Sunday, September 29, 2002

Hey! I've finally found an excuse to watch Real World marathons on MTV (and believe me, I've been looking for any justification to the pointless hours wasted doing that).
As of right now, I'm just keeping an eye out for the MTV news reporter, Gideon Yago. *growls*
Have you seen this guy? He's very firmly in the category I must call BWG. That's Boys With Glasses. (See emo glasses boy below, Duncan Sheik, Neil the Recordshop Boy and a certain ramdom person.)
And he's a smart-ass. He can't keep a straight face on his news show, The Wrap.

The weekends make me so bored and lonely, since I can't actively look for work. I sit around all day by myself. I realized a little while ago I hadn't actually spoken to anyone since Thursday.

I remembered today that I hadn't had pancakes in forever. I had some mix, so I made it up and as they were cooking, I remembered I can't make pancakes well. They weren't awful, but they weren't great. I can make crepes really well, but the thicker American ones I mess up: I make the batter too thin and put too much in the pan cause I think I'm making crepes. They come out very brown, almost burnt on one side. I didn't have any syrup, so I used honey, and it was quite good.

I read a few chapters of the Dr. Who book, The Taking of Planet Five.

I listened to the song Slow Graffiti today. I mean, really listened to it. It's there at the end of the Modern Rock Song EP and I've heard it before, but I suppose I never really took it in till today.
I organizes my vinyl today, in chronological order... I've got some nice stuff, original Simon and Garfunkle and Mamas and Poppas. Paul Simon, Jim Croce, the Eagles. I've also got some vintage Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66. Also, for that matter, a Smurfs album. That was my favorite 20 years ago,
I think the idea here between cooking and cleaning and organizing is the Robinson Crusoe effect. If I keep myself involved with little pointless tasks, I'll not notice as I go crazy.
This could also explain the lengthy daily blogs...

I can't remember the last time I cried. (Besides the odd tear at a sappy movie like Life As A House, which I think was the last.) But I get the feeling now that if I started, it might take a while. Much to mourn, no cause to rejoice...
Despair was -- still is, I reckon, for the papists -- a mortal sin. They get their own part of the Inferno (along with the wrathful). It signified a lack of trust in god and his judgement and ability ("What, you don't think god knows what he's doing?!")
Like I really need to start a checklist of places in the Inferno I deserve...

And I really don't have anything else to say...

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