Something tells you that youve got to get away from itVagina Monologues went well. Paul saw it last night, but he didn't like it. He argued that one of the monologues glorified statutory rape (the monologue deals with a same-sex relationship the speaker had when she was 16, which she considered a salvation of sorts), which is true. However, it makes me sad that this seems to be the biggest thing he walked away with.
Afterwards, I watched BSG with Zack and
lomer. I liked the episode overall, though I think they tried to curry the audience's favour-- first toward the working class, then toward the bigger picture-- a bit more heavy-handedly than I'd like; especially given Roslin's reactions. Oh, and please kill the damned "bonus scenes" already. You're stealing time from my precious show to give me out-of-context scenes that may or may not be applicable to the storyline as a whole. Just leave the scene where it was if you want to use it, save it for the DVD if you don't. None of this "here, this is extra special because I didn't give it to you when it would made sense to" nonsense. It's like getting the mashed potatoes after dessert. Leaves a bad taste in my mouth, it does (or at least an odd taste).Birds insist on building a nest over our front porch hanging lamp. I've tried everything-- removing the nests as they're making them, putting vile perfume up there, turning the light on, letting the cats out, everything. "This is not a good place to live, birdies!" I yell. Paul opens the large umbrella at them, open and close, open and close, like some territorial frog. Nothing fazes them.
This is suburbia. We have a large yard, and a birdbath out back. It's not like there's a shortage of places to live here. Move your construction efforts elsewhere, little birds!
Work's insane. I suck. That is all. This project is kicking my butt.
I want to live I want to love I want to dance in the rain, sing bad karaoke, fly kites. I want to climb trees, walk in the woods, eat ice cream. I want to make love in the moonlight. I want to do stage combat. I want to act. I want to build elaborate sandcastles. I want to roll for initiative. I want to make up words, recipes and my face. I want to primal scream. I want to zoom, schwartz and figliano. I want to build forts in the living room out of blankets and chairs. I want to race leaf boats in the gutters on rainy days. I want to break into song in the produce section. I want to play the mandolin. I want to ride carousels. I want to watch clouds roll by. I want to go camping. I want to draw, to fingerpaint, to spirograph. I want to talk to the animals. I want to drink tea. I want to drink whiskey in an Irish pub, singing songs. I want to lift weights. I want to play frisbee. I want to drive my car too fast. I want to splash. I want to read your tarot cards. I want to communicate with my hands, my voice, flags and aldis lamps. I want to stomp grapes (just once). I want to smell old books. I want to... well, nevermind.
Time to get on the phone for a meeting.
I remember way back then when everything was true and when We would have such a very good time Such a fine time, such a happy time And I remember how we'd play, simply waste the day away Then we'd say nothing would come Between us two dreamers
