Factoids

Too bad for Mixi.

Came across kind of a neat pick-me-up in the morning if you enjoy punctuation marks that are rarely used: 14 Punctuation Marks That You Never Knew Existed

It's morning, and we're about to sample some Melitta coffee that we only got charged 13 cents for at the store thanks to a broken scale.  If it's not any good, I still have the receipt.

Last night I played a guitar solo on a naked mannequin.

Crest Pro-Health: Tastes great, but my tongue has been numb-ish for about 3 days since I received a freebie of it in the mail.  Maybe consider brushing with instead of eating (as much).  But seriously, why the shit is my tongue numb?

Debating.

Facebook and Twitter have nullified any valid argument for having a blog unless you're terribly long-winded.  (Which at one point, I cared to be.)  Well this certainly is a personal conundrum!

Not a creature was stirring, not even a ...

I dedicate this poem to the lowly critter we caught trying to steal hubcaps from a vehicle in the driveway last night. He left at the scene (1) a screwdriver, (2) the hubcap he meant to take with him, (3) a freshly picked tomato from the garden, and (4) a sullied reputation.

And Miklos in his kerchief (or the bathroom) and I in my cap (or PJs),
We'd just settled down (or were about to) for a long summer's nap (or sleep);
When out of the yard, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash;
The sensor-light on the garage that we know,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all things below;
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a dirty little boy, who was trembling with fear;

His eyes -- how they shifted! his hair, little there-y!
His cheeks were so greasy, his eyes two red cherries!
His thin little lips were beginning to quiver,
Too young for a beard, no description to deliver;
The screwdriver, yellow, he dropped in his fright,
And the hubcap that fell lay there still in the night;
He was skinny and wimpy with the face of a chimp,
A tomato, he'd picked from the garden, that shrimp.

So down, down we dashed to the driveway below,
Miklos yelled "Hey, get up!" to the dumb shmoe;
The boy crouched behind ye olde pickup truck,
In his haste and noise, had just run out of luck;
But the boy popped up quickly, and ran for his life;
I would have too, Miklos has a sweet knife;
The cops they were called, and we all just giggled;
Chuckling about the hubcap and tomizzle;
So if Welland's your home and you're stealing our caps,
We hope you enjoy the unripened tomates.

Summer Boredom

After tossing and turning the night away, I spent a very lowly day at home. It began with a long 'nap' to make up for the night, then proceeded into an afternoon full of not feeling quite right and a Vanity Fair article about Johnny Depp.

And that brought me to realize: It's been a long time since I read anything actually decent from magazine writers. But that article, wow. Well-written! Almost inspired me to go into journalism, except that I'd have to attend Niagara again, which would be a huge no-no in my books. So for now, I'll just sit around and grumble about how I'm a wasted overachiever and hope to continue to find new intriguingly-penned articles about talented actors who also happen to have personality and charisma.

School only feels like it's out when you're 8 and it's summertime.

It feels good to be back to the 'writer' roots. When your proposed backup plan (in my case, Business Admin) kind of takes over your life for three years, it's easy to lose sight of what you really wanted. I love you, writing. I always have. Come back to me.

Writers need readers. Readers need eyes. What novel insight. No pun intended. All I know is, school's done, this report I'm writing is almost finished, which means school will really be done, and my knees hurt from bad posture. Also, I need caffeine. So away I go.

Secrets

I've always been a diary kind of person. There's a whole box of them somewhere, dating back to when I was eight and I had crushes on dirty little boys who killed frogs and ate boogers.

Here's a tip that I'm about to follow:
Burn your diaries after they're finished. No one needs to read that shit.

Substance? On this blog? Surely there's been a grievous error on my part.

When I heard the Juno soundtrack described as "really... weird music" by not one, not two, but probably around five people, I had it in my head that some of these "weird" bands were probably ones I like or have liked in the past. When the Moldy Peaches were mentioned, that thought was confirmed. Being that I could probably use the $11.99 more than Rhino Records, I opted to ... borrow the digital format from the internet. My opinion: Pretty darn adorable.

I haven't seen the movie yet, but I might.

Should I do my speech on Bukowski, Thompson, or Vonnegut, OR compare and contrast all three? Bear in mind this has to fit into 5 minutes. I probably could not explain all three (let alone one, properly) in that limited amount of time.

Either way, a class comprised mostly of business students will have a limited interest in any of my favourite writers. But I'd like to come to a decision since it's fast (and I mean fast) approaching. HALP!