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Entry tags:
Isolationism, Disarmament, and Protectionism
Why can't I be loved as what I am--
A wolf among wolves...
As I mentioned in my last entry, I have been so freakin' busy. So busy, in fact, that I've been way more stressed out than I have been in a long time. I've been so stressed out that it's manifested itself in physical symptoms--I've been turning into a monster! I might actually be lycanthropizing.
Speaking of, Sadie has begun to growl. This is how it starts.
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
We are working on organizing our thoughts on Inglourious Basterds for Boob Tube, but in short: I loved it, I have a raging crush on Daniel Brühl, my raging crush on August Diehl continues unabated. The equivalent of porn to me, below:
It's clear as black and white, like a fat panda.
Don't think the birth of a panda at San Diego Zoo went unnoticed by me. I get alerts from PNN, yo. By the way, since the earthquake, 25 have been born to the Wolong pandas (currently chillin' at Ya'an). Ugh, this guy.
Sydney Ellen Wade: Oh, Andy, a C minus in Women's Studies?
President Andrew Shepherd: Yeah, well, that class wasn't about what I thought it was about.
Mainly I've been busy with starting school, adjusting to a new school, and trying to construct a schedule I can live with. I finally settled it with women's studies, an American lit class, an online anthropology class, and my favorite, a class on the history of film. We'll be watching Un Chien Andalou (of course), so I can't wait to share my favorite story about it. Hit it, Ebert: I am fond of his practical approach to matters. Warned that angry mobs might storm the screen at the Paris premiere of "Un Chien Andalou," he filled his pockets with stones to throw at them.
PS: I am in women's studies because I wrote down the wrong room number and went to women's studies instead of the class I was supposed to be in. I ended up liking it more, though, so I switched.
We have to live without sympathy, don't we? We can't do that forever. One can't stay out of doors all the time. One needs to come in from the cold.
I read The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. What a book! I dreaded anyone asking me what it was about because all I would have been able to offer is an um-studded babble of "It's about this spy, um, who comes in from the cold...." I had no idea how it was all going to go until the last chapters and the ending knocked me flat, much like the last four words of 1984.
The Gonstad girls are all alike!
I've had an overload of family experiences this week. Last Saturday, we had a party for Sadie's first birthday. During, my dad decided that he and my uncle should take a look at my car, because I couldn't open the hood. (I hit a guy, okay?) They got the hood open, forced some things back into place (after gleefully realizing they'd "have" to chain my car to my dad's truck to do so), and checked the various fluids and whatnot, which were all low (because I couldn't open the hood!). Then my uncle declared the previous italicized statement, because one of my cousins apparently recently brushed off her need for an oil change.
We also had a memorial service for my paternal grandfather on Thursday. Most of us, I don't think, realized that it would also be used as an opportunity to remember our paternal grandmother as well (she passed over a decade ago). That was bad enough (no one was able to mention her without choking up), but they played a slideshow, which featured my dad and siblings with afros, my cousin Jana and me as FAT BABIES!!! (tm, key lime pie), and then a horrific trip through the 80s. I am glad I am nearly unrecognizable in those.
A wolf among wolves...
As I mentioned in my last entry, I have been so freakin' busy. So busy, in fact, that I've been way more stressed out than I have been in a long time. I've been so stressed out that it's manifested itself in physical symptoms--I've been turning into a monster! I might actually be lycanthropizing.
Speaking of, Sadie has begun to growl. This is how it starts.
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
We are working on organizing our thoughts on Inglourious Basterds for Boob Tube, but in short: I loved it, I have a raging crush on Daniel Brühl, my raging crush on August Diehl continues unabated. The equivalent of porn to me, below:
It's clear as black and white, like a fat panda.
Don't think the birth of a panda at San Diego Zoo went unnoticed by me. I get alerts from PNN, yo. By the way, since the earthquake, 25 have been born to the Wolong pandas (currently chillin' at Ya'an). Ugh, this guy.
Sydney Ellen Wade: Oh, Andy, a C minus in Women's Studies?
President Andrew Shepherd: Yeah, well, that class wasn't about what I thought it was about.
Mainly I've been busy with starting school, adjusting to a new school, and trying to construct a schedule I can live with. I finally settled it with women's studies, an American lit class, an online anthropology class, and my favorite, a class on the history of film. We'll be watching Un Chien Andalou (of course), so I can't wait to share my favorite story about it. Hit it, Ebert: I am fond of his practical approach to matters. Warned that angry mobs might storm the screen at the Paris premiere of "Un Chien Andalou," he filled his pockets with stones to throw at them.
PS: I am in women's studies because I wrote down the wrong room number and went to women's studies instead of the class I was supposed to be in. I ended up liking it more, though, so I switched.
We have to live without sympathy, don't we? We can't do that forever. One can't stay out of doors all the time. One needs to come in from the cold.
I read The Spy Who Came In From the Cold. What a book! I dreaded anyone asking me what it was about because all I would have been able to offer is an um-studded babble of "It's about this spy, um, who comes in from the cold...." I had no idea how it was all going to go until the last chapters and the ending knocked me flat, much like the last four words of 1984.
The Gonstad girls are all alike!
I've had an overload of family experiences this week. Last Saturday, we had a party for Sadie's first birthday. During, my dad decided that he and my uncle should take a look at my car, because I couldn't open the hood. (I hit a guy, okay?) They got the hood open, forced some things back into place (after gleefully realizing they'd "have" to chain my car to my dad's truck to do so), and checked the various fluids and whatnot, which were all low (because I couldn't open the hood!). Then my uncle declared the previous italicized statement, because one of my cousins apparently recently brushed off her need for an oil change.
We also had a memorial service for my paternal grandfather on Thursday. Most of us, I don't think, realized that it would also be used as an opportunity to remember our paternal grandmother as well (she passed over a decade ago). That was bad enough (no one was able to mention her without choking up), but they played a slideshow, which featured my dad and siblings with afros, my cousin Jana and me as FAT BABIES!!! (tm, key lime pie), and then a horrific trip through the 80s. I am glad I am nearly unrecognizable in those.