16 February 1999
OK, so I lied about the creamy part.
11:13 PM: Days go by and still remarkably little to say. Been reading the first two Antares books by Michael McCollum - very Honoresque, in all the ways that's good and bad. Good for being absorbing light pulpy naval fiction. Bad for the "girls", as I might loosely describe the nominally female characters.
I am praying that the VCR worked. Shall see soon. I joined a friend's Buffy mailing list and forgot to turn off the mail announcer utility that runs here, which quotes the first five lines of any incoming message - including, of course, the first-sentence response to the big plot shurprise in tonight's show. I'm trying to convince myself I didn't really see that much. TV is hard. Expensive, too, since I'm close to attacking mine with a big heavy thing - like the ground - the next time it shorts out.
I'm really glad this weekend is over. This was not enjoyable idleness. This was compulsive waiting-around-for-nothing idleness. NG.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
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