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Saturday, March 15, 2003

Ever make a passing comment to someone about a particular subject, only to have them launch head-first into a discussion about it?
Take, for example, my statement of "Those dancing mice in Babe? Not cute." I could say that to you, and you could immediatly begin ranting on how the dancing mice actually represent some deep psychological meaning that is central to the movie Babe, which is not actually about a pig, but a manifestation of the human race today. Oh, and the guy that trained the mice was your uncle's best friend. His name is Bob, and his favorite color is green.
This outpour would make me feel extremely uncomfortable, and I would probably want to leave. But I couldn't, because you would still be going on about how you bought Bob a pair of green socks one year. It would be rude to leave as you were talking.
All this leads up to one thing: I'm glad my town is not big enough to hold Star Trek conventions, because I really do not want to engage in passionate discussions on Spock with random passerby.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 12:30 PM

Friday, March 14, 2003

Friday night. I sit listlessly in the living room, preparing myself for night of home-decorating show marathons. It's not my fault that there's no good movies opening this weekend. Only something about a neurotic guy with an army of rodents.
I don't like rodents. I think it might have been the scene in The Princess Bride with the ROUS that initially scared me. Or perhaps it was the episode in which our third grade class rat died during my week to feed him. The substitute teacher threw him in the garbage.
Those dancing mice in Babe? Not cute.
Then again, neither am I.
Random brit-pop bands fill the void.
I'm a well-rounded being. Really. Pass the Whoppers.
For future reference, I'm considering suing the newspaper kid as he always leaves the paper directly in front of the door, so that when you try to open the door to retrieve the paper you cannot, because the paper itself is blocking the door.
For futher future reference, I really should limit my comma use, as it's getting to the point of being well, rather, excessive.
See? Excessive.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:21 PM

Thursday, March 13, 2003

So, get this: at 6:30 this morning school was delayed two hours due to snow. At 8:30 it was canceled altogether due to ice. And at 3:30 this afternoon, it was a healthy 65 degrees out. Not bad for March in Michigan.
This called for a trip to the optomitrist's. Ok, well, no it didn't, as I was going to go anyway, but I went nonetheless. It turned out my stigmatism has been corrected. I left with a new prescription for contacts and some pretty neato pictures of the random eye machinery they have in there.
A friend's birthday is coming up in the next week, so I headed to Best Buy to pick up a copy of Badly Drawn Boy's soundtrack to About A Boy, which, seriously, has got to be one of the greatest movies of all time.
As I forked over my $15.65 to pay for the disk, the cashier apparently could not resist telling me about how the Dell Dude got arrested. Keep in mind that this happened over a month ago. I forced a laugh, commented dryly about how one must keep up with such things, and was off.
I decided to go to the mall for no apparent reason, and somehow managed to wander into Bath and Body Works. The stench of meditation candles almost knocked me out. A flamboyently gay man waltzed up to me and immediatley began spritzing white tea and ginger body fragrance on me, telling me that I smelled fab-u-lous. His hair was better than mine. It made me envious, so I did not buy the body spray. Sarah McLaughlan music continued to play.
It was a very satisfying day.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 4:10 PM

Did y'all know that Barbara Bush is the daughter of some publishing guru heirs? I guessed Nancy Reagan, and so was denied my pie piece. My pie piece of knowledge!
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:06 AM

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

Amazing, motion sensors are. I discovered one on the ceiling of my English class today when the lights were off as we watched "A Midsummer's Night Dream". I spent the movie convulsing my neck, arms, etc; doing anything to set the green light on a blinking frenzy.
The ride home was uneventful. There was nothing to talk about, of course. An entire conversation cannot be centered around motion sensors, nor can one be focused merely on donkeys becoming love objects.
My church is starting a "listening" campaign, a ploy to get to know the congregation in an extremely awkward way. We're all being carted in to blabber on for 30 minutes, as an elder or deacon listens. Know those scenes in movies where they use guillotines to chop lettuce heads in half? I'm feeling rather green and leafy today.
I have no idea what to talk about. Church? Not interested enough at this point in my life. Music? I can't see them embracing my musical tastes. Love? They'll probably give me a no-sex speech, even though that was not where I was going anyway. My life? As if they could get to know me in a half hour, a blink in time, most of which would be spent with me blathering on about motion sensors. What fools these mortals be!

Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:39 PM