A handsome piece of deformity.

“When you see near cashier, it means that cheese wheel living with prays. Catherine, the friend of Catherine and rejoices with umbrella around minivan. Where we can almost negotiate a prenuptial agreement with our grand piano. Now and then, beyond insurance agent plan an escape from fetishist related to mirror. Around mastadon, dolphin living with skyscraper, and behind cream puff are what made America great! Catherine, although somewhat soothed by taxidermist around mortician and fighter pilot over. Madstone bateau conway turnout!

“Where we can thoroughly play pinochle with our wedding dress? Cataclysm railhead faustian chairwomen tat bullock boyish.”

That is, without doubt, the coolest spam I have received. Ever. It’s some sort of… post-modern cut-up, stream-of-conscious butt-soup.

In other news, my still-fresh Civ3 game is coming along well. Am on a continent with the Germans and the English. This would be fine and dandy, except that the continent is only big enough for two civilizations — not three. Someone’s borders are going to have to give to make room for my blossoming empire and, blessings be to geography, it’s to be the Germans…

Recently returned from my journey for coffee (not a cappuccino as intended; the white mocha was too tempting to resist), I must say, I wish I hadn’t spent all afternoon locked in front of the computer, burning CD-Rs. Not only did I miss out on the opportunity to have an extended conversation via email with my girlfriend, I also missed out on the bulk of a balmy and beautiful spring day. It’s gorgeous outside!

While tangentially talking email, any idea why people (myself included) are so bloody slow at replying to it? I, like so many others, thrill at receiving messages but am rarely warm to replying… and I hate it when people are slow in replying to me.

I know I’m not alone in this. I’m sure you can all think of instances when you’ve launched off a volley of messages to scores of people and waited days, if not weeks, for anything resembling a coherent response.

Ah, well. With my intent to never have children, I can say with smug satisfaction that whatever genetic deficieny I’m afflicted with that retards my ability to promptly reply to electronic communiqués will not be passed on to subsequent generations.

Spent the entirety of the afternoon burning compact discs and, while doing so, reading. The last hour or so of the procedure was spent being frustrated at my burner which suddenly decided that, after generating one hundred-plus discs successfully, it didn’t want to work any more and started choking on whatever I fed it.

Fun, fun, fun.

Several corrupt CD-Rs and a headache later, I finished, did some research on the net, and am still frustrated and absolutely clueless as to what caused the problem. Here’s hoping this doesn’t become a recurring difficulty, as I have need to burn large quantities of discs on a semi-regular basis.

I’m off to do something relaxing, now. Enslavement, er, liberation, a cappuccino and some music will do.

Catshit and thoroughly Watchedmen in hand, I fumble for (found) keys and leave in search of comfort amidst corporate crap. Food, I chide myself, food! Seek not solace in this.

Stress has the tendency to aggravate my insecurities, causing me to question my personal and professional abilities and relationships. This puts my analytical mind into overdrive, forcing me to examine and re-examine my perceived faults as applied to any number of minutiae and things, thus amplifying the stress felt and causing an unpleasant emotional feedback loop.

Thank ye gods that the next week represents a chance to relax.

Today’s entry was brought to you by the letter d and emotional excrement scraped from the bottom of the barrel.

Wow, it’s been nearly a week since I’ve updated this thing! Typically I would have used the adjective ‘bloody’ in there — “…nearly a week since I’ve updated this bloody thing!” — except that, well, were it bloody, it would have long since scabbed over from neglect. So. Let’s pick some scabs and get the juices flowing again!

Let’s see. Home right now, as opposed to being at work, because it’s that one day out of the six-day cycle that the school’s on when I have three preps — empty periods (keeping in vogue with the blood-thing I started in the first paragraph) — back-to-back. Rather than stay at work for the duration of this time, twiddling my thumbs and photocopying and marking, I’ve opted to come home and drink coffee, spoil my cat and relax in preparation for the second and final round of PST interviews tonight (that I’m listening to music should never be doubted; I’m listening to the top release, what).

Been having a good week. Took time the other night, Tuesday, to indulge in the new Kaufman flick in the radiant and heartwarming company of my charming girlfriend. Enjoyed it thoroughly. I was especially amused that, about thirty minutes into it, she expressed her theory on where the movie was going and how it was to end, a theory that I myself had been busy postulating too and was just moments from sharing. Funny that her and I were on the same wave length and, hurray for us, we were right — the movie went where we predicted and, personally, I loved it all the more because of that. I really need to sit her down to share some David Lynch with, as I’m keen to see what she’ll make of Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive — two of my favorite movies.

zpp[d, er, oops, excuse me a minute… need to refill my coffee.

Ok, now where was I. Ah, yes. While on a tangentially post-modern topic, I finished Grant Morrison’s “The Invisibles” last week and… I’ve been humbled. Good as I perceive myself at deciphering divergent and fragmented narratives — refer to the third paragraph above — I found myself getting more and more lost with each volume read. To say the least, I’m pleased; pleased at the challenge it presents and pleased at having to re-read the series to gleam some greater meaning from it, especially given how much I enjoyed it the first time through.

Hmmm. This is taking a bit longer than intended so, let’s see if some point-form scribbling can’t help in expediting the process.

Nuts in pocket. Muddy hands. Knife in palm and telephone too. I can’t reach you no matter how fast I run; I’m invisible in the red glare of your lights. My given chase futile, you’re gone. I recite in my mind while passing VPU 240: “To whom it may concern: my thanks to you for your kindness in assisting my girlfriend and I. Your generosity in helping others speaks volumes about your character and for that we, as in the human species, are much obliged. Your actions this day shall not go unnoticed. In short, fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you piss useless twat.”

:)

The ending of Grant Morrison’s New X-Men pains me beyond belief. Over the course of forty-two issues, Morrison was able to make anyone who was reading the series really, really think and wait with baited breath for the next installment. The passing of the series is also a blessing, mind; it ended on a high note with everything explained, Morrison having finished everything he started.

Something that bothers me deeply, though, is that his brilliantly intricate run is being desecrated by a bunch of people who, despite having read the same issues that I have, cannot tell their heads from their asses. There are a few voices of reason, the occasion signal to the rampant noise of each forum, but they are few and far between.

Ah, well.

Thank you, Mr. Morrison, for one helluva a ride. Until next time…

NOTE: Do not click either of the forum links above if you have not read any of New X-Men. Doing so will result in exposure to half-baked theories and conjecture based upon poor recollection (as opposed to careful textual documentation and supportable inference) in response to simple and, if I may say so, often stupid questions. This will ultimately result in the SPOILING of the series and its many mysteries.

‘Scuse me? I do have some concept of restraint… on occasion…

< whines > Damnit! I’m two components away from winning the space race! I’m the only one who has a piece of technology vital to finishing the ship! I’m twelve turns away from launching…! < /whine >

Frelling Hades. I place the blame squarely at your feet.

At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I’m directly responsible for your present comic book obsession…

Ah yes, and it is with a certain smug satisfaction that I note my girlfriend has discovered that Civilization III is a close cousin to crack cocaine. For anyone out there who hasn’t played the game, it is highly addictive and comes with my highest recommendation.

Quiet round these parts of late, as I’m sure that you have noticed. Life’s been hectic in recent weeks, what with exams and report card marks and this, that, and the other to take care of. PSTs are just around the corner (parent-student-teacher interviews, for those wondering, also known as “meet the genepool night”), which thrills me to no end, though spring break is on the horizon. In fact, I’ve only another several work days to pass before I can experience a week of relaxation carefully disguised beneath an ample load of grading, organizing, planning, and reading.

Mind, not all that reading is to be work-related. Been reading a fair bit of late and just finished this book, am in the process of reading this one, and hope to be tackling this one over the break, not to mention a variety of graphic novels and other comic-related items. I intend to do the bulk of that reading in style on my new but not-so-new couch and loveseat.

This past weekend found me inheriting a sofa set from my parents, who retired ‘em given the acquisition of an all-new leather set. To say the least, I was absolutely thrilled, having done a bit of research into the cost of furniture sets. Now, after four months, my apartment looks furnished beyond a table, desk, and bed. Fun, fun, fun. All I need now is a coffee table, a lamp, and another handful of chairs and I may *gasp* even feel comfortable enough to entertain guests. Hah, and it has also been pointed out to me by m’love that, when seated backwards on the loveseat, a clear view of a nearby church is presented. My mind has since been busy boggling at the profane possibilities presented!

On the musical front, I received an order from Malignant Records the other day which I’ve been happily enjoying ever since. Only had the opportunity to listen to a small handful of all ordered, but thus far I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the latest addition to Spectre’s Nautilus series, am mildly disappointed with the direction that Sophia pursued on “Spite” given their very strong releases prior, and have finally found out why so many people have raved about Gae Bolg (sorry, wasn’t able to find a link).

Oh, one last thing before I vanish into the ether. Had my pupils dilated and examined the other day for the first time. What a fucking awful experience. I’ve always had sensitive eyes and having what felt like an 8,000 watt bulb shone into my pupils was akin to torture. To add insult to injury, I had to pay $25 for the medical misfortune… gah. Awful. Thankfully it was a very overcast day and driving home wasn’t a problem, but I left the building feeling physically nauseus from the experience. My optometrist recommended that the procedure be done every two years, but she’s been doing that since I was much younger and I was able to put it off for twenty-five before having it done once. Here’s hoping I can do that again, as it’s really not something I’m in a rush to relive.

Leaving shortly to pay a visit to a one-day toy-and-comic show being put on in the city. Will try to show some restraint in the face of what-I-hope-is bountiful geek booty. Am hoping to stumble across some of Alan Moore’s old Miracleman issues which have been out-of-print forever (but should be back in-print within a few years), as well round out my collection of “The Invisibles” trade paperbacks by Grant Morrison.

And, should anyone out there have thought so, I meant ‘booty’ as in plunder and spoils, not sweet and succulent ass. I mean, in that regard, the only booty I will be checking out is m’love’s, who’ll be accompanying me on my treasure hunt this day. Suppose I’ll still have to show some restraint in that regard, given that we’ll be in public… *sigh*

Excuse me, but has anyone seen the blue ball of my neutered cat?

Despite the concerted efforts of reality I am, to all appearances, healthy once more. Having shaken myself free of my malady’s snotty grasp, I’m keen once more to embrace life and be overwhelmed by work with all the youthful vigor deserving of a young man my age. I’d post more, but I can hardly keep my eyes open… it’s been one of those days.

In the meantime, be entranced by the thoughts and things I’m currently entertaining: I’m a ruthless despot and would be something of a bastard — King Dick, damnit — given absolute power; and musing about emotional attachment to literary characters. Or not, as is your want. I may someday elaborate on these topics — you know, chronicle my ‘civilized’ conquerings (read: razings and subsequent enslavements of whole societies) or ramble on about my connections to characters (iconic characters long-since stagnant under the weight of their own popularity versus brand-new characters to which anything can happen) — given time and whim.

For now, I’m a paragraph overdue, I’m done munching my carrot, and my tea has gone cold. Cheers!

Sunday and, in an attempt to rescue my voice, I’ve taken not one but two vows of silence this weekend. Should I be able to go until 3PM today without talking, I’ll have spent thirty-two of the weekend’s forty-eight hours silent. You need to understand that, over the past fourteen days, I worked my voice raw — I don’t think my voice cracked that much even during puberty. It was a horrid experience that I forced myself through and I’m thrilled at the opportunity not to talk for a few days. I do seem to be getting better, finally, which is an understated relief.

Sick as a god. Dog. Whatever.

Been pushing myself to the limit this past week, stubbornly refusing to miss even a single day of work despite doctor’s orders to the contrary. Fact of the matter is, term exams are just around the corner and, should I be absent, it’s my students who will ultimately pay the price — such, at least, is my perspective. Thus, I’m suffering for their benefit. Me, the martyr.

Christ, this illness is incurring a messiah complex… or amplifying a pre-existing one, depending on your point of view.

Anyways, I’m ever-so-grateful that tomorrow marks the beginning of the weekend. Plenty of work to be done, sure, but at least I’ll have the opportunity to rest my voice and catch a few extra hours of downtime.

Ijm U=0–

Er. See what happens when your fingers lose home-row? Yeah. Anyways.

I know I’m sick when… I’m enjoying marking. Essays, no less. It may have something to do with what I’m reading and helping revise: the theses of a class of honours students. That, or the barrage of Shinjuku Thief I’ve loaded up in my CD player. Either way, ye gods, I’m actually having something that resembles ‘fun’.

While working.

At 7PM.

*shakes head*