Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
Would you like to buy a girl a drink?
Would you like to buy a man a drink?
Would you like to buy a boy a drink?
Will you?
Why not?
Goodbye!
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(1)
09:45:46 PM,Saturday 29 June 2002
What do you do with 100MB?
What do you do with 100MB?
What do you do with 100MB,
earlye in the morning?
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(5)
12:08:33 AM,Saturday 29 June 2002
Octavian Maria Ehrenreich Bonaventura Fernand Hyacinth
Rofrano
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08:37:02 PM,Friday 28 June 2002
Today we pay tribute to Vanadium, because it is my favorite element and was mentioned in class.
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(1)
05:53:38 PM,Thursday 27 June 2002
W.W.D.Q.D.?
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(8)
11:43:12 AM,Thursday 27 June 2002
My maja from Alba is not in my bedding.
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(9)
11:01:54 PM,Wednesday 26 June 2002
Ever since I got here I've had the compulsion to blog about every meal I'm eating. It's so odd. I mean, I've blogged about food before, but intermittently, when the urge struck me. Now the urge is striking every time I put anything into my mouth... it all tastes good, and I want to tell the world all the details. I don't know if it's just because of spending so much time in a room full of food, or because I'm alone and eating reminds me of other people who, after all, eat too, or because I just don't have anything to say these days. But if I blogged about every meal, y'all would march down here and duct tape my computer shut. I know it's tedious. So that's why I'm stifling the urge to blog about food and am instead blogging about wanting to blog about food. It seems more constructive, somehow.
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(1)
10:42:03 PM,Wednesday 26 June 2002
I never realized this until I started ripping CDs, but for some reason a lot of classical albums are recorded at much lower volumes than poppish ones. I don't listen to my music turned up all that high, but when I've got a pop mp3 on at a moderate level and then a classical one comes on, I can barely hear the bastard, and when I turn it up just enough to hear it comfortably, the next pop song that comes on blasts my eardrums. It bugs me. Shouldn't there be a genre-wide recording standard or sumthin'?
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(2)
10:05:05 PM,Wednesday 26 June 2002
There's a divinity which shapes our ends?
Why do I smell like a crayon box?
I vant to be alone.
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(2)
11:57:24 AM,Wednesday 26 June 2002
July 8, 7pm
Kensington Park Library
5510 Massachusetts Ave.
Kensington, MD
Contact: Linda Swanson
July 10, 7pm
Little Falls Library
Bethesda, MD
Contact: Sue Schmidt
If I could get to either place, I could go see Oscar Brand. I doubt he'll sing any Bawdy Songs in a library, though. I really like his bawdy songs. Like, a lot. I'm not into the whole folk song thing, particularly, slightly more into the sea chanty thing, and I haven't heard enough of his children's songs to come to a conclusion (Though... the thing is, singing about cats... I mean, I like cats. I love cats. Cats are grand. But songs about them suck. Why hasn't anyone noticed this? "The Cat Came Back" is the only exception I've come across so far.), but give me some of his bawdy, particularly with lots of dirty words and fake cockney accents, and I'm riveted.
Oscar Brand (who apparently was the namesake for Oscar the Grouch, kickass.) is sort of the converse of Shel Silverstein. When you listen to Shel Silverstein sing kid songs, he sounds like an unhinged cackling pervert -- a complete subversive. You wonder how anyone let him out of his cage long enough to sing to our innocent babes. It's great. So when he sings his dirty songs, he sounds right at home. They're really good, but not as shocking and unsettlingly cool as his kid songs. Oscar Brand, on the other hand, has that ultra-wholesome All-American (well, Canadian, but who's counting?) folk singer's voice that, to me at least, is slightly dull in its natural setting -- Woody Guthrie covers and camp songs -- but is suddenly delightful when it's singing shamelessly about "yer wife an' my wife a-firkin' on the fluir". You can't quite believe it... it's still wholesome-sounding, but it's... its... so dirty!
I wish I could see him, though. I bet he'd be interesting in person. {sigh} I need a donkey.
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(5)
08:33:03 AM,Wednesday 26 June 2002
Figs.
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(3)
10:22:15 PM,Tuesday 25 June 2002
All right, fine. So the hard-bitten, macho, steely-faced image I've been painstakingly cultivating over the last several years (I said stop snickering, damnit!) is all going to come crashing down around my ears because of one trifling but devastating act. I couldn't help it... I gazed down at them, I wrestled with my Better Nature, I bit my lip and tried to stand fast like a good soldier, but it was too much for me... I succumbed... and now I'm unworthy of any studhood I ever claimed for myself. I'll turn in my card, slink off into the dunghills and pedicure parlors, a whimpering effeminate sissypants haunted by my single damnable irrevocable error: I bought a tin of these today. {buries head in hands, weeping copiously} But, damnit, damnit -- they're so freaking GOOD!
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(8)
01:32:29 AM,Tuesday 25 June 2002
AIEEEEEE! TSUNAMI!!!!!!
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(2)
12:38:23 AM,Tuesday 25 June 2002
This fondue is delicious, though I'm getting full. I've only eaten a zinger, a white chocolate truffle, two samples of candy, and a cherry mountain dew all day, but cheese is richer than Solomon's poodles. I was trying to find a lofty synonym, but there isn't one -- in my head, at least. So I had to use a simile instead, and a silly one at that.
I'm only writing this down because i) there's no one here to talk to, ii) I don't have a book to read, and iii) I'm too full to eat any faster than one skewer full of cheese a minute.
I put on some scent from a tester in the mall. It's "Amber". Once I put some on at Aure's Rainbow ("Your one stop Metaphysical shop!" though I asked if they had Aristotle's Metaphysics, and they didn't. I ought to sue 'em.), and it was very nice indeed. I've smelled other pretenders calling themselves "Amber" since, but they've all been too sweet and not resiny enough. This one, though, is just about right. It's neither a masculine nor a feminine scent, but a pleasant and complicated one.
Shouldn't waitresses not disturb someone who's writing? She prefers America to England. That's all right. I think the benefits of a servant class are ultimately trivial and dehumanising, especially since I'd be in it myself, whether I was a doctor or a musician. It's odd to see the different styles of toadying, though. Old World is just as repugnant but less baldfaced, or, at least, it exists within traditions which have aesthetics bound to them, if nothing else, unlike the American servility, which is simple insincerity. But it means there isn't such a thing as a servant class or even a servant at all -- only a lying mask on a real human being. Which, after all, I think I prefer. Not as pretty but less immutably constricting.
She does a little bow every time she leaves the table, and I can't tell whether it's a pseudo-Swiss gesture for atmosphere or a mandatory inspection of the electric-fondue-pot's cord. Maybe I'll have Rarebit Dreams tonight.
I was trying to remember what caraway seeds tasted like last night but now I remember -- they're in rye bread. I ahve some to dip in the cheese. Caraway seeds and spearmint are chiro-something-or-other. Mirror images, according to my chemistry book.
I think I'm all pompous and Chauncey tonight because I'm alone, I'm wearing a button-down shirt, I'm in a restaurant, I'm writing in a notebook, and I didn't sleep much. I'm also feeling like a clever dick because of the quiz I took, and the fish-in-a-barrel superiority reflex Us People get from malls. I'm happy, though. Happy and humorless. It's a rare sensation, but I can dig it.
Damn, I'm shifting tones of voice again. I didn't think I had gotten to the bottom of the stuffy proper one yet. I'm always doing the hyuck-hyuck vernacular -- it's the affectation that seems least ugly and cementing. But I don't know. When I write Johnny Papers (never never never never never) I hate the voice that is always speaking then, no matter what I do. I like my hick routine partly 'cause no one buys it and partly as an antidote to the constant seriousness that proves to be so laughable and distasteful in the light of day.
The waitress wished me good luck at school in a note on the receipt. That's friendly. I like it. Doesn't affect institutionalized insincerity, but it takes the sting off. I'm an American too -- I left my baseball cap on through the whole meal.
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(3)
09:10:19 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
Law of Malls:
The smaller the mall, the lamer and more pathetic.
The bigger the mall, the more oppressive and terrifying.
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(5)
08:55:33 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
He's a castrated monk with a secret heartache -- she's a road warrior in a wimple with a thirst for revenge. Together, they are
Abbot Tub O' Lard and Sister Hell-on-Wheels, Cataclysmic Catechismics from the 12th Century -- and beyond...
(they fight crime!)
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08:54:44 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
My favorite email this week:
"Dear Mirabai,
I submit that neither your name (nor your words) exiplicitly indicate your
gender to the average western reader.
Peace,
frank fox
dignity/baltimore"
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(1)
08:51:20 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
"Di rigori armato il seno
Contro amor mi ribellai
Ma fui vinto in un baleno
In mirar due vaghi rai.
Ahi! che resiste puoco
Cor di gelo a stral di fuoco.
Ma si caro e 'l mio tormento
Dolce e si la piaga mia
Ch'il penare e mio contento
E'l sanarmi e tirannia
Ahi! che resiste puoco
Cor di gelo a stral di fuoco."
(You don't need to hear the translation. it's very silly. The whole thing's silly. But it keeps getting stuck in my head.)
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(5)
08:48:33 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
Pants without pockets are the world's scourge!!
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(4)
12:49:30 PM,Monday 24 June 2002
