Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
asafoedita
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02:56:30 PM,Tuesday 9 April 2002
My watch just stopped. I reset it and hit it and it started again. Still...
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(3)
12:10:01 PM,Tuesday 9 April 2002
Confucius say: He who goes to breakfast
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(4)
10:50:47 AM,Monday 8 April 2002
T.I.A.I.L.W.: Marie Curie.
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09:37:24 AM,Monday 8 April 2002
Good morning!
I woke up at five o'clock this morning.
Good morning!
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(6)
08:04:11 AM,Monday 8 April 2002
Squeak and Gibber in the Roman Streets.
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(84)
05:02:39 PM,Sunday 7 April 2002
Ah, indolence.
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04:57:58 PM,Sunday 7 April 2002
Jim Dale, the guy who does all the Harry Potter audiobooks (which I've been downloading from Audiogalaxy... when I have kids I'll buy 'em, though. I promise.), is going to be playing Doctor Terwilliger in a Broadway version of this movie. It's a glorious thing. I'm vurry happy.
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(4)
03:12:55 PM,Sunday 7 April 2002
{whistles}
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(8)
01:43:10 PM,Sunday 7 April 2002
Talk about class, I didn't even tell you. The signs that have been up all over campus advertising Lola's came in five varieties.
Marlene Dietrich in a Tux
Jessica Rabbit
Audrey Hepburn in a Tiara
Peter Lorre in M
and, uh, for some reason, Harrison Ford. But he doesn't count. He's a putz. Fooey on him.
So three of the sexiest babes ever to thrum in the minds of men and my favorite actor in the whole damn world starring in one of my favorite movies in the whole damn world. So, ha!
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06:16:23 AM,Sunday 7 April 2002
And I am going to learn to sing the following very soon:
Scherza infida in grembo al drudo.
Io tradito a morte in braccio
per tua colpa ora men vo.
Ma a spezzar l'indegno laccio,
ombra mesta, e spirto ignudo,
per tua pena io torneṛ.
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(10)
06:13:26 AM,Sunday 7 April 2002
I... I think... I think I might have just gotten... Useful Spam. {mouth hangs open a bit}. Well, not useful, but at least potentially welcome. How peculiar.
From: "Betty Camlass" Subject: Hi Mirabai
You are cordially invited to listen and/or download some very weird &
irreverent comedic songs. If you enjoy Jonathan Swift you may like Tor.
Now, I haven't clicked the link yet, but... it might be right. I might enjoy it. Lawks a mercy.
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(8)
05:49:21 AM,Sunday 7 April 2002
Float like a cannonball, sting like a flea... That was nearly the best night of my life. The band played good -- lots of dancing, lots of pep -- though the singers were godawful with two exceptions. Everything was class. Johnnies look good when they want to. Cigars, green felt, glittery palm trees, all the hats and slink. But the best thing, damn, was being in that ring. It felt so f*****g good... you don't even know. It was better than nearly everything else I've ever done with my body before. There were only three things that tarnished it a bit. By losing (even though I warned Sparkman I would!) I lost Lola's a few hundred dollars. Everyone bet on Ariadne, of course. I told him we should make it an exhibition match instead, but hey. Maybe if I just give him my next paycheck it'll make it all awright. The second thing was that Ariadne didn't feel so hot afterwards, either mentally of physically. It wasn't that I hurt her -- it's that she felt bad about hurting me. Arrgh! She didn't! It was sublime! I didn't feel anything -- not when my nose started bleeding, or when I got knocked in the back of the head. There was no pain, no fatigue. It was all just beautiful. But the third thing that marred it was my clumsiness and cowardice. Those led back to one cause that I sort of expected but hoped I could beat. When you get hit, even if it doesn't hurt or do anything bad to you, your instinct is to turn away. My mind was repeating the whole time what everyone else had told me over and over: "Keep your guard up. Don't hit until you see an opening. Use combination punches -- no roundhouses. Take a few hits and when she's open, sock her." I knew this before and during, but I didn't have the little rudiment of willpower to do what my mind wanted my body to do instead of my brain stem. That's awright. My brain stem gave me a huge present of happy-hyper juice for the next three hours. I could have whupped Hannibal's troops with one hand, his elephants with the other, and kicked the mountains down in my spare time. I still feel freaking great. Damn. I wanna do this for the rest of my life. I LOVE GETTING PUMMELLED! But next time I'm gonna win. Well, maybe not next time. But some time. I'm gonna lick somebody. Yeah. WOOOOOOOO!!!
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(14)
05:13:51 AM,Sunday 7 April 2002
The door it opened slowly,
My father he came in.
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining,
and his voice was very cold.
He said, "I had a vision,
and you know I'm strong and holy;
I must do as I've been told."
Then he started up the mountain.
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.
The trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror,
and we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over...
broke a minute later,
and he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle,
but it might have been a vulture.
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar.
He looked once behind his shoulder.
He knew I would not hide.
And you who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children --
you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision,
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,
you were not there before.
And I lay upon the altar,
and my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty of the Word.
And if you call me brother now,
forgive me if I inquire,
"Just according to whose plan?"
When it all comes down to dust,
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust,
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
Have mercy on our uniforms,
man of peace or man of war.
The peacock spreads his fan.
-- Leonard Cohen
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(3)
06:19:16 PM,Friday 5 April 2002
Parterre Box, my favorite zine of all time, has a blog!
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06:09:03 PM,Friday 5 April 2002
Ugh. Maryland water tastes a whole lot better than New Mexico water.
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(6)
06:28:23 AM,Thursday 4 April 2002
If I were Stephen Sondheim: Sweeney Todd and Hair Pomade. 'Sblinking obvious, innit?
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06:09:47 AM,Thursday 4 April 2002
Duel update: Martin got me right in the kisser with a puffed straw-casing during gelato and pizza. I have brought dishonor upon the heads of the Santa Fe Storytellers' Guild. {lumbers off mournfully to commit ritual suicide with a half-gallon of expired 2% and a Beatrix Potter picturebook}
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06:09:05 AM,Thursday 4 April 2002
Studz 4 Neil.
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04:28:00 AM,Thursday 4 April 2002
I'm at Goucher, on a computer in some dark little dive called The Gopher Hole. I just had my interview. Boy, I talk a lot. It's very hard to tell whether it's charming childlike enthusiasm or the ravings of a bug-eyed nutcase. I guess I'll find out in about two weeks. This place is hardcore and beautiful. It would be perfect. Who knows, though. I'm gonna take my itchy pants off and call the shuttle. This morning I sat in a gazebo and listened to birds and looked around me in all directions. No people. Hewn grass, pale bricks, close, easy sky. I'm not tired at all. I feel glorious.
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(17)
11:09:38 AM,Wednesday 3 April 2002
