Some more sad things: cosmetic surgery, Mercedes Benz (what's the plural for this?), fandoms.

Image: A fine sheen of sweat, eyes slightly glazed over, and the flickering of a computer screen. Father Mackenzie in the night when no one comes near. Why should he care?

My parents ran into some friends during their grocery shopping excursion. These friends have a four year old daughter. She begs to shop at the GAP, chooses her own wardrobe and wants high-heeled toddler shoes. This scares me very very much. She coincidentally watches a lot of T.V.

Memory: my grandmother, or occasionally, my mother, combing my hair. Combing isn't the right word because it was also pony tailing, bobbypinning and plaiting. You know, as in those books, where short comforting small talk occurs and warnings to hold still and not to lose the elastic. Bonding through hair is probably very silly, but the feeling of being taken care is incredibly comforting. Should my grandmother or mother become unable to reach around the back of their heads for proper comb traffic, I promise I will be there to do it for them.

Gwendolyn MacEwen wrote this.

The Children Are Laughing

It is monday and the children are laughing
The children are laughing; they believe they are princes
They wear no shoes; they believe they are princes
And their filthy kingdom heaves up behind them.

The filthy city heaves up behind them
They are older than I am, their feet are shoeless
They have lived a thousand years; the children are laughing
The children are laughing and their death is upon them

I have cried in the city (the children are laughing)
I have worn many colours (the children are laughing)
They are older than I am, their death is upon them
I will wear no shoes when the princes are dying.

Hopefully, over the long weekend I can slaughter the twelve fisted flying vole with these words. That or write some stuff of my oWn. Stay tuned for many more developements in the exciting world of watching Citizen Kane -- watching the beginning some more, say. You know how there's making love to a camera? The camera in the movie whores the world it looks out on, more like. The slide transitions! The all the way forever up opera house. And then Magnolia. Yippee.

What's this? The recap of day to day activities? Well, I talked into a headset and tried to stay calm during curtain and piano emergencies. Missed one math class for the homework from another. Nationalism is sickening. Multiculturalism is wide-marginally better. Just, there are no monolithic cultures. No representatives except by what it is not. Mando pop is not Mando Pop, but not-erhu, not-Canto pop, not-calligraphy ad infinitum... Cultural objects defined by what they are not because cultures can't be distilled into singular artifacts. Pluralistic solutions, people.

I just received two sweaters that are as old as I am. I can no longer hold conversations.

And oh, lacuna and Apocryphal are interesting words, as well as concepts.

On the other hand, I've almost finished Plato to Prozac and can say the Lord's Prayer in oldchurchspeak

Mini Arts Camp was tiring on three hours of sleep. The Lit. kids were so much quieter, engrossed in writing and all than the Arts and Crafts kids, which was unfortunately what 'Visual' turned out to be. They (lit) were also better conversationalists, less whiney and more decent all around. The fact there was only 5 of them might have also helped. I napped on a desk and a pile of books during the viewing of Shrek 2 --> Tuesday was 'fractured fairy tale day' -- and got some sort of allergy rash. Anran is using my postcard from Banff as a writing practice, or a plot exercise. I feel somewhat proud for the purchase.

On the way home from Toronto with my dad, there was a bit on CBC right before a gas station where the Ken Finklemen jazz guy talks about how new cars have ridiculous designs that create enormous repair bills because of the distinct way everything's moulded together and stuff about form and function. So: does form precede function or should function come before form? Discuss.

And I've finally gotten written record of the Guatemala quote:
"Consumerism subordinates basic and real needs to fictious ones. To have becomes more important than to be; appearances more important than reality.
It shapes the culture, which is really an anticulture, that dominates our society." - Gregario Iriate

I don't hate consumption, I really don't. Just the manufacture of desires and compulsion. And oh, it just occurred to me while eating pizza during the mini-camp orientation that 'consume' also has a destructive connotation: they were consumed by grief, the fire consumed everything in its path, etc. It's just strange that I've never noticed it.

As for explanation of the title, it was the funniest phase-al combination I've read all day.

I've finally started getting spam at the hotmail address. Yahoo is still safe. The quotations are still my favourite, similar to those stories of people finding the meaning of life in litter or the contents of a trash can. It's very... good of the spammers to bother with the half page of tidbits, even if the top of the pages advertises 'horny housewiefs!!' The emails begin and end with greetings in various languages. I've received at least 30 by now and there haven't been any repeats.

Today, I woke up at 12 and went to the library. Yesterday I had a good conversation about the nature of relative happiness, watched Groundhog Day and went to the U of T open house. The day before yesterday I watched Sideways, took the train to Toronto, saw various teachers at the train stations and dubiously finished a calculus test. I have 91 in discrete.

You know when Lisa feels stupid and learns about the cursed Simpson gene and despairs until she finds out it only strikes males of the family, and feels better? Same feelings here minus the genes part. I respect people who aren't good at processing math, or who can't get a handle on grammar, or who is mystified by kinematics. So why can't I respect myself when I don't understand something, or make stupid mistakes, or trip up. Why do I tie so much of my identity and self image with intelligence? Isn't this very distinction of higher standards an act of hubris? Shouldn't I be smited for this sort of elitism?

I think I miss school already, or the people at school.

In a way, we are all rag dolls, with our own pretends.

I don't mould my life and opinions and desires around you. I really don't.

And now that the incredibly cryptic-vague speak is out of the way, circle time kids.

At about 6:40 when I was missing a bus to see some improv-isation gaming the streetlight I was standing under slowly flickered out. Well, the loss of luminosity was pretty fast, but the actual filament persisted for few seconds before it died. You know that bit at the beginning of Harry Potter, when Dumbledore takes a silver lighter object, and clicks off the lights one by one? It felt like that. Very deliciously so. And there's a poem by T. S. Eliot--Preludes I--that ends in a verbish noun phrase out of junction with the rest of it. Somewhat modernistlookitmego, but still very good. So yes, I was also reminded of that. Even though the poem had more of cityscape than the thoroughly suburbial bus stop I was at.

Note: I don't think I actually live in what counts as the shrubs. Twenty years ago it might have been, but the city's expanded to the point that it's just a strange residential demiland between downtown and the skirting outs.

I rode a lot of buses today. And missed even more. The missing part resulted in only catching the last act of Roses of Eyam, the school play that dude talks about. It was solemn and well paced with good moments. Not everyone standing up to applaud whooped, not even close. Moral implications could still be retained with standing ovations.

The traveling to downtown bus was very crowded. There were people waiting at the stop for long periods of time who were shut out. I was naively happy about public transporation until I noticed this fact. This fact coupled with the observation that the back of the bus was close to empty. People cluster around doors. Everyone wants an escape route.

Massive Attack is getting better with every listen.

What is more beautiful than an egg? I got to hold a chicken-warm one the last time I went to China and most mornings I hold stove-warmed hard boiled eggs. And try not to think about what sort of antibiotics they've crammed down the chicken's gullet. Nevertheless, what a design project Mr. Creator must have had. "To make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe." Promises to seek out free-range eggs. Pictograph: herds of freely roaming eggs in their natural habitat.

There is a song called Transworld Modal Operator, on an album called Bang, The Earth is Round by people called Sugarplastic. That alone should be worth the price of admission.

What a stupid idea. Or, this was a stupid idea. And, you are a stupid idea.

No, I don't want to dance a jig and get over it. Yes, it balances very well, too well at a point. Equivalence point, even.

Then I'll tabula rasa you.

Not staying. Not staying. Repeat. Not staying.

Repeats refrain from yesterday. Or was that today! ChucklekneeslapGee.

Though I did get free ice cream with Krista. Yahoo!-Baskin-Robbins-printed-out-coupon free ice cream.

Nightswimming falls under 'jangle rock'

My mom is very good for conversation. She has funny interpretations of people who come over. Mostly mixing up names and character traits. The last few days have been like relationship therapy 202. However, everything I could possibly think to advise about anything have been said at least 2 score times and some. Probably more clearly, coherently and elegantly all around. So I'll just shut up here. Just, relationship is an ugly word. Let's sink it. 'Dating' and 'hit(ting) on,' in that context as well. A cannonball will do.

Do you love someone's mannerisms because you love them. OR do you love someone because you love their mannerisms. Discuss.

In other happenings, the thing with TV is that you forget that it could be trash until you're watching it. It's become such a mecca of entertainmentvision that I didn't even consider shows might be mindnumbing brain freezers and that a television preview screening might be boring. Even focus grouping turned lame when the consumer consulting part of it kicked in. As in the very beginning. As in, they're going to show and gauge commercials, stupid. There's no way of winning since any advice would help to perpetuate this 'creation of needs' cycle. An exception would be if I lied and tabulated awful colour schemes and nauseating jingles as 'favourable' in the hopes that results would be skewered and people would be turned off. Turned off is an odd phrase.

It snowed heavily. While shoveling, I had a quick conversation with the neighbour, who's taking a year off after gr 12 visual and wants to go to McGill or Queens. The snow was the good shoveling kind. George Klein, Canadian inventor extraordinaire, came up with the snow classification system in use today. Good shoveling snow would fit in.

More unrelated, ugh. What a terrible day. I need to get out of here. Crosses fingers for UBC acceptance. Or maybe sleeping more will do as well.