Tidings of Comfort, Joy, and Irritation

New Year's Resolution: To write in my blog weekly, rather than whenever I feel like it. So Sunday is now my update day, and I am all about starting this week while the resolution is still fresh. Earlier the start, sooner the habit forms.

I'm hoping that will also work with flossing. I hate flossing.

Anyway. I've survived my first Christmas away from home with somewhat less pain than predicted. What sucked was that on like, December 23, I got sick, in the dramatic way that my body does, wherein I am perfectly fine one day and wake up the next with The Blob That Ate Tokyo sitting in my nasal cavity, and then on the third I have a light case of the sniffles. But I lost all energy for a few days and woke up Christmas morning in a room covered in Kleenex and it was faintly depressing.

But then I went over to my friend Allette's house, and hung around chatting with her and her husband and playing with her daughters and generally having a nice relaxing time of it. KitKat and Nebcla showed up a little later, and so we could talk a bit of shop and have plenty of fun. Thus the secret to Christmas away from home is the same as the secret of birthdays away from home: take it easy and give yourself a break.

What is not getting off so easy is stupid Royal Mail and UPS, who managed to deliver my big family box the day after Christmas. Like, thanks, kids. It is exactly a big enough deal to be annoying, because the presents for my family are small, and would have been a nice addition to Christmas but are a little silly to be getting their own party. But whatever. I am glad they got there, and there's not much else I can do.

SPEAKING of mail, I am unimpressed with the campus services (or lack thereof) over break. The building with the laundry room and the mail delivery point was closed over Christmas and is open now only six hours a day. Well, there aren't many of us here, and I can live with that. What annoys me is that the people who work to keep it open are leaving early every single chance they get. They're only even supposed to be there from ten to four, but they'll leave early whenever humanly possible. I got told off yesterday for bringing my laundry in at 2:03pm, because the porter had been planning on going home at two. "Last wash is at two," he said, all annoyed, "so that I can leave by four." What time was it? As aforementioned, it was 2:03. And then he complained that now, because I had the audacity to do my laundry, he would have to stay for "another two hours." Namely... until four. Which was when he was supposed to leave anyway. In the US, you do not get to complain about actually having to finish your shift at work. For serious. And he was, to me, quite a lot. Like five solid minutes of wondering aloud why I couldn't get out of bed sooner to do my damn laundry. What time did my laundry finish? 3:45. So it wasn't like I was making him stay late, even. When I tried to check my mail today, around 3, the office was long deserted. Dude, if you don't want to actually do the work you're paid to do, quit, fool. It's what I did. But don't bitch to me about actually having to work (read: sit around on your ass on campus instead of at home) because I need some clean clothes.

Now that the room's clean and the laundry's done, I have nothing to think about except how little I want to start my over-break homework. I've been putting it off all day. (Well, all eight hours since I woke up, anyway. You can tell I'm back at a university, anticipating paper-writing, from my sleep schedule, which has been atrocious recently.) Actually, I've been putting it off since the start of break, but now break is half over and I'm going to die painfully if I don't get going on it.

Jeez, if this is all it takes to get me going, updating every week should be cake. Possibly the trick is to have a paper due every Monday.


This Week in Devon

Seen: Cows. No, really, because today for the first time, there were cows in the pasture that I walk by to get to the Drama building. This pasture is reasonably large, and has quite a steep ravine running through it, as well as plenty of flora along the edges. So I do not know if the cows have always been there, or if they are a new addition. But there they are, a dozen or so black and white cows, now part of my morning walk.

Heard: A detailed plot synopsis of The Sound of Music including musical interludes of "Do Re Mi" and "Something Good." The interesting part is that I heard this through my kitchen window (which must perforce remain permanently open so that the super-sensitive smoke detectors don't go off merely because someone walks near the stove). So someone was giving this synopsis either above, below, or kitty-corner to me, also with their window open. I was tempted to start belting out "Eidelweiss" while doing my dishes, just to hear their reaction, but I have not the singing skills.

Smelt: The difference in the air between "cool," "crisp," "clear, but with a promise of rain," "foggy, but not rainy," and "pack your umbrella, fool." I am just getting the hang of this whole weather phenomenon. My favorite smell is "clear with a promise of rain" because it smells so soft, and clean, like some sort of atmospheric laundry detergent. Without actually smelling like laundry detergent, of course.

Tasted: Or rather, un-tasted: the avocado I bought from the farmer's market. I knew it, I knew that buying an avocado in England was a bad idea -- how can they ripen with no sun? -- and yet I missed California enough that I let the farmer's marked dude talk me into buying one for 70p. I knew better, I did, and yet I bought it anyway. And lo and behold, cooked into my quesadilla this evening was the Phantom Avocado of No Flavor. (The hot pasty I had for lunch was good though. God bless Oggy Oggy.)

Touched: My friend Nebcla's hair, which is awesome. If you've ever read Ramona the Pest, perhaps you remember how she got in major trouble in kindergarten for pulling Susan's hair. Susan is described as having red ringlets that corkscrew around so that when you pull them and release them, they bounce. (Ramona always says "Boing!" when she pulls Susan's hair, in the book.) I always thought such hair was a myth, created by a children's author, like princesses and dragons and children who drop out of kindergarten and mothers who let them get away with it. But no! Well, the other stuff is a myth, yeah, but my friend Nebcla really does have hair like Susan's and every now and then she lets me boing it.


"I will swear to study so, to know the thing I am forbid to know"

Yeah, um, that whole bit about promising to keep up with my blog when I left? *shrug* Ooops.

There's so many new things and so much is overwhelming, that it's always hard for me to write for a little while after first moving I think. Anyway, that's my excuse and I'll stick with it for now. To catch up I find I must list again.

1. Devon weather is both better and worse than I expected. There is actually occasional sunlight. Whee! I had no idea. It's thrilling. There is also HAIL. I HATE hail.

2. I don't want to say my program is better and worse than I expected, but in bits that's true. Tuesdays are my happy day: I have only one class, and it consists of theater games, ensemble building, and text work (three of my favorite things ever). My prof even made me enjoy a Dogberry scene today. I normally hate Dogberry. (Great miracles are being wrought, for reals. Last week, thanks to my other prof, I was able to conceive of a production of Hamlet that would actually have a point. I know! I too was shocked.) However, there is also a lot of slogging through Webster and Middleton plays. If I wanted to read Webster's plays, I would have signed up for a Webster course, uh duh.

3. Various aspects of university life are annoying, such as a dorm room that looks slightly like a prison, but various aspects are also enjoyable, such as living walking distance from everywhere I need to go, and having my friends over to watch Doctor Who with no planning involved.

4. Speaking of Doctor Who, and how I am in love with it, I have found a whole slew of DVDs of episodes from the sixties through the eighties. God bless the local library, exorbitant fees and all! I was a wee bit apprehensive, since I love the new one so, but after the first five minutes of "The War Machines" I am thrilled with my find. It's in black and white for crying out loud! It's ADORABLE. I love this Doctor with his monocle!

5. On the sad side, I wish my baby sis and my ducks were here to enjoy the awesome with me. How much do I miss my ducks? I love my new ensemble, but every time I learn a new theater game I feel like taking it home and teaching it to my ducks. I have like five saved up for you guys.

6. Cooking for myself is SO much more of a hassle without Trader Joe's. For fricking real.

7. The Brits join the majority of Americans in being very happy about our election results. My Obama t-shirts are big hits. However, the Brits will not get as much of my reciporical love until they learn to move out of the fricking way and let other people SHARE the sidewalk. Sharing is caring, you crazy wankers. Also, build some chairs with desks attached; taking lecture notes on my knees is annoying.

8. I wish I could offer some good book reccommends but I've been reading nothing but trash and plays lately. I will say that I am intrigued that they made a movie of a 16th century play and cast Christopher Eccleston as the lead. I think everyone should see it, but maybe only because I want to so badly.

9. I am hitting my self discipline issues again, but I have gotten a job (as one of those people everyone finds really annoying) and joined archery squad (though I was a bad girl and skipped it this evening in favor of relaxing in my newly clean room).

10. I'm sure I'll think of a ten once I post this; something I forgot to mention that everyone should see -- oh, my birthday was good. I had yummy cream tea and bought some new books. There, there's a ten.


Now set [my] long-experienced wit to school

Um. *blinks*

The basic stuff: I've arrived in England, safely. The flight was no more miserable than flights usually are. I have made it to campus, unpacked my suitcases, and settled into my dorm room. Okay, I'll be even more settled once my books get here, but I have unpacked everything and put up pictures on my wall and put my clothes away and brushed my teeth. I crash landed on my bet at about 7:40 and slept a full nine hours. My dehydrated-migraine headache is finally gone (knock wood).

And I'm not really able to think in complete sentences. All my little thoughts are separate.

Thoughts like: Why doesn't my dorm have any toilet paper? And is it my job to buy some? 'Cause I live here with nine other people, and we all share toilets.

And: This campus is huge, and very pretty but kind of scary in its ginormousness.

And: I am truly back in a dorm, and this is weirding me out a little. Even if it does have a kitchen, it is still a dorm.

And: I miss my books and I hope they get here soon.

And: I am lonely here.

And: It was a beautiful day today, but how long will it last?

And: I'm going to really like this campus except it's huge and I don't know my way around.

And: I want to meet people, but it is hard because I get more shy when I am tired.

And: I know I overpack, but thank God for all my stuff because otherwise I would be courting depression. (How shallow!)

And: I want this week of "induction" (would it kill you guys to add the extra syllable? "Tro," ladies and gents. Three little letters) to be over so I can just get used to being here already instead of being discombobulated.

And: I think I need more sleep.

And that is all the thinks I can think right now.


I Must to England; You Know That?

My room gets steadily barer and barer. My books are gone - moved into Mom's basement today. (Well done, me.) Tonight I have taken my posters off the walls. Knickknacks are getting packed up. Half my furniture is going out on Sunday. Mom and I went shopping today (THANK YOU MOM) and I got the most adorable knee-length wool pea coat ever. I am really and truly going, you guys.

As my date of departure approaches, my blind fear is retreating. Doctor Who has helped with that (I get to go to Christopher Eccleston's country? Awesome). So has, in an odd way, packing itself. I loathe packing, but once I really get going it's sort of horribly familiar, and I can get into its creepy mindset. Take with, save, throw out. Take with, save, throw out. I'm shipping an ungodly number of boxes ahead of me (okay, two and a half, but they are wicked heavy - so many Shakespeare books). And with the new clothes, all of which are all long sleeve sweater-y type stuff for cold weather. And my syllabus for my first class which arrived via email today. (I am very excited about reading Marlowe's Faustus, but I really hope I like it better than Goethe's. Goethe's Faust is just imbecilic. The devil screws you over, and you're . . . surprised? For real?)

My brain comes through again. For now. Who knows how I'll feel the day of, but getting things done this week has been good for my soul.


I am a Pirate . . . See?

My pirate name is:

Captain Jenny Bonney

Even though there's no legal rank on a pirate ship, everyone recognizes you're the one in charge. You can be a little bit unpredictable, but a pirate's life is far from full of certainties, so that fits in pretty well. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

In other news, I've packed up practically all of my books. Yay! Go me! And eight million shout outs to Mousie, who volunteered her car and her charming self to help me. Thank you! I can relax a little more now... still no idea what's going to happen to half of this furniture, but so it goes.


It was the Nightingale, and Not the Lark

... that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. I am ... not ready to leave.

I packed one box. One box. And then my eyes filled with tears and I had to go lie down.

The party yesterday made everything very real and very sad. I can't think about where I'm going or what I'll be doing -- just all the nice people I am going away from. My friends actually held me down -- strapped to a chair with three people on a side -- and said nice things about me to my face. And hit me when I tried to be self-deprecating. And now, when I try to pack I almost start crying.

So thank God for Missday, who came over and was all supportive while I was all clingy and needy. And thanks to her, I have packed two boxes to go into the basement, and one whole box of culls off my bookshelf. And I read one whole chapter of a professor-book, and felt a sense of accomplishment. The battle is once again on, and my responsibility has struck!

As a side note, my number of Shakespeare books has grown to nearly 30. Not counting, of course, all the individual plays I have (only missing 4). As a whole, that is comforting.


Another Obsession is Born

Thanks, Short Stuff.

I'm not sure how it works, but the same person who regularly watches Gossip Girl and America's Next Top Model is also the one who introduced me to both Slings & Arrows and Dr. Who. How does she do that without her brain exploding? For real.

Okay, okay, obviously I am a snob. But Dr. Who is really good!


And... Go!

The ancient battle begins again. The worthy gird their loins. Swords are sharpened. Knives are holstered. Shields buckled. Helms fitted. Muscles flexed. Bodies stretched. Battle horns sounded.

Who will win? My perennially instituted resolution, armed with guilt and strong responsibility, as well as buckets of free time, to pack on time and in an orderly manner? Or the dark forces of chaos, aided by my social calendar, and with the strong allies of my laziness and my denial?

Battle is joined. In this first week, the forces of chaos have struck hard and fast, but there is still time for a turnaround. Stay tuned!



Such a ... weird concept. Or it feels like it, when you haven't had one in forever.

Part of me was being driven completely insane by my job, feeling like I was going to sock someone on the head at any moment. Another part of me feels guilty for taking almost the entirety of September off. It evens out, I suppose. I realize I haven't had much time off since I got back to the States -- certainly haven't done any traveling except for two or three days to see my family over Christmas. I get days here and there, and my weekends of course, but lots of days? In a row? Crazy!

Plus, makes it much harder to live in denial about how soon I am leaving and how far I am going. Why have I stopped work except to... move to England. Gulp. (It doesn't help that all, and I do mean all, of my friends do more or less the equivalent of putting their fingers in their ears and humming whenever I bring it up.)

But first, there is the short vacation. Which hopefully will be my borrowed time, so that when I get back, everything can begin to come together.


One Step Forward, Six Steps Back

I had two feminist moments today. And, you know, this isn't a feminist blog -- I should know, I read plenty of legitimate feminist blogs -- but it is my personal blog and I am a feminist, so today you get to read about my feminist moments.

I've been watching old X-Files DVDs, borrowed from The Store -- and you all can just shut up, because that show rocks, even if it is dated now, only ten years later. But although the government conspiracy stuff clearly shows its age, in some ways it is incredibly current. I was watching a season three episode, "2Shy", when the following scene jumped out at me (no youtube video, so a transcript will have to do):

[Scully enters the morgue; local detective is already there]

Local Detective: Oh, it's you.

Scully: That's not a problem, is it?

Local Detective: No, it's just that Dr. Kramer didn't tell me that you were observing the autopsy.

Scully: I'm not observing. I'm performing it myself.

Local Detective: You're a medical doctor?

Scully: You sound surprised.

Local Detective: I don't know. I guess maybe I am.

Scully: Why?

Local Detective: It's nothing personal, Agent Scully. I'm just . . . old-fashioned in certain regards.

Scully: Old-fashioned?

Local Detective: The truth is, I question the wisdom of assigning female law-enforcement officers to certain types of cases.

Scully: Like this one?

Local Detective: Whoever killed Lauren Mackalvey has a definite attitude toward women, right? So this has to be affecting your judgment.

Scully: I appreciate your concern, Detective. But it's not necessary. All I want to do is solve this case, just like you.

Local Detective: Look, I'm not being sexist, here, I'm just being honest.

Scully: Where would you like the autopsy report sent?

Local Detective: You can fax it to my office.

So my apologies for quoting at such length, but, for serious? That's awesome. I don't remember this particular scene -- although I know I watched the episode at some point when I was a teenager -- but, for real, that's just fantastic. She doesn't engage. She doesn't get angry. She doesn't let it affect her. She just reacts, politely and firmly, to everything he says, letting him hang himself. And it's really -- almost a throwaway scene. Like I said, although I remember the fat-sucking villain of this particular ep, I don't specifically remember this or any other scene that dealt so directly with sexism. It doesn't have bearing on the plot, not really. And yet I'm so happy it's there. This is why Scully was a feminist icon, before Buffy, or Veronica Mars, or Kima, or Laura Roslin. Like any other compelling character, Scully gets into dangerous situations and must be rescued, and spends a fair amount of time rescuing Mulder from similar situations. Gillian Anderson is lauded -- rightly -- for her charisma, her acting chops, and the air of complete competence and unflappability which she imbues in Scully, and of course this sort of scene wouldn't work without that background.

But watching it, I was just so pleased that they put this scene in the show at all -- that they showed young women (like me! in my impressionable years) a role model who not only had the chops, but had the self-confidence to stand up for herself against this sort of thing, directly, publicly, out loud, on screen.

I love me my Buffy, and I love Veronica Mars, too, and the women on BSG. And in all those shows, people are confronted with sexism and deal with it intelligently and forthrightly. But it surprised and pleased me to note that for all the ways the X-Files has aged badly (and in many ways, it has) there remain some aspects that still resonate really powerfully.

Compare this to my other "feminist moment" of the day -- rather the opposite context. Now, obviously, there has been a lot of press about Hillary Clinton, and her speech, and her delegates, and all that. I find that I have nothing more to add on this topic -- clearly the coverage is overtly sexist, clearly the woman cannot win even the smallest bit of respect from her peers regardless of what she says, and clearly she is doing some amazing work in the face of those odds. But while that is all current, and supports my point, I would instead like to fight pop culture with pop culture, and note how far we haven't come by a different comparison.

It's not a secret that I have a certain amount of contempt for Stephanie Meyer and her Twilight Saga -- in which I am not alone. Oh, I've read the first few chapters of book one, and definitely flipped through parts of number four, since it sits on the counter at The Store, and all. (Hey, counterwork is boring when there's no one in the store.) Anyway, I had read enough, both of the books and of the publicity to know that a) I am not the target demographic for this book -- I am not nearly misunderstood enough and b) I am in fact so far out of the target demographic that I am actively repulsed by the concept.

Today I was talking to my old friend Algy, who also now works at a bookstore, and she was telling our group (moi, Short Stuff, and The Fable) about how she'd read the whole series. From what she said, and what I'd read myself, I am appalled. These are the lessons that the pop teen "classic" Breaking Dawn puts forth. (I know it would be much more fair and balanced to include quotations, rather than summaries. But I do not have a copy of that particular title.)

1) It's okay to have steamy sex with your undead lover, who likes to drink blood, and following that, allow him to turn you undead as well, but only if you get married to him first.

2) Should you have sex with aforementioned undead lover-turned-husband, and you come away covered in bruises from how roughly he has handled you, that is okay too, as long as you are "in love."

3) It is your undead husband's decision, not yours, whether or not to abort the half-undead baby you are carrying.

4) Should someone approach you, and offer to let you have sex with his wife, with whom you are in love and respect on her own merits, without her prior knowledge (or, one assumes, consent), the correct response is, "Ummm... sure!"

5) Nothing is more romantic than having your undead husband chew through your own (now undead) flesh into your womb and give you a personal, bite-by-bite C-section.

Call me old-fashioned, but give me Scully any day of the week. I mean... really those two lists speak for themselves, and I should shut up, but I honestly can't believe this. I didn't have the highest standards for my entertainment when I was in my teens, for sure, but I'm really glad that what I ended up drawn to was something like The X-Files rather than like Twilight. I'm glad my mom steered me (gently) in that direction, and I'm glad my little Sis is following those steps too. It's easy to forget what a difference it makes, until days like today, when it just slaps you in the face.


Denial, it Be Shrinking

Possibly because of the drought.

No, that's a really bad pun. My denial is actually shrinking because it has now become time to actually start thinking like a real grown-up person who is moving out of the country. Over the last twenty-four hours, information about my student visa, my accommodation (read: dorm room) and my semester schedule has come pouring in.

And may I just take a break and say getting a student visa is a job and a half. I don't know if it has always been such a pain in the butt or if everyone is all freaked out about terrorists or what, but they want more paperwork and qualifications than a new job and the DMV put together. It is ridiculous. (Real, honest-to-God questions: please describe your education history, starting from the age of 11. And then they pop out and ask, "Are you a terrorist?" Who the hell answers yes to that? What the hell good is it? Plus, I need my boss to write and sign a statement saying that I actually do work there, in addition to me bringing in my salary slips. Fox Mulder thinks you are too paranoid, people.) It is a huge pain and I loathe it. Loathe, loathe, loathe, I am almost tempted to compose a sonnet about how much I loathe it, but that would be giving them too much attention and also probably they would secretly research my blog and deny me my visa out of spite.

If you are the British Consulate in the US, um, psych! Just kidding! You're my favorite office this side of the DMV! Kisses!

On the plus side, I got my first choice out of the dorms -- it be cheap, AND it have internet. Hurray! Plus, you know, laundry and kitchen and stuff. It also looks pretty ridiculously tiny, but whatever -- like I'll care what my square footage is when I'm reading my Shakespeare.

I don't have my finalized schedule ("timetable," whatever) yet, but I have found out some of the classes I'll be taking. And whee! Very, very exciting. Obviously.

Still, all this info is making the whole happy-denial thing tough. And I was totally counting on Happy Denial; now that I do not have it to fall back on I am stuck in Scared And Stressed. Scared of going back abroad, stressed about what a huge pain-in-the-ass it is to go back abroad.

Oh, England. You and your theater. Damn your siren call.


The Cliche at This Point Would Be, "Once More Into the Breach . . ."

So I'm back. I desisted from this blog for a full six months, since my life was too full and I was keeping up with people in other ways. But as I prepare to decamp once more into parts European, I figure I'd better get back in the habit.

So, in my life right now? A list! Because that takes the pressure off.

1) Why does the UK Visa application hate me so much? Listen, I so promise not to be a terrorist or do anything bad if you promise to just let me study your damn playwright in your damn country. It's a compliment! Quit asking me all these damn questions!

2) I am not-so-secretly loving the DD's latest project - Monologue Club. It's like Directing Lite. All the fun, none of the pressure; plus I get to see my IHH ducklings. Marry me, Monologue Club.

3) If anyone were to ask, no, I am not going to England for grad school. I am going to study Shakespeare somewhere removed but vaguely nearby, perhaps in the stratosphere just above everyone's heads, and I am going to come home on weekends. Yes, this is how I deal. Flat denial. Moving to another continent? Again? Me? Please!

4) But I am totally going to be taking a course called "Weapons in the Elizabethan Theater" this semester. No denial about that, no sirree Bob, because that is awesome.

5) I am hungry. Stupid hunger.



So I know it's been a full month since I've written, and I apologize, in that rather self-centered bloggy way, for not updating you all on the intricacies of my life more often. It's due to a combination of lack of time and a total stress-out. I still have no time -- in fact, I have less than ever -- but I'm starting to wriggle my way out of questioning every single one of my actions and back into a more healthy life outlook.

The time suck is of course, rehearsals; I'm now working only 28 hours a week at The Store, and 22 hours a week on The Winter Thing. Which adds up kind of quickly, as my complete exhaustion demonstrates.

That's also been kind of a major source of stress, because I care about this winter thing so VERY much. It's theater, it's Shaw, it's professional (although they don't pay me), it's with the OS, there are many, many ways I was terrified of screwing this up. It's taken me nearly these whole first couple of weeks to lose my shyness enough to interact with people while we're on breaks. But I am happy to say that I'm finally beginning to drop in and make friends. And contributions! I'm beginning to average one real contribution as AD per night (knock on wood!), aside from the assorted general tasks of assisting Kissums (our delightful stage manager), being on book and the occasional stand-in, and apparently giving clues by my body language.

Which I don't mean to do at all, but... see, Kissums and I tend to sit in the front row, her taking blocking notes and me on book, while we work on staging. The OS sits a couple rows back, so that she can see the stage pictures more clearly. Only semi-consciously, I seem to react to the blocking, nodding when I like something and cringing or shaking my head when I don't. It's about nine-tenths instinct, and while I occasionally notice that I'm doing it, I don't really do it on purpose or with definite intent. But the OS apparently notices, because she's begun saying things like, "Oh, this got the [petitechica] stamp of approval, it must be good." I hold the OS in such awe that it seems patently odd to me that she would care what I think of her stage pictures, but there it is. And very exciting it is, too.

Of course now the major source of stress is this decision I'm trying to make about grad school next year. Oh, if only money grew on trees, and also the exchange rates were a little better. But I'm starting to deal with that now too, and it helps that it seems to be very impressive to everyone (including the OS, the DD, the cast, and the parentals, who mostly tend to think I should go for it) that I got in in the first place. No final decision has been reached, but I have put my first reaction of blind terror far enough aside that I'm getting the tools to make the decision final. If that makes any sense.

Righty-oh. I had to get all that out, but now I must prep for my twelve-hour day tomorrow. By sleeping.


Some Uncensored Opinions

So there's some stuff I feel the need to express. If you don't like swearing and/or curmudgeoning, feel free to skip this.

1. Barack Obama drives me fucking nuts. I liked him back when he'd only written ONE book. Now his grinning mug is everywhere, and his shtick is becoming clear, and I am SO OVER him. Hillary has my vote, that's how annoyed I am.

2. That said, I am so fucking sick of this election already. Just vote how you want to vote, people, and then we'll see who wins, won't we? Meantime, shut the fuck up already.

3. That book you're buying? Is stupid. No, shut up. It is. Stupid. I'm just saying.

4. New computer! Yay! I love my new computer. I want to marry it. It has a little camera and it can have more than one program open at a time without crashing.

5. That said, Best Buy could be a hell of a lot more specific on its website about which games are supported for which systems. And your games-for-Macs selection? Sucks ASS. Bejeweled. Jesus Christ. For one thing, I can play that for free online, and for another, my little sister's game where she's a jumping piece of gum is way more interesting.

Thus ends the curmudgeoning of the day.