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help the bombardier
Sep. 1st, 2004 12:36 pmI haven't been updating much, since life at the moment consist largely of doing endless tedious tasks to prepare for the Rural Health Conference at work, and watching Sailor Moon at home. And reading, but not the end of Moby-Dick. Yet. So, here am small shit:
Rented The Passion of the Christ for Mom last night. She was, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, anxious to see it, and shoved the thing in the VCR as soon as I was out the door this morning. It is a measure of my affection for her that Mel Gibson and his sicko snuff film get any money from me, ever.
Speaking of Herself, we had this conversation last night:
Me (to our President, on the television): SHUT UP! JUST SHUT YOUR STUPID SHEEP FACE, YOU GODDAMN LYING SACK OF SHIT! (to Mom) Uh, sorry.
Mom: I wish you'd stop saying that. You've got me saying it now.
I picture her during the day, ironing and heckling CNN.
Have earworms something fierce lately, mostly really irritating shit like the Sailor Moon transformation music. Fortunately, the kitchen sink has a dispos-all, so if it gets too bad I can always shove my head right into the churning blades.
Reading Catch-22 for the first time. I like it very much. The storytelling meanders around like one of those moebius paths they put on the grounds of Alzheimer's patient facilities, or like Edith Bunker explaining about the cling peaches in heavy syrup. This, however, is not a bad thing.
Spend way too much time playing with Japanese block toys. I can't explain it, but there's something satisfying about finding out that a Series 8 Basic Be@rbrick looks snazzy wearing the Tokyo Tribe guy's parka, or making a Horror Be@rbrick go hell-dee-lairpin' downhill on a Special Forces guy's skis.
There is now a Tiki god bobblehead from Target on our dishwasher, next to Clint the rooster. I feel it is very important to point out that I did not buy it, nor was doing so even remotely my idea.
Not sewing, because it's too damn hot.
Finally, there is something very wrong (or, perhaps, very right) with my life when I have to end a phone conversation with, "I have to go out and buy gears for my robot nutcracker."
Rented The Passion of the Christ for Mom last night. She was, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, anxious to see it, and shoved the thing in the VCR as soon as I was out the door this morning. It is a measure of my affection for her that Mel Gibson and his sicko snuff film get any money from me, ever.
Speaking of Herself, we had this conversation last night:
Me (to our President, on the television): SHUT UP! JUST SHUT YOUR STUPID SHEEP FACE, YOU GODDAMN LYING SACK OF SHIT! (to Mom) Uh, sorry.
Mom: I wish you'd stop saying that. You've got me saying it now.
I picture her during the day, ironing and heckling CNN.
Have earworms something fierce lately, mostly really irritating shit like the Sailor Moon transformation music. Fortunately, the kitchen sink has a dispos-all, so if it gets too bad I can always shove my head right into the churning blades.
Reading Catch-22 for the first time. I like it very much. The storytelling meanders around like one of those moebius paths they put on the grounds of Alzheimer's patient facilities, or like Edith Bunker explaining about the cling peaches in heavy syrup. This, however, is not a bad thing.
Spend way too much time playing with Japanese block toys. I can't explain it, but there's something satisfying about finding out that a Series 8 Basic Be@rbrick looks snazzy wearing the Tokyo Tribe guy's parka, or making a Horror Be@rbrick go hell-dee-lairpin' downhill on a Special Forces guy's skis.
There is now a Tiki god bobblehead from Target on our dishwasher, next to Clint the rooster. I feel it is very important to point out that I did not buy it, nor was doing so even remotely my idea.
Not sewing, because it's too damn hot.
Finally, there is something very wrong (or, perhaps, very right) with my life when I have to end a phone conversation with, "I have to go out and buy gears for my robot nutcracker."