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cyranoAnother mystery guest appears--Hello mystery guest! (: Hope you enjoy yourself. Or enjoy me. Whatever.
There was a discussion on her page about Tori Amos, and here's where I can ask if anybody knows what the heck a Cornflake Girl is. I've heard the phrase in a Tori Amos song and a Billy Bragg song, so I'm guessing it's a Britism that I'm unfamiliar with.
She also had an interesting link which makes me think this LJ thing is all wide spread and ubiquitous. (To get your own LJ blender, change out my account name for your own in the URL.)
I have that 'We are the lucky ones' song from Buffy stuck in my head. If it refuses to go away, I may have to borrow the CD from Emily (Saint Emily the Just, Healer of Stuffed Animals). It's a really nice waltz with a bittersweet sound to it, but I have no idea what the lyrics are.
It's kind of amazing that anything's stuck in my head--my attention span is nearly nothing, and there are a thousand different things spinning through my head. I'm tired, but not the least bit sleepy. Cindy is going to try and get some recommendations on driving schools for me, and I think I can probably make a start by the end of the week.
I put up another bookshelf this weekend (got my tool-user gene some exercise), and transferred my nominally 'non-fiction' books onto it, and now I can reorganise my books, maybe keep most of them visible. Cleaned a goodly portion of the house with the help of my wonderful housemate, and after making dinner the kitchen is more or less clean. I even brushed (ever so lightly) over that stupid story that I wrote the first draft of two years ago and then set it on a web-based shelf and left it to collect dust. Missed out on going to the movies but Leigh Ann says she'll make it up to me. Woo. I think the oil spot on our rug from fondue-ing is finally history, and now all I need to do is find a packet of mint seeds and plant that ugly bare spot in the front yard. Mmmm. Mint. Taking over and growing wild. W007.
This must be one of those 'stream of consciousness' entries that my friend Mark talked about. Fragmented, no direction, no form, no flow. It's like reading a Saturday morning cartoon with no action or violence after eating several bowls of sugared cereal.
There was a discussion on her page about Tori Amos, and here's where I can ask if anybody knows what the heck a Cornflake Girl is. I've heard the phrase in a Tori Amos song and a Billy Bragg song, so I'm guessing it's a Britism that I'm unfamiliar with.
She also had an interesting link which makes me think this LJ thing is all wide spread and ubiquitous. (To get your own LJ blender, change out my account name for your own in the URL.)
I have that 'We are the lucky ones' song from Buffy stuck in my head. If it refuses to go away, I may have to borrow the CD from Emily (Saint Emily the Just, Healer of Stuffed Animals). It's a really nice waltz with a bittersweet sound to it, but I have no idea what the lyrics are.
It's kind of amazing that anything's stuck in my head--my attention span is nearly nothing, and there are a thousand different things spinning through my head. I'm tired, but not the least bit sleepy. Cindy is going to try and get some recommendations on driving schools for me, and I think I can probably make a start by the end of the week.
I put up another bookshelf this weekend (got my tool-user gene some exercise), and transferred my nominally 'non-fiction' books onto it, and now I can reorganise my books, maybe keep most of them visible. Cleaned a goodly portion of the house with the help of my wonderful housemate, and after making dinner the kitchen is more or less clean. I even brushed (ever so lightly) over that stupid story that I wrote the first draft of two years ago and then set it on a web-based shelf and left it to collect dust. Missed out on going to the movies but Leigh Ann says she'll make it up to me. Woo. I think the oil spot on our rug from fondue-ing is finally history, and now all I need to do is find a packet of mint seeds and plant that ugly bare spot in the front yard. Mmmm. Mint. Taking over and growing wild. W007.
This must be one of those 'stream of consciousness' entries that my friend Mark talked about. Fragmented, no direction, no form, no flow. It's like reading a Saturday morning cartoon with no action or violence after eating several bowls of sugared cereal.