All summer, sadly, I have been looking forward to returning to school in the fall. I say sadly because I remember well how much I looked forward to summer vacation as a child. Now, though, I can't help but to feel that I have outgrown the town I live in (as anyone who lives here will eventually do). This creates a lot of frustration for me when I have to go back for breaks or spend any significant length of time in the town. It isn't that I feel as though I'm too good for the town (and not just because I have such a hard time with that particular abstract noun) but I just get so bored when I am here with nothing to do and that makes me tired. And being tired all the time is draining on a person. Thus, I have been eagerly awaiting the day that I get to leave again.
That day, as it happens, is this Sunday. I plan to leave very early in the morning and get to school as soon as possible. In fact, I have even started packing already (and that's big for me) because, well, there's nothing else to do.
I would not be in such dire straits if my car hadn't been murdered by my brother's fiancée (about whom a blog could be kept to track all of the stupid actions she performs during any gien day). Without a car, it's impossible to get a job in this town (as there are literally only three places to work and none of them are ever hiring). The cycle continues because no car means no job means no money means no car means no job.
But Sunday it's all done!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Wretched Racko
This morning I was awoken, yet again, by my all-too-noisy cousin Chris singing on his way up the stairs. Good morning, world. Nine o'clock in the morning in the waning days of a summer vacation (a day with no plans except sleeping in, no less) is far too early an hour to be rudely awakened. And upon being woken up, I was harassed by several people into a game of Racko. I haven't played it in a long time, and apparently it has been a long-enough time for me to forget my intense hatred of that game.
When I was younger, I used to have to spend one weekend every few weeks at my grandmother's. She is card-obsessed and I used to have to play Racko several times a day, at least, for the entire duration of the weekend. A nine-year-old who only wants to go outside and play (which I only really wanted to do at my grandmother's, probably as a result of the card-playing alternative) is not mollified by endless games of Racko, golf, rummy, 21, Skip-Bo and Uno. The only three of those games for which I acquired a long-lasting dislike are Racko, golf and rummy.
But this morning I forgot that Racko was on that list. About forty seconds into the game, I was hit by the recollection of my deep-seated hatred of that game. My family, however, has the policy that if you start a game you have to see it through. I was stuck. I'm sure everyone knows the feeling.
The problem was compounded by the fact that everyone's patterns shared at least one card with another player's. The game went on and on, with everyone picking up cards and immediately discarding them. Everyone knew what was going on, but, true to form, no one acknowledged the ugly truth. It became a waiting game, with all four players hoping someone else would crack first and try for an entirely new pattern. Since everyone was only one or two cards from winning, though, no one was willing to try to get a whole new pattern as they knew they'd not have the time and each card thrown out from their rack risked the game for them.
The end result was that everyone got tired of the game and everyone decided to end it so that nobody won. It sounds a lot like some government plans that have been implemented, but the events are on such a different scale that it would be a superficial connection anyway.
I guess that's it for now.
When I was younger, I used to have to spend one weekend every few weeks at my grandmother's. She is card-obsessed and I used to have to play Racko several times a day, at least, for the entire duration of the weekend. A nine-year-old who only wants to go outside and play (which I only really wanted to do at my grandmother's, probably as a result of the card-playing alternative) is not mollified by endless games of Racko, golf, rummy, 21, Skip-Bo and Uno. The only three of those games for which I acquired a long-lasting dislike are Racko, golf and rummy.
But this morning I forgot that Racko was on that list. About forty seconds into the game, I was hit by the recollection of my deep-seated hatred of that game. My family, however, has the policy that if you start a game you have to see it through. I was stuck. I'm sure everyone knows the feeling.
The problem was compounded by the fact that everyone's patterns shared at least one card with another player's. The game went on and on, with everyone picking up cards and immediately discarding them. Everyone knew what was going on, but, true to form, no one acknowledged the ugly truth. It became a waiting game, with all four players hoping someone else would crack first and try for an entirely new pattern. Since everyone was only one or two cards from winning, though, no one was willing to try to get a whole new pattern as they knew they'd not have the time and each card thrown out from their rack risked the game for them.
The end result was that everyone got tired of the game and everyone decided to end it so that nobody won. It sounds a lot like some government plans that have been implemented, but the events are on such a different scale that it would be a superficial connection anyway.
I guess that's it for now.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Short-term happiness from one petty act.
A few months ago, in (what passes for me as) a fit of rage, I posted a definition on the Urban Dictionary website (urbandictionary.com, oddly) for the name of my brother's fiancee, Noel, on the site with a lengthy and scathing definition. It pretty much attacked everything about her and made me feel better. I know about their screening process and "inside jokes" are supposedly rejected in the review process, so I never actually expected it to make it to the site. And I proceeded to forget all about it. Until today.
Facebook is a wonderful tool for me to look at, because many times my friends' statuses jog my memory about something I either did, forgot to do, should have done but decided to put off or had simply refused to do but (upon being reminded ofsaid "something") had a change of heart which caused me to do whatever it was about which I had refused. Today my friend's status referred to a new favorite non-word ("Rumsfail," if you're curious). That reminded me of my post and I went on the site immediately to see what had become of it. I found my definition and was pleased at once. In a rare act of nostalgia, I read through it, grinning all the while. Until I noticed one sentence missing a comma at the end of the third paragraph (I tend to ramble).
My happiness dissolved at once and I tried to edit the post, but I couldn't for the life of me remember the password for the account I'd made, so any possibility of that was dashed.
I guess the moral of this story is to always use the same password for everything, despite what the Internet security people say about hacking. In retrospect, if they got the password to my online banking, it really doesn't change anything if they get the password for my Urban Dictionary account as well.
Three cheers for bad foresight. Also, enjoy this:
(I do so enjoy kitties).
Facebook is a wonderful tool for me to look at, because many times my friends' statuses jog my memory about something I either did, forgot to do, should have done but decided to put off or had simply refused to do but (upon being reminded ofsaid "something") had a change of heart which caused me to do whatever it was about which I had refused. Today my friend's status referred to a new favorite non-word ("Rumsfail," if you're curious). That reminded me of my post and I went on the site immediately to see what had become of it. I found my definition and was pleased at once. In a rare act of nostalgia, I read through it, grinning all the while. Until I noticed one sentence missing a comma at the end of the third paragraph (I tend to ramble).
My happiness dissolved at once and I tried to edit the post, but I couldn't for the life of me remember the password for the account I'd made, so any possibility of that was dashed.
I guess the moral of this story is to always use the same password for everything, despite what the Internet security people say about hacking. In retrospect, if they got the password to my online banking, it really doesn't change anything if they get the password for my Urban Dictionary account as well.
Three cheers for bad foresight. Also, enjoy this:
(I do so enjoy kitties).
Friday, August 7, 2009
Back in Business and Izzard.
Well, last night I had a really strange dream involving the Hitler balloon in Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and I have decided to take up blogging again. The two events are totally unrelated, but that doesn't change the validity of either.
Since I lack anything real to blog about, I have decided to write about Eddie Izzard. Though he's been a performing comedian for a number of years now (you can tell from the outfits that he wears, assuming he doesn't enjoy dressing in all the hottest out-of-fashions), I have only recently been introduced to his comedy. My favorite excerpt from one of his shows so far will now be posted:
This is pretty representative of his comedic style. As an aside, Izzard identifies as a straight transvestite, and seems to enjoy the gamut of reactions his clothing draws.
If you're unfamiliar with Izzard, I would definitely recommend watching some of the clips on YouTube and familiarizing yourself. If you opt out, I won't lose sleep over it, though.
Since I lack anything real to blog about, I have decided to write about Eddie Izzard. Though he's been a performing comedian for a number of years now (you can tell from the outfits that he wears, assuming he doesn't enjoy dressing in all the hottest out-of-fashions), I have only recently been introduced to his comedy. My favorite excerpt from one of his shows so far will now be posted:
This is pretty representative of his comedic style. As an aside, Izzard identifies as a straight transvestite, and seems to enjoy the gamut of reactions his clothing draws.
If you're unfamiliar with Izzard, I would definitely recommend watching some of the clips on YouTube and familiarizing yourself. If you opt out, I won't lose sleep over it, though.
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