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Well, here I am as usual, saying nothing of any significance. This weekend I'm going to Austin (which is kind of a good thing as it gave me a partial excuse to avoid being excessively browbeaten by Megan today; not going to explain because it's complicated and embarrassing), doing an overnight visit at Plan II because my mom doesn't want me to really decide where I want to go until I've stayed with students at both schools. (UT Plan II Honors and Rice. The only ones I applied to.) She's also making me e-mail some cousin I've never heard of named Connie, to get the e-mail address of another cousin I've never heard of named Kimberly, who is apparently Connie's daughter and a Plan II student, in case we have a chance to go out for lunch, although God alone knows why Kimberly would be interested in going out for lunch with us (me and my mom) seeing as how we are complete strangers to her. (This is one of those complicated cousinships. Her grandmother is my great-great-aunt Louise, the sister of my great-grandfather; she's actually in my mom's generation, but Louise is the youngest of the great-grandparents' generation and Connie is her youngest kid, so Kimberly is much closer to my age. I have a very large and difficult family tree. We're thinking of making a Powerpoint presentation with names, photos, etc. for those who marry into the family.)
I'm kind of enjoying all the Valentine nonsense, mainly because I get candy hearts. Although some of them have distinctly unromantic sayings on them. Such as "FAX ME." I mean, seriously, how sexy is a fax? Not only is it impersonal, but it also makes horrible annoying beepy noises.
Today I was hunting vaguely around my room -- hunting because I knew I was looking for something, vaguely because I couldn't quite remember what it was -- and I spotted a Ray Bradbury short story collection, The Machineries of Joy, that looked unfamiliar, picked it up and thumbed through it, and discovered that I HAD ONLY READ THE FIRST STORY!!! It brought a little piece of joy into my life. Finding Ray Bradbury stories that I've never read does that to me. Which is why I haunt the sci-fi sections of used bookstores. (Used-book stores? Used-bookstores? I can't find a way to punctuate that that doesn't either look stupid or imply that it's the bookstores, not the books, that are used.)
My Lego people are currently lined up in a tidy little chorus line, doing high kicks (well, as high as Lego people can kick, which is about as high as their waists and not actually very high). I am planning an icon with a caption along the lines of, "Life is a cabaret."
Further nattering later. Am sick and should therefore go to bed early. Won't, but should.
I'm kind of enjoying all the Valentine nonsense, mainly because I get candy hearts. Although some of them have distinctly unromantic sayings on them. Such as "FAX ME." I mean, seriously, how sexy is a fax? Not only is it impersonal, but it also makes horrible annoying beepy noises.
Today I was hunting vaguely around my room -- hunting because I knew I was looking for something, vaguely because I couldn't quite remember what it was -- and I spotted a Ray Bradbury short story collection, The Machineries of Joy, that looked unfamiliar, picked it up and thumbed through it, and discovered that I HAD ONLY READ THE FIRST STORY!!! It brought a little piece of joy into my life. Finding Ray Bradbury stories that I've never read does that to me. Which is why I haunt the sci-fi sections of used bookstores. (Used-book stores? Used-bookstores? I can't find a way to punctuate that that doesn't either look stupid or imply that it's the bookstores, not the books, that are used.)
My Lego people are currently lined up in a tidy little chorus line, doing high kicks (well, as high as Lego people can kick, which is about as high as their waists and not actually very high). I am planning an icon with a caption along the lines of, "Life is a cabaret."
Further nattering later. Am sick and should therefore go to bed early. Won't, but should.
