and it's not a family emergency? They don't bother telling me that.
1. They can't jump. Or they won't.
2. They don't like having yogurt thrown at them.
3. They still bother you even if you have thrown yogurt at them.
4. They look funny with globs of blueberry yogurt on their backs.
5. They can get vengeful gleams in their eyes as spiteful as any human or beast.
6. If you feed it to them, they'll eat turkey--their kin.
7. Ducks are their worst enemy.
On an unrelated topic, I hate life momentarily. Why must 86.8% of Things suck, all at one time? And how do I switch plane tickets if I'm not sick, and it's not a family emergency? They don't bother telling me that.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Holiday ruminations (slightly grumpy)
It's official I'm never coming home.
Yes, I have reasons. Plenty of them.
Home only pretends to be relaxing. It's only that way on the outside. I get thinking of Christmas, and I think, ooh, house full of good smells, running around in comfy socks, sledding, and, especially, reading all day long. But really, I don't actually read all day even though that's how I say I would like to spend a day. If I try to, I feel all anxious and stressed, like I'm missing out on something else I should/could be doing. And I call someone and we just say 'what should we do.'
Don't get me wrong, I'm still looking forward to Christmas. But I know that on December 26th, the instant I'm bored, I'll want to go back "home." Here. This is where I'm with people who just met me and are like my family. Yes, this is going to be one of those blogs that make you all hate me, and say, what a jerk, she goes to England for a few weeks and turns into one of those America-hating snots, who act like they've lived in London their whole lives and now try to make us all feel inferior. I'm not one of those. Not permanently.
I like America. I like Provo. I like my friends.
But I used this to escape Provo-related things. And it's worked for the time, and it's been great. But, still. Bad idea. My 4-month vacation from Real Life is coming to a close, and really, nothing's changed.
There are also other reasons for wanting to stay that I don't feel like going into right now.
One more thing: why does everyone hate Thanksgiving? It gets such a bad rap. I've been reading all these Thanksgiving-hating blogs and articles, and I'm like hey man, it's not Thanksgiving's fault that we eat turkey on it. And if you don't eat meat, fine for you, don't tell me what to do. Heather, that wasn't directed at you.
In conclusion, I'm not coming home...for three weeks. Actually, maybe four now. But most likely that won't work out, so just the three. See you all then.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Gobble gobble.
Yes, I have reasons. Plenty of them.
Home only pretends to be relaxing. It's only that way on the outside. I get thinking of Christmas, and I think, ooh, house full of good smells, running around in comfy socks, sledding, and, especially, reading all day long. But really, I don't actually read all day even though that's how I say I would like to spend a day. If I try to, I feel all anxious and stressed, like I'm missing out on something else I should/could be doing. And I call someone and we just say 'what should we do.'
Don't get me wrong, I'm still looking forward to Christmas. But I know that on December 26th, the instant I'm bored, I'll want to go back "home." Here. This is where I'm with people who just met me and are like my family. Yes, this is going to be one of those blogs that make you all hate me, and say, what a jerk, she goes to England for a few weeks and turns into one of those America-hating snots, who act like they've lived in London their whole lives and now try to make us all feel inferior. I'm not one of those. Not permanently.
I like America. I like Provo. I like my friends.
But I used this to escape Provo-related things. And it's worked for the time, and it's been great. But, still. Bad idea. My 4-month vacation from Real Life is coming to a close, and really, nothing's changed.
There are also other reasons for wanting to stay that I don't feel like going into right now.
One more thing: why does everyone hate Thanksgiving? It gets such a bad rap. I've been reading all these Thanksgiving-hating blogs and articles, and I'm like hey man, it's not Thanksgiving's fault that we eat turkey on it. And if you don't eat meat, fine for you, don't tell me what to do. Heather, that wasn't directed at you.
In conclusion, I'm not coming home...for three weeks. Actually, maybe four now. But most likely that won't work out, so just the three. See you all then.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Gobble gobble.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Unsettling
Don't you hate it when you have a blog that you think only three people know about, and then somebody else says to you, "hey, I like your blog, I've been reading it" and then you're like "oh crap, what have I been writing"
I do. It kind of freaks me out.
I do. It kind of freaks me out.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Sunday, November 05, 2006
The aussie
It all started on a bus tour in Killarney, Ireland. I saw him on the bus, of course, and thought he looked like Kent. Cause of his hair, you see. Then I was trying to decide if he was attractive or not. The verdict: lovely eyes, but would have benfited greatly from a shave of the unfortunate goatee. Our first stop was in some random town that you had to pay to get into, so we didn't [we didn't have enough time anyway]. So we spent the time there in a gift shop poking around. That's when he decided to start a conversation with me about that "clever mug" that was supposed to look like it was upside down [ah, he's Australian, I noted by his accent.] Needless to say, the conversation didn't last long, cause how long can you talk about a cool mug?
Next encounter was in another town called Sneem (heehee!). We discussed the modern sculpture. I thought it represented a polar bear, Ashely guessed a wadded kleenex. Then we found a random dog and I started petting it. That was when he came up and asked us if we'd been to Athens. I had. He went on about the stray dogs there and how he and his friend named them all Larry. A more subsantial conversation than the mug one ensued. We established that he is indeed Australian (ha! go me) even though Ashley thought he was Scottish (??) and found out that he's been travelling around Europe for the past two months. He's alone; he did have "a mate,"as he put it, with him for the first month.
Last stop was at a waterfall, where Ashley, being the boy-crazy maniac that she is, followed him around, keeping him talking. Eventually she came back round to us and asked if we cared if that Australian guy had dinner with us that night, and that his name is Paul. Uhh, ok, we said. After the tour he met us at our hostel, at six. After some rigid introductions we set off in search of moderately-priced pub grub, which we eventually found.
Dinner itself was an interesting experience, to say the least. There were a few rocky points, such as when the conversation inevitably led to us revealing that we are Mormons. After that, though, it was much more easy-going and he fit right in, mocking where mocking was deserved. Dessert at a place aptly named "dessert place" went accordingly. At one point I apologized for our great strangeness, but he assured me it was much better than sitting alone all evening.
Then, as there was a castle near town named Ross Castle, guess where Ross wanted to go? Bingo. I was hesitant, as the only thing we knew about it was that it was approximately a mile away. Didn't know how to get there, or if it was going to be cool, or just what. But Ross was going regardless, and he said whoever wanted to come was welcome. Now, as Paul was in Ireland on a three-day tour, we asked if he had been yet, and he said no, but I'm going. Oh, with the tour? we asked. Eh, no, with Ross and you guys. Oh! Well good! We didn't think you'd want to.
We found Ross Road and started walking along it, me making polite conversation with Paul when I sensed a foreboding presence behind me. What was it? Oh, it was a huge black dog that was following us! He stayed with us the entire night and was very sweet; we named him Duke. (It was Larry at first, but the aussie decided that only Greek dogs can be named Larry). Before too long, the streetlights on Ross Road stopped entirely. Oh good. I always wanted to walk almost two miles to a scary castle late at night, with no light, in the freezing cold, through a terribly misty forest with eerie water trickling through it, in Ireland, with a wild dog and a strange Australian. So that's what I did. And Paul thought he was sooo clever, saying he saw figures in the trees, and freaking out the girls. Not funny.
We were almost ready to accept the fact that there WAS no Ross Castle, that it was just a myth. We decided it was definitely more than a mile away on that road. But Ross was adamant. And right. There were lights in the distance. The seven of us celebrated. It was even lit up. We weren't sure it would be. We arrived on a bridge, where Duke jumped in the water that apparently was there, but we couldn't really see it cause it was so dark. We decided to go right up to the castle to get pictures; we didn't think it would be open. Oh, it was. There was no door. This delighted the group to no end. No end, not any end. We spent the next hour? two hours? long enough that we lost track of time entirely, at that castle. Including Duke. We climbed dangerous and most likely illegal walls, took very dangerous pictures on precarious ledges, and had the time of our lives. It was exhilerating, like no-good teenagers must feel when they've vandalized something and are on the run from the cops. Too many unforgettable things took place at this castle.
After the long walk home we all went back to our hostel; Duke left us in town where he got distracted by something interesting-smelling and didn't find us again. Goodbye Duke. We talked and talked all of us; some dropped off to bed. In the end it was me, Ashely and Paul, talking the night away. I discovered I need a puzzle ring. Guess I have to go to Florence to get one like his. So. Cool. Finally, sometime after midnight, after the great email address exchange, he left.
But I think he's coming to my birthday party.
Next encounter was in another town called Sneem (heehee!). We discussed the modern sculpture. I thought it represented a polar bear, Ashely guessed a wadded kleenex. Then we found a random dog and I started petting it. That was when he came up and asked us if we'd been to Athens. I had. He went on about the stray dogs there and how he and his friend named them all Larry. A more subsantial conversation than the mug one ensued. We established that he is indeed Australian (ha! go me) even though Ashley thought he was Scottish (??) and found out that he's been travelling around Europe for the past two months. He's alone; he did have "a mate,"as he put it, with him for the first month.
Last stop was at a waterfall, where Ashley, being the boy-crazy maniac that she is, followed him around, keeping him talking. Eventually she came back round to us and asked if we cared if that Australian guy had dinner with us that night, and that his name is Paul. Uhh, ok, we said. After the tour he met us at our hostel, at six. After some rigid introductions we set off in search of moderately-priced pub grub, which we eventually found.
Dinner itself was an interesting experience, to say the least. There were a few rocky points, such as when the conversation inevitably led to us revealing that we are Mormons. After that, though, it was much more easy-going and he fit right in, mocking where mocking was deserved. Dessert at a place aptly named "dessert place" went accordingly. At one point I apologized for our great strangeness, but he assured me it was much better than sitting alone all evening.
Then, as there was a castle near town named Ross Castle, guess where Ross wanted to go? Bingo. I was hesitant, as the only thing we knew about it was that it was approximately a mile away. Didn't know how to get there, or if it was going to be cool, or just what. But Ross was going regardless, and he said whoever wanted to come was welcome. Now, as Paul was in Ireland on a three-day tour, we asked if he had been yet, and he said no, but I'm going. Oh, with the tour? we asked. Eh, no, with Ross and you guys. Oh! Well good! We didn't think you'd want to.
We found Ross Road and started walking along it, me making polite conversation with Paul when I sensed a foreboding presence behind me. What was it? Oh, it was a huge black dog that was following us! He stayed with us the entire night and was very sweet; we named him Duke. (It was Larry at first, but the aussie decided that only Greek dogs can be named Larry). Before too long, the streetlights on Ross Road stopped entirely. Oh good. I always wanted to walk almost two miles to a scary castle late at night, with no light, in the freezing cold, through a terribly misty forest with eerie water trickling through it, in Ireland, with a wild dog and a strange Australian. So that's what I did. And Paul thought he was sooo clever, saying he saw figures in the trees, and freaking out the girls. Not funny.
We were almost ready to accept the fact that there WAS no Ross Castle, that it was just a myth. We decided it was definitely more than a mile away on that road. But Ross was adamant. And right. There were lights in the distance. The seven of us celebrated. It was even lit up. We weren't sure it would be. We arrived on a bridge, where Duke jumped in the water that apparently was there, but we couldn't really see it cause it was so dark. We decided to go right up to the castle to get pictures; we didn't think it would be open. Oh, it was. There was no door. This delighted the group to no end. No end, not any end. We spent the next hour? two hours? long enough that we lost track of time entirely, at that castle. Including Duke. We climbed dangerous and most likely illegal walls, took very dangerous pictures on precarious ledges, and had the time of our lives. It was exhilerating, like no-good teenagers must feel when they've vandalized something and are on the run from the cops. Too many unforgettable things took place at this castle.
After the long walk home we all went back to our hostel; Duke left us in town where he got distracted by something interesting-smelling and didn't find us again. Goodbye Duke. We talked and talked all of us; some dropped off to bed. In the end it was me, Ashely and Paul, talking the night away. I discovered I need a puzzle ring. Guess I have to go to Florence to get one like his. So. Cool. Finally, sometime after midnight, after the great email address exchange, he left.
But I think he's coming to my birthday party.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
London showers
I hate it when outsiders discover the Good Shower.
There is a small contingency of us who know of its wonders and have sworn off the "other showers" forever. Yesterday I shamed myself by introducing it to another, who had never even used it. The inferior, commoners' showers had stopped working entirely, allowing only a small trickle to flow. Or so I heard. From the commoners who were using those showers. I suggested to a certain lowly serf showerer that she use the Good one, since it always worked and was a trusty, reliable companion every morning, noon and night.
I created a monster. She liked it; the outsider, that is. She calls herself Kristi Ann, but to me she is now just another competitor for the comparitively high water pressure and privacy afforded by Good Shower. Why did I tell her? Perhaps I like a challenge.
There is a small contingency of us who know of its wonders and have sworn off the "other showers" forever. Yesterday I shamed myself by introducing it to another, who had never even used it. The inferior, commoners' showers had stopped working entirely, allowing only a small trickle to flow. Or so I heard. From the commoners who were using those showers. I suggested to a certain lowly serf showerer that she use the Good one, since it always worked and was a trusty, reliable companion every morning, noon and night.
I created a monster. She liked it; the outsider, that is. She calls herself Kristi Ann, but to me she is now just another competitor for the comparitively high water pressure and privacy afforded by Good Shower. Why did I tell her? Perhaps I like a challenge.
Imagine my disapleasure, nay, dismay when yesterday there appeared on the Good Shower a note, written by Keri, saying 'do not use until further notice, because this shower is leaking into room #2.' Well, guess what Keri. Your precious room is not as important to me as Good Shower. So this morning I had to break my several-weeks-long streak of not using Crappy showers. So inferior. Will someone please fix good shower, I need him back.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Can I please be Virginia Woolf?
...I mean without the bi-polarity and the bi-sexuality and suicide and all...
Just read this:
"Directly one looked up and saw them, what she called 'being in love' flooded them. They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sang through them. And, what was even more exciting, she felt, too, as she saw Mr Ramsay bearing down and retreating, and Mrs Ramsay sitting with James in the window and the cloud moving and the tree bending, how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach."
That's what I want to know how to do.
Just read this:
"Directly one looked up and saw them, what she called 'being in love' flooded them. They became part of that unreal but penetrating and exciting universe which is the world seen through the eyes of love. The sky stuck to them; the birds sang through them. And, what was even more exciting, she felt, too, as she saw Mr Ramsay bearing down and retreating, and Mrs Ramsay sitting with James in the window and the cloud moving and the tree bending, how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach."
That's what I want to know how to do.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Saturday, October 28, 2006
My imagined day
What shall I do today?
Lie on a bed of flowery sheets by an open window, reading some useless fluff that I'm paying no attention to. Really I'm only paying attention to cars and imagined butterflies, and that spring breeze slithering around me, sniffing me like a dog. Oh look, a platter of segmented fruit appears on the bedside table. My bedroom door is open to all, and people--sibings, friends, Malcolm and Ralph--filter in to say hello. They don't stay long, they know I don't want them to, but they provide stability. What music is playing? Doesn't matter, but it's there.
In reality:
It's October. And I'm happy. Right? No, yes, I am. I must be. I just found a hole-in-the-wall used bookstore that I've been meaning to find. I'd like to work in one of those one day. I think I would. And in reality today, I found no pasty shop. Where are they all hiding? Today, the real me is going to Westminster to hear that music my insides have been asking me for. Take me back to spring. I must stay here till spring. Today I want to be subjected to spring.
Lie on a bed of flowery sheets by an open window, reading some useless fluff that I'm paying no attention to. Really I'm only paying attention to cars and imagined butterflies, and that spring breeze slithering around me, sniffing me like a dog. Oh look, a platter of segmented fruit appears on the bedside table. My bedroom door is open to all, and people--sibings, friends, Malcolm and Ralph--filter in to say hello. They don't stay long, they know I don't want them to, but they provide stability. What music is playing? Doesn't matter, but it's there.
In reality:
It's October. And I'm happy. Right? No, yes, I am. I must be. I just found a hole-in-the-wall used bookstore that I've been meaning to find. I'd like to work in one of those one day. I think I would. And in reality today, I found no pasty shop. Where are they all hiding? Today, the real me is going to Westminster to hear that music my insides have been asking me for. Take me back to spring. I must stay here till spring. Today I want to be subjected to spring.
Friday, October 27, 2006
What's my brain doing
My current list of majors to consider; drawn directly from my notebook:
-Accounting
-Violin
-Sociology
-English language
-Photography (not really considering it but it would be fun)
-English
-Nursing
-Psychology
Anyone see a common thread between all of these? If so, do let me know. It may save me some time and tuition money and later, stress therapy.
I lead a new life, sort of, and in most ways it's a relief but in other ways it's more frustrating. This is solely because i'm living with approximately forty very focused, determined, smart studious students who know just what they're doing and how to do it. Plus they do a lot of homework. Why must I be different? Is misdirection one of those things that's a blessing and a curse? I hate those. Just be one or the other, I say.
Just let me explain why I have sociology on there: it came to me yesterday, as I was, not for the fist time, swooning over Jeff Buckley. Part of the draw to him for me is that he was messed up. I asked myself why, and it occurred to me that I'm oftentimes drawn to the weird ones, the ones that need help [no, I am not referring to you--i mean artists, musicians and the like]. This begs the question, is there a reason I'm drawn to people that need help? I'm not trying to make myself out to be Mother Theresa or anything, but maybe I should help messed up kids or something. Maybe cool?
Disclaimer: don't be fooled, this in no way means that I have an idea what I'm doing
-Accounting
-Violin
-Sociology
-English language
-Photography (not really considering it but it would be fun)
-English
-Nursing
-Psychology
Anyone see a common thread between all of these? If so, do let me know. It may save me some time and tuition money and later, stress therapy.
I lead a new life, sort of, and in most ways it's a relief but in other ways it's more frustrating. This is solely because i'm living with approximately forty very focused, determined, smart studious students who know just what they're doing and how to do it. Plus they do a lot of homework. Why must I be different? Is misdirection one of those things that's a blessing and a curse? I hate those. Just be one or the other, I say.
Just let me explain why I have sociology on there: it came to me yesterday, as I was, not for the fist time, swooning over Jeff Buckley. Part of the draw to him for me is that he was messed up. I asked myself why, and it occurred to me that I'm oftentimes drawn to the weird ones, the ones that need help [no, I am not referring to you--i mean artists, musicians and the like]. This begs the question, is there a reason I'm drawn to people that need help? I'm not trying to make myself out to be Mother Theresa or anything, but maybe I should help messed up kids or something. Maybe cool?
Disclaimer: don't be fooled, this in no way means that I have an idea what I'm doing
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Lyrics of the Day
Perhaps it is the color of the sun
Caught flat and covering,
The crossroad I'm standing at;
Or maybe it's the weather or something like that.
But mama, you've been on my mind.
I mean no trouble; please, don't put me down.
Don't get upset, I am not pleading.
I'm saying I just can't forget you.
I do not pace the floor, bow down and bend,
but yet, well, mama, you've been on my mind.
Even though my eyes are hazy and my thoughts,
they might be narrow, where've you been; don't bother me.
Oh, bring me down with sorrow.
I don't even mind who you'll be waking with tomorrow.
But mama, you're just on my mind.
I am not asking you to say words like 'yes' or 'no,'
Please understand me.
I have no place I'm calling you to go.
I'm just whispering to myself so I can pretend that I don't know.
Mama, you're just on my mind.
When you wake up in the morning, baby look inside your mirror.
You know I won't be next to you, you know I won't be near.
I'd just be curious to know if you can see yourself as clear
As someone who has had you on his mind.
R.I.P. Jeff Buckley
Caught flat and covering,
The crossroad I'm standing at;
Or maybe it's the weather or something like that.
But mama, you've been on my mind.
I mean no trouble; please, don't put me down.
Don't get upset, I am not pleading.
I'm saying I just can't forget you.
I do not pace the floor, bow down and bend,
but yet, well, mama, you've been on my mind.
Even though my eyes are hazy and my thoughts,
they might be narrow, where've you been; don't bother me.
Oh, bring me down with sorrow.
I don't even mind who you'll be waking with tomorrow.
But mama, you're just on my mind.
I am not asking you to say words like 'yes' or 'no,'
Please understand me.
I have no place I'm calling you to go.
I'm just whispering to myself so I can pretend that I don't know.
Mama, you're just on my mind.
When you wake up in the morning, baby look inside your mirror.
You know I won't be next to you, you know I won't be near.
I'd just be curious to know if you can see yourself as clear
As someone who has had you on his mind.
R.I.P. Jeff Buckley
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Humans are crazy
Morrissey changed his mypsace picture. I hope my husband looks that good when he's that age.
What a curious age we are chosen to live in. People are so needlessly intricate sometimes. There are codes and games and nuances in people's every move. And we, especially we women, feel compelled and even obligated to pick apart every detail a fellow being shows us. Why is this? Group settings are the most fascinating times to observe human behavior. We truly are animals. I wonder if there are beings higher than us (well of course there are) but I wonder if they watch us in fascination like we watch a bird build a nest for its family out of twigs and mud. Take a hypothetical example: a girl likes a boy. She is suddenly more animated and tries harder to be funny, charming, witty, interesting, etc. Oftentimes she makes herself look like a greater fool than had she just been herself, natural (I promise I'm not talking about myself specifically nor any one of my friends). We do this to ourselves. Why? Sometimes I watch a child as he reverently plays with my graphing calculator, awed by its functions and Magical Powers, then suddenly gets bored of it and drops it on the mahongany table. I asked, in my head, what on earth made you think that was necessary, Matthew? This applies to all humans, to an extent. Does anyone else often ask themselves, "why the heck did I do that?" I hope I'm not alone.
This is how I do accounting homework: I don't. Or I do, but it takes all day cause I get distracted easily. How about you read an exerpt so you understand why I can't focus:
"Most analysts agree lower inflation deserves higher P/Es because it produces lower interest rates. Those lower rates, in turn, raise the present, discounted value of future profits. Low inflation also reduces accounting distortions in profits. Right now, inflation looks low: The "core" inflation rate -- which excludes the volatile food and energy components -- was just 2.6% in December, well below the 4.4% it has averaged since 1957."
That's why I'm bored right now. Help me.
What a curious age we are chosen to live in. People are so needlessly intricate sometimes. There are codes and games and nuances in people's every move. And we, especially we women, feel compelled and even obligated to pick apart every detail a fellow being shows us. Why is this? Group settings are the most fascinating times to observe human behavior. We truly are animals. I wonder if there are beings higher than us (well of course there are) but I wonder if they watch us in fascination like we watch a bird build a nest for its family out of twigs and mud. Take a hypothetical example: a girl likes a boy. She is suddenly more animated and tries harder to be funny, charming, witty, interesting, etc. Oftentimes she makes herself look like a greater fool than had she just been herself, natural (I promise I'm not talking about myself specifically nor any one of my friends). We do this to ourselves. Why? Sometimes I watch a child as he reverently plays with my graphing calculator, awed by its functions and Magical Powers, then suddenly gets bored of it and drops it on the mahongany table. I asked, in my head, what on earth made you think that was necessary, Matthew? This applies to all humans, to an extent. Does anyone else often ask themselves, "why the heck did I do that?" I hope I'm not alone.
This is how I do accounting homework: I don't. Or I do, but it takes all day cause I get distracted easily. How about you read an exerpt so you understand why I can't focus:
"Most analysts agree lower inflation deserves higher P/Es because it produces lower interest rates. Those lower rates, in turn, raise the present, discounted value of future profits. Low inflation also reduces accounting distortions in profits. Right now, inflation looks low: The "core" inflation rate -- which excludes the volatile food and energy components -- was just 2.6% in December, well below the 4.4% it has averaged since 1957."
That's why I'm bored right now. Help me.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Let's all pretend that last blog just didn't happen. Let's remember that I was terribly ill and doped up on nyquil. Let us never again speak of said last blog.
Who wants to go running with me? Or at least encourage me to start running. My current bodily state is utterly unacceptable. Maybe I should eat somthing other than otter pops and s'mores muffins. Would that change things? Had some asparagus yesterday, that was step forward.
Does anyone out there know anyone completely charming and who would be irresistably attracted to me? Who isn't creepy and wouldn't ask me on double dates even when he has a girlfriend? Who wouldn't call up a girl he's stalked but never met and ask her on a date, and then linger after a gathering they have both attended? Wait. I don't like strangers calling me, so if anyone knows someone I would like but he called me before I ever knew him, I would immediately dismiss him as said action is creepy. Guess it's up to me to fine one then. That's discouraging.
Let's take a poll: Who thinks I should be less discriminating of boys?
Yes, it has occurred to me that my reader count is exactly 0, so I really am talking to no one. To an electronic void. I kind of like that though. I almost even hope it stays that way. As Kathleen says, goodnight, dear void.
Who wants to go running with me? Or at least encourage me to start running. My current bodily state is utterly unacceptable. Maybe I should eat somthing other than otter pops and s'mores muffins. Would that change things? Had some asparagus yesterday, that was step forward.
Does anyone out there know anyone completely charming and who would be irresistably attracted to me? Who isn't creepy and wouldn't ask me on double dates even when he has a girlfriend? Who wouldn't call up a girl he's stalked but never met and ask her on a date, and then linger after a gathering they have both attended? Wait. I don't like strangers calling me, so if anyone knows someone I would like but he called me before I ever knew him, I would immediately dismiss him as said action is creepy. Guess it's up to me to fine one then. That's discouraging.
Let's take a poll: Who thinks I should be less discriminating of boys?
Yes, it has occurred to me that my reader count is exactly 0, so I really am talking to no one. To an electronic void. I kind of like that though. I almost even hope it stays that way. As Kathleen says, goodnight, dear void.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Mermaids?
I just wrote a blog and then deleted it, because it did not suit my fancy. So. Attempt 2:
I have a secret desire that has existed since I was but a youngling: I want to be a mermaid. Don't ask me why, maybe the Disney movie corrupted me. It just always seemed so glamorous. Can you imagine, living in the ocean? So lovely and sparkling, and you would, effectively, be living in a swimming pool. Plus you'd have a tail. So then, imagine that, for some reason, it doesn't matter, you are turned into a human and live on land for at least a while. How much of your life would be different? Your underwater world could be as civilized as you like, but you still wouldn't know how to bathe, wash your hair, drive a car, write, you'd freak out when you saw a dog, and then: speech. You could live (underwater) a few nautical miles from the nearest shore town and even on the offchance you spoke the same language, you would still have different dialects, idiomatic phrases, and accents. Would you even speak underwater? If not, how would you communicate? Like the whales, with echolocation? Then why do mermaids have voiceboxes? Help me out, I need feedback and additional suggestions on all of this.
I have a secret desire that has existed since I was but a youngling: I want to be a mermaid. Don't ask me why, maybe the Disney movie corrupted me. It just always seemed so glamorous. Can you imagine, living in the ocean? So lovely and sparkling, and you would, effectively, be living in a swimming pool. Plus you'd have a tail. So then, imagine that, for some reason, it doesn't matter, you are turned into a human and live on land for at least a while. How much of your life would be different? Your underwater world could be as civilized as you like, but you still wouldn't know how to bathe, wash your hair, drive a car, write, you'd freak out when you saw a dog, and then: speech. You could live (underwater) a few nautical miles from the nearest shore town and even on the offchance you spoke the same language, you would still have different dialects, idiomatic phrases, and accents. Would you even speak underwater? If not, how would you communicate? Like the whales, with echolocation? Then why do mermaids have voiceboxes? Help me out, I need feedback and additional suggestions on all of this.
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