Email, Shmemail
13 November 1998
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
|
Email, Shmemail
13 November 1998
|
|
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
12:01 AM: So much for Friday the 13th.
Another nothing day, by and large. Once again tried to get up a little earlier, only to fall back into an even more stupefied coma. The radio now goes off in time for the BBC mid-morning news, followed by an incredible example of the Twee Millenium, a show named "Outlook." Actually, its tweeness is timeless, no doubt.
"So, Professor - if Darwin was right, and it's survival of the fittest and all that, then surely, queueing is something that's against human nature, and the biggest and strongest should be shoving their way up to the head of the line?"
"Bla bla bla bla bla."
"So, you would say that queueing is good, then?"
"Well, I - "
"Andrea Whocares in Italy, do you think that queueing is good? Or do Italians think that queueing is bad?"
Etc. Rarely have I wanted to reach through the radio and smack someone so much as with this host. The guests aren't much better, since they sit there and respond in great earnestness to this fatuous twit. What are they thinking?
In other news, appointment for a haircut tomorrow. Huzzah. Then tomorrow is a local production of Hedda Gabler, starring one of the enormous-shoe women from here at work. If I've ever seen it I forget, so it should be interesting at least. Still having trouble reconciling myself to the future. It's high time I moved into full Austen bachelor mode and got over it.
Sad moment of the day: I had a semi-nightmare that the owner of the neighborhood bar wasn't making enough money and sold it, and it was torn down. The void in my life where it used to be was terrifying. Oh, yeah. A mover and a shaker.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| yestoday | today | tomorrowday | ||
| archive | semi-bio | |||
| listen! | random | privit | ||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
|
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
| ||||
All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
| ||||