One of my favourite bands is the Pixies. Let's get it straight -- everyone agree. I don't give a shit who you are, disagree in your own living room.
I tend to misjudge. I wonder how many I've misjudged and written off. I know that I wrote-off one of my current profs a few years ago, and even gave her a bad review at rateyourprofessor.com. When I had her a few years later, I found her to be great at what she does, not only that, but thankful not only for the comments she offered, but felt akin to the way in which they were written. So yeah. One few too many, as they say. It's an old saying from the Stoney region of Alberta, brought down from a mixture of sayings from Hutterites gone astray and Métis wannabe-outcasts. Seriously though, it's good to be proven wrong when I think I'm posivitively right, especially in regards to a whorl of static electricity. That being the brain. The brain of what. I don't know what to say. I need a melody.
I blew one of my ears out. My back hurts. I have a splitting headache. I think this happens whenever I try to get things done. Everything works out when I'm a lazy grubber, but as soon as I get up to do anything constructive. . .
Joy unexpectedly got on the bus today. A surprise as pure as the sun itself.
Hobo Pursuit is almost over and done with! I interviewed a 73-year-old can collector. Moe ("Just Moe, thanks.") was a very elusive person. He didn't like answering questions about his past, and he complained about the things old men complain about - the economy, students, drunkards. "Homeless men don't impress me, to tell you the truth," he said. The skin underneath his grey beard jiggled as he darted through traffic with his shopping cart, muttering things like, "this would be a bad day for collecting if it weren't for the businesess [that leave bottles]."
Empty chairs and an absolute lack of customers adorn the comic book shop. The pudgy owner with a moustache looks at me and Moe says, "I think he's from the university. He's seeing what a can collector does."
"Hi," the worker said.
"Hey," another said.
Moe went to the recycle bins at the back of the narrow, fluorescent-lit store and picked up a few dozen empty pop cans in Dr. Pepper and Coca-Cola cases.
Other than that, I'm thinking of going down to the beach tomorrow, AND I'm EQUALLY split on Valentine's Day plans. Go to EVENT A or EVENT B? They could both be either mediocre OR cool. But I think I have my mind set on a change from the original plan. Who knows. I sure as hell don't. Or do I?
I think the headache stems from a lack of caffeine. The sore back can only be explained by something that isn't me. The ear thing may be a combination of drumming without headgear and an oncoming sickness, or it may be some karma thing. Or it could be a cruel god pushing some sort of quasi-smite button.
I do have an urgency to work of late. I ran into a philosophy major the other day who was taking a course for the third time and failing it. It was about 2 p.m. and he had a 10 page thing due at four that he hadn't started. I've been there before. I don't feel like going back. That's a lot of effort et al to toss at philosophy.
Posted by matty-b at February 9, 2005 8:16 PM