Tuesday, November 09, 2004
I've got a squealing, a squealing cheap and fried, oh yeah.
Today i can't think of any good lies, so i'm going to tell the truth. Sorry for how embarrassingly boring that is.
My roommate is listening to some Gandhi-awful 16th century choral excretion that he hates and complains about daily, and i'm blaring Ween in my headphones to drown it out. How Ween can traverse so many genres and sounds in one album is beyond me; they are so beautiful at times, and so scary at others, and hilarious and fun at others. Hot dag. I guess it makes sense, considering all the drugs. If they'd had all those genres and drugs back in the 16th century, i bet my roommate would be happier and i wouldn't have to wear headphones.
I've developed a drug habit of my own lately, an embarrassingly nerdy and embarrassing habit i can't believe i even got into: checklists. I write out (insert vulgar adjective of choice) checklists of all the stuff i have to do today. I realize how intolerably responsible and anal this is, and i write "Commence self-loathing" as the next list entry. It's ridiculous how compelling it is to make the little checky mark after doing something. I'm turning into a goal-oriented person and it's scorching my innards. Disgusting. Somebody needs to bash me over the head with a video game.
My shoes smell bad and i hate a lot of things, among which are shoes that smell bad. The only other thing i can think of that i hate is whiny paragraphs. This paragraph is so whiny. I hate it.
Yesterday i wrote my first article for the school newspaper, a review of a faculty art exhibit that ruled. I hope i did it justice. I'd also like to do justice to the new Starflyer ep i got in the mail on friday, but i don't think i'd be able to. It was lots of fun to get a limited edition ep that's only available in the mail. It shows great promise for the upcoming album, which is one of the top two musical things i have to look forward to next year, the other being Mike Doughty's new album finally coming out. I've listened to live versions of his new songs so many times since last spring that his new album is already one of my favorites and it's not even done yet.
I wish Clare wasn't so busy, for her sake and mine, although she does make time to see me for at least a short while every day, which i love. I wish i was more articulate and could tell her how perfect she is and all the little things i appreciate about her. They always sound dorky when i think them so half the time i don't even try. How does anyone ever say how they feel or what they think? It's beyond me.
I'm an english major, too. I smell internal conflict in the future. Time to go write a checklist.
Today i can't think of any good lies, so i'm going to tell the truth. Sorry for how embarrassingly boring that is.
My roommate is listening to some Gandhi-awful 16th century choral excretion that he hates and complains about daily, and i'm blaring Ween in my headphones to drown it out. How Ween can traverse so many genres and sounds in one album is beyond me; they are so beautiful at times, and so scary at others, and hilarious and fun at others. Hot dag. I guess it makes sense, considering all the drugs. If they'd had all those genres and drugs back in the 16th century, i bet my roommate would be happier and i wouldn't have to wear headphones.
I've developed a drug habit of my own lately, an embarrassingly nerdy and embarrassing habit i can't believe i even got into: checklists. I write out (insert vulgar adjective of choice) checklists of all the stuff i have to do today. I realize how intolerably responsible and anal this is, and i write "Commence self-loathing" as the next list entry. It's ridiculous how compelling it is to make the little checky mark after doing something. I'm turning into a goal-oriented person and it's scorching my innards. Disgusting. Somebody needs to bash me over the head with a video game.
My shoes smell bad and i hate a lot of things, among which are shoes that smell bad. The only other thing i can think of that i hate is whiny paragraphs. This paragraph is so whiny. I hate it.
Yesterday i wrote my first article for the school newspaper, a review of a faculty art exhibit that ruled. I hope i did it justice. I'd also like to do justice to the new Starflyer ep i got in the mail on friday, but i don't think i'd be able to. It was lots of fun to get a limited edition ep that's only available in the mail. It shows great promise for the upcoming album, which is one of the top two musical things i have to look forward to next year, the other being Mike Doughty's new album finally coming out. I've listened to live versions of his new songs so many times since last spring that his new album is already one of my favorites and it's not even done yet.
I wish Clare wasn't so busy, for her sake and mine, although she does make time to see me for at least a short while every day, which i love. I wish i was more articulate and could tell her how perfect she is and all the little things i appreciate about her. They always sound dorky when i think them so half the time i don't even try. How does anyone ever say how they feel or what they think? It's beyond me.
I'm an english major, too. I smell internal conflict in the future. Time to go write a checklist.
