Friday, August 23, 2002

So, Murphy the Wonder Cat is alive and well after his bath. Looking quite sleek and fit as well, I should say.
Quite the picture of health.

Speaking of pictures, you may have noticed that are none of me about. This is deliberate. I'm quite homely. How lucky was I that BlogSpot, our lovely host, won't countenance photos?
Enter the Llew. I am even now informed that pictures of me exist on the net. But she's devious, that Laura. She got me to look at these pictures by making sure other people are in them. Ooo er, I'll look at that pic of *some random person.* "Ooh. There's me and all," I think.
The pic she sent me of only me, privately, burnt my eyes out. Just as well: I shall sell violets at the corner of Rosemary and Cameron in lovely downtown Chapel Hill.
You, however, can see these pictures, as there is no immediate way to tell who is me and who is *some random person*. Go to and .
Interesting fact: I am not the Jay Nagy of Though we may be almost equally bitter, he is much cooler than jaylemurph.

Promised philosophical thought: This has been floating around in my brain for a bit, so hold on.I've been thinking about language and personal diction of late. I thought to myself the other day the expression "jesusfuckinchrist" about 15,000 times (I was at work) and realized that, as one word, it was my own creation. This got me to thinking of all the expressions I use and how almost all of them relate back to somebody in my life. Many of these people are long gone, but that little piece of language of thiers remains in my ideolect as souvenirs of my time with them.
Among these are: "True, Dat" from a trip with Darren to Atlanta not too very long ago. Sometimes I'm afraid
I may never hear from him again.
"Whoot." Laura Llew, and look how little time I've knowm this incarnation of loveliness.
"Wow... Take me back, 1984..." (as regards to some dated reference) Kollist, my freshman dorm roommate.
"Wheee." (in a very high pitched girly voice) Tim, the other dorm roommate I had.
And let's just ignore the stuff from my parents that slips out ONLY BY ACCIDENT.
It goes on and on, till sometimes I think I exist only as a reference to the memory of the people in my life. I wish more of them were around. In the end though, it makes me glad I've got something to remember them by, even if I never clap eyes on them again.
Though... Do they do that with me? Maybe remember my wit or some expression I use(d)? I'm not even aware of any expression I use frequently, but I'm sure there is one. Oh well...

Reason Laura Llew rocks two: She sent me a book. A Month in the Country by J L Carr. Now go out and read it. Right now. It's great. It's even got art history in it. And mad vocabulary words. I went to the dictionary like 20 times. *Swoons* I am deeply in love with anyone who would send me stuff in the mail.
But Only In the Good Way. I Am Not a Pyscho Proclaiming My Love At Random Or Planning Grievous Bodily Harm.
She should know that. I merely greatly admire her virtue, which, as Cicero reminds us in the De Amicitia (with a long a), is the foundation of the truest love. Alien or otherwise.

Dr Who of the Day: Planet of the Daleks, parts 4,5 and 6.
Did I mention Pertwee was also wearing black leather gloves? *Swoons a bit more* He could be suffering from The Vapours with all this swooning. Latep is also very cute. But then again, when have I not fell for a sensitive, scrawny English boy? Pity they painted that one Dalek black... It's glaringly obvious in every scene the dead Dalek is up and running again... But to balance it, the old Dalek Movie Prop Dalek (gold, black and silver) with the funky headlights is still kewl -- as befits one of the Supreme Council, I reckon...

Book of the day: Still The Pickwick Papers, Book X. Samivel Weller rules.

I've been thinking of how to refer to you, audience people. I mean, isn't that the crux of direction? I like the idea of the Austenian "Gentle Reader" and to refer to myself as the "Humble hero." What'd ya think?

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