10:41 p.m.

Tuesday, Sept. 27, 2005

Hair Down

I guess the time has arrived once again for someone to proposition me as such: whether or not I am emo. Short answer no. Long answer hell no. Today was funny though.

Approaching my philosophy teacher after class with a question to clarify the ideas of functionalism I began to formulate a question, but she had a question of her own. Before anything could be discussed she asked, "so, is your haircut emo?" I replied blankly and confused. The question was reiterated by her and my senses grasped the change of topic-philosophy to tightly clothed sobbing. "No, I don't really know what 'emo' is," I managed out. Another student gave a brief description of emo with sentiment on par of my own feelings toward this, uh, style? (that it is maximally lame with a bowl of lameoats for breakfast, dinner, and late night snack, flavored with tears of a broken heart and lamenting, er, lame-nting) Then I mentioned, in reference to my hair, "eh, it's D.I.Y. (do it yourself)."

Later, as I contimplated the day's philosophy, the answer that would have sufficed much better and cleared the room with awesome appeal appeared within my noggin: "no way, I'm Punk Rock."

New pictures on my flickr page. There's even an old one, from a couple weeks ago, when I last reshaved my head so you can have a visual for today's story.

9:52 p.m.

Thursday, Sept. 22, 2005

Open mouthes spill alcohol

5 many people major communications psychology
1 boob.com
1 oddy knocky
1 grow a guardian angel
1 pete and pete quotes
1 www. oddy enough leaves
1 bread pudding svenhard's
1 ribbed cloth pricot
1 bibitty song lyrics
1 idea of change lesson plan
1 motobike groupies
1 funny looking hookers.com
1 paying with coins annoy cashiers
1 voxtrot

That's the recent keyword analysis. I don't know whether to wonder what people are looking for or why my diary gets hits from such queries. Not only that, but the bread pudding svenhard's makes me hungry. Although, I don't know if I've ever tried bread pudding. I have had shoofly pie, the fine Amish treat, when I was in Pennsylvania four summers ago. It was thick and overwhelming, very sweet, but now I would like a piece cause the thought of it sounds sickeningly delicious.

but aren't we all. Hedwig.

In light of today being Hobbit day-the hours ticking away at that-I wrote some new cheers:

"Hey hey, it's Hobbit day, doing things the J.R.R. Tolkien way"

"Hobbits like apples, Hobbits like stew, go meet a Hobbit and a Hobbit'll like you"

"Hobbits live in Hobbit holes. They are quite cozy homes"

"Big feet, small person. Hobbits" (best chanted a couple times)

Now you too can share in the Hobbit day fun, let everyone else know, and fulfill the much needed desire to chant about something. Chanting: it's not just for political anger.

8:27 a.m.

Thursday, Sept. 22, 2005

A day to sea

Yesterday missed: Biosphere Day.

Today: Hobbit Day.

The official cheer of Hobbit Day is "Hobbit Hobbit Hobbit, Hoooray!"

Chant the "Hobbit" part low then give a mighty "hooray".

"Hobbit Hobbit Hobbit DAY!

Hobbit Hobbit Hobbit, HOORAY!"

10:30 p.m.

Tuesday, Sept. 20, 2005

Back-Throat Tortilla

Today I am sore from a brief bit of jogging yesterday. As part of my stress class, psychology of stress, we are to take up exercise for a month and a half, recording daily and noting personal results (i.e. more daily somersaults, innappropriate gestures given with more vigor, willingness to pick fights with children under the intention to win, etc.). I decided to take up jogging, stretching, and push-ups. Yesterday was day one. Today I feel the effects.

Throughout the day I walked like an old man on steps, then I realized I'm not an old man and just feel sore, so I'd walk regular. Shortly I'd forget and start walking like an old man again. Whenever I am injured in any way that affects physical movement I tend to move like I'm somehow incapacitated, though usually I'm just sore. I must have some trigger that says, "I'm injured, I should act injured...produce limping!" But I didn't limp today, just moved slowly until I remembered I can move faster. For brief moments I was sorely mistaken.

Now, since I've been hand writing some entries, either because I'm out and don't want to forget the idea or because I've turned off my computer and don't wanna turn it back on for some stinko posting, I will post one now. Plus, it's fun to handwrite stuff then type it out because I type so much faster that way. My fingers become master of the click-ity clacking.

This one goes out to Lady Stella, his writing, and a ice cold glass of pop:

I was thinking about Lady's writing, versus my own, and in comparison realized the difference is a case of quantity and quality. While I regularly can talk a person's ear off, and mostly about nothing unconnected with other non-sensical notions (quite a feat for this wee shy mister) Lady will simply belch prononuncedly and a hail of applause will fall upon an otherwise hushed crowd. It is not the act of belching itself but rather a delicate sauté of anticipation leading into smooth delivery, as if you were given just what you wanted without ever having seen a menu.

--That's it. I wrote it maybe a week ago before going to sleep. Maybe it was after his latest entry. Essentially, I had an image of myself babling on while Lady sat by in a lawn chair (watering a driveway) wearing a worn straw hat with the brim low over his eyes, stained wife-beater, raggy shorts, a full summer enseble of the immobile and lazy, and when a quiet moment hit (I stopped with the tuneless mouth harping) he let out a belch. Fun images in my head. This one is partly based on a real situation filmed by Lasson when we were all in high school or early college.

Being old just gives you liberties. Crudfull liberties.

10:38 p.m.

Monday, Sept. 19, 2005

Strainful Tabitha

I have been considering making updates on a daily basis, but usually when it comes to that time (often the last item I do before bed) I am not in the mood or feel too tired to update. Well, I don't know if I'm really updating anything considering I just talk about one thing or another. Updates for me are a manner of getting a new date up, keep the peoples happy. Are you happy peoples? Obsessively looking at pages over and again-something new?...something new?...something?

Actually, I've gotten better at spending less time on the internet, learning to walk away and do something else. Mail, comics, couple of blogs, that's my interneting. A little bit of school stuff as well since many teachers post readings online. Online dictionaries are helpful as well, although most of the time I'm checking my spelling. Opening word or doing some other item for spell checking? Blah, no.

There is some old lady in my area that appears to belive she knows me. Friday I was at my friendly corner donut shop having a maple bar and coffee, reading the locale free newspaper. I was sitting at the bar that runs along the window facing the busy street where buses, train cars, car cars go by, and the sidewalk where people are going here and there. My maple bar was poised in right hand, a few bites in, my arm held mouth height for the shortest movement of donut to mouth connection while the left hand moved the newspaper pages about and moved about the newspaper pages. A small elderly woman walked right next to the window and rapped upon the glass in front of me. When I looked up she waved at me with a sort of 'hey' face. You know, the type of face when you see someone and are like, "hey." In response I waved and smiled. This happened quickly so I didn't have much input to gather who the woman was, though she appears to be someone I've seen around my local streets before. However, I don't know if I've actually talked to her-maybe she was one of the elderly women I gave directions to on one or another occasion (I know, ahhhh, Oddy is sweet). Maybe she's seen me around and decided it's time we have some sort of interraction, beginning with the knocking on windows stage.

I am not sure, but I bet I'll see her again. Her and that 'hey' face.

11:24 p.m.

Thursday, Sept. 15, 2005

You are my porridge pie

My Favorite, mourning day two. Actually, I wanted to send a link to their page now that the message that was sent to my e-mail, from their mailing listingness, informing of the band dissolution. Find the end of My Favorite there. Sweet. Sad. Meant something to me, don't know how many out there commiserate.

Yesterday I saw a couple odd sights. Started in the morning when I was walking the 10 blocks to the bus stop. I was walking the opposite side of the street than I usually use, though both go in the same direction, I usually walk on the side opposite because it is closer to the corner of the bus's pause for passenger loading and unloading. The "white zone" though painted red. About a block away I saw a man amongst many full black garbage bags, at least twenty it appeared, all filling up the corner. The corners here are quite large too, well, the sidewalks are wide in berth- a large vehicle can park quite easily. City dwellers are familiar with this sidewalk mass. Anyhow, this man was doing something amidst his many bags which, as I approached, sounded to be full of aluminum cans. Maybe some other recycleables were within as well. A brief glance at the hooded man informed me that he is the local "can man" as I call him; a guy I often see walking the streets the night before trash day when everyones cans are out on the sidewalks to be emptied by the morning trash pickup. This can man inspects each recycling can thorougly, mumbling to himself and looking threateningly at those who pass to closely. Actually, I've never felt uncomfortable when I pass him, but rather his eyes show a defense of the cans he's collecting. For this reason I do not approach him closely. Well, other than I have no reason to approach him.

Okay, sometimes I want to walk over and peek my head in the can with him and say something like,"hmmmmm, that's a nice haul," or just calmly mumble to myself as well.

Item one, the can man. I figured he'd take his cans to some collection place daily to get the couple dollars they must bring him. However, unless this haul was from a night's work-I've seen him trolling about quite late-he's been hoarding cans for awhile. These were full bags. Why he picked this corner, a little over a block from my place, I do not know as well. Nor how he was transporting the bags. They're gone now, gone by the time I'd passed again in the afternoon and walked on the spot where the can bags layed in the morn.

Item two: dead mouse. This was when I was walking back from the bus, heading home for food before going elsewhere to study. This time I was about four blocks from my apartment. Passing an open garage I noticed a couple people inside cleaning things out. I only mention this because of the association I draw with the dead mouse: I presume it came from the garage. Something about mice and garages that go hand in hand. Anyhow, this thing was tiny. Fit half the palm of my hand tiny. A round little lump that sat on the slope of the driveway just before the street, eyes appearing to be closed. I kept my eyes glued on the mouse as I walked by expecting it to scurry off, but as I passed no movement showed and I looked back numerous times. Because it wasn't smashed, I presumed a small chance the mouse was actually alive, but possibly lethargic or unphased by my presence being a city mouse and all. The birds are quite comfortable with humans, just about landing on your head in wait to steal food ascending to your mouth. Anyhow, this mouse was odd to see, for me at least.

Item in third: deadness reign, this time a bee. Okay, so a dead bee ain't much, but it's been awhile since I've seen one. Like the mouse, I had a brief thought the bee was not dead, as it lay in the middle of the sidewalk in line with my footpath. Seems like a dead bee should be crushed, which I also associated with a little girl who, following her bicycled mother, rode behind on her own small two-wheeled peddler. Her wheels went darn close to where the bee lay, so I figured the girl had run over the bee, unknowingly since most young girls are not malicious bee attackers with intent to kill (I think). The bee appeared to be missing it's wings or they were horribly mangled and missing most of the wing appearance, a fullness necessary for flight. In my memory this bee, like the mouse, was lying there with it's eyes closed as if it were resting as seen in children's books with animal characters.

See little fox go to bed.
Sleepy skunk lays down his head.
Tiny mouse is dead.
The bee too.

My three sights: can man and his many cans in appropriate large trash bags (33 gallon size?), dead mouse, dead bee. Less interesting, one by one, as you can see. Would you agree?

11:51 p.m.

Wednesday, Sept. 14, 2005

Started as a teenage-martyr complex, ended with the two-step

I saw The Baxter tonight. Read about it on my link! If you liked "On Goldern Meadow Pond," you'll love "Ain't a Serious Thing Bout No Meddlin." Otherwise, see The Baxter.

Another delightful statement!

On a sad note, My Favorite is no more as a band. If you remember I saw them this past July and they are indeed as the title states. I shall mourn in the wearing of their 1" pins I bought when I saw them for the first time a year ago summer. That is, wearing the pins more than I already do. Differences will little be noticed!

I look forward to their next project.

11:14 p.m.

Monday, Sept. 12, 2005

Underground Airports have no planes

I made two sandwiches for tomorrow and Thursday since they are the days when I am at school all day. Making sandwiches saves me a couple dollars worth of buying food at school. The food at school is pretty good, but I usually end up spending about $4-5(USD). That may or may not count when I buy a coffee, which can cost from 80 cents to $1.25, depending on the size and which coffee place, of three, I go to. Usually I go to the place where I get a medium for $1.25, the coffee is good and I like their concept of medium.

The sandwich I made is a hummus, meatless-bologna (I think it's tofu, maybe with gluten), and some kinda swiss cheese on whole wheat bread. I put both in the freezer so they can defrost while I'm at school and not spoil. Although, with the climate here the freezing may be an unnecessary step. My mom used to freeze my sandwiches for school when I was in high school, that's where I learned.

I could make the last sentence clearer, but I like the ambiguity I just realized. At least I think so as far I understand sentence structure. Instead of talking more about my lunch I shall leave more up to the imagination. Here's a teaser though: what kind of fruit will I bring?

Sometimes I wonder if meatless-lunch meats are really just meat cut in smaller pieces and titled as meatless. They often smell just like smoked turkey or bologna, those that I have had so far. I'm quite fond of the meatless sausages too. These all are quite meat resemblent in taste as well, although the sausages are a little less meaty like. Wait, maybe the better consipiracy is that all lunch meats have always been meatless, so really people have been eating less meat than they thought. Massive amounts of animals were then killed for the hell of it, so people thought they were eating meat. But really, the animals were burned to keep farmers hands warm.

I see no flaw in that story.

11:40 p.m.

Thursday, Sept. 08, 2005

Smile Eave

In case you were wondering, I have not felt like saying much lately. For awhile I was in a mode of talking about something from my day and so forth. Not so much these past days. Also, I updated my archives, but forgot one important step, so these entry shall help. If not, though, I probably won't do anything else, for I am not in the mood.

I may be updating my flickr page here and there, so if you need something to look at for a moment you can go there. Here's a link: Plebian Crimes.

previous - next