Dull. (as in without a point)

8:30am classes suck enough as it is, but when you overcome your bed's incredible comfiness and actually haul yourself to the school only to find a "Class Cancelled" sign on the door, it's a little disheartening. I wasn't particularly looking forward to the class, but now I'm stuck here for another 6 hours before my next class. This site will be updated many a time, I'm sure.

I haven't done a lyric of the week for a while, so here it is. This is from Broken Social Scene's "Anthem for a Seventeen Year Old Girl":

Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.
Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me.

You'd think that would get monotonous, but I could probably listen to this song for most of the day and not get sick of it.

Norah Jones has a strange calming effect on me. It makes me wonder if she has this effect on everyone. If so, she must be the most relaxed person in the world. And her dad IS Ravi Shankar, so... Who knows? I should have added her to my list of women in music whom I admire from a while back. ("Whom." What a weirdo.)



I think I've decided to not be jealous of people who can draw well. I'm pretty well versed in stick people drawing, and I hold that I can make a circle and a collection of lines every bit as expressive as a fully realized drawing of a person. Perhaps moreso, because there's more to interpret! But I will probably never be able to compete with someone like my high school friend Virginia, who can do things like this:



Hope she doesn't mind me stealing from her MSN site, but it's free advertising (she does portraits)! And I'll probably take it down if she wants me to. Did I mention that I broke Virginia's nose in high school? Then we went to the prom together (not consecutively). She's a pretty swingin' bird! Not too many girls would forgive the guy who broke their nose, let alone accompany them to the formal. That picture is awesome.

The following is a legitimate question that came out of an hour of discussion of Margaret Atwood's poetry, so without that hour, it won't make much sense, but it sounds good out of context, so here we go:

"Why would you put salt on a uterus?"

And so I leave you with that to ponder. I'ma go sleep, then reject the idea of doing homework. maybe read my lines. I'm about 75% memorized, but I feel like a fragmented hard drive.

Ciao for niao.

EDIT: The freakin' Brenda Wallace room is closed from 8 - 5 today. What could be more important?