Vagina 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