mel's puddle of thought ...
"... And I have to speculate that God himself
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
:: from "such great heights", track two on the postal service's album "give up" ::
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
Puzzle pieces from the clay
:: from "such great heights", track two on the postal service's album "give up" ::
Saturday, August 31, 2002
I finished the DB! Hurrah! Life is semi good again.
Way to go April. But I'd still go with the man with the money.
And Beverly, oh, beverly, I am insanely jelous and am still waiting to hear all the details. I wanna be in college, and now, I finally realize why.
this written by Mel at 6:41 PM
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
I desperately need a break fm that stupid database. So here goes.
I realized that I am very lucky to get to go to school while living at home. Bev might not be sure, but I know that I am prejudiced against druggies and drinkers. If they can throw thier lives away, then I can choose not to like them. I get free food and the support of family without any of the obvious downfalls, such as siblings. My dad took me to lunch today in Downtown Brea, and then for icecream (there's a Coldstone Creamery down there). And it was really nice. It made me realize that I am very lucky to get the opportuntiy to catch up now for all the time we could have spent together but didn't. For most of my life my dad has been this somewhat distant figure, and slowly, he's focusing into a real, honest to goodness person. And it's really nice that he's taking time out of his busy schedual for me now.
My job is going okay, it's a lot of fun. Except for this whole DB thing. My dad said maybe I could scan it in and then do something to it so that it enters itself into a DB. But I can't figure it out, so I continue to type. I'm almost 3/4 of the way done.
I can stream NPR in through Media Player. I had no idea. I think this is just the greatest thing ever. I'm still waiting for the BBC report, Tom, but it will come. It has to. :)
Hummm... maybe I should read a little. Let my fingers rest. They are rebelling.
this written by Mel at 10:05 PM
The neighbor children do not like blues. Specifically Eric Claptin's "From the Cradle." I find this very encouraging news.
They haven't been on my lawn all day.
If only Ralph (who is back, by the way) could be scared off so easily.
this written by Mel at 5:46 PM
Friday, August 23, 2002
Beverly is leaving tomorrow. I am very bummed. Everyone is leaving me, and it just isn't fair. But I'm not that worried, b/c if Colorado couldn't keep us apart, then niether can Oregon. So there Reed. Take that.
this written by Mel at 11:25 PM
Which Princess Bride Character are You?
this quiz was made by mysti
this written by Mel at 11:04 PM
Thursday, August 22, 2002
My fingers really hurt. I'm talking, any minute now, they will be toast. I hate databases. I hate AUHSD. Who do they think they are, with stinkin thousands of employees?? Aiyya.
And now, everyone who has left for college is in that aweful limbo stage where they dissapear from the face of the earth for several days. I don't like that. Makes me nervous. Oh well. It will only get worse when Beverly leaves me...... :(.
Not a whole lot is new..... I work too much. I am a workaholic. This is why I'm never going to get married. Because I work too much for my own good. That and I read whenever I'm not working. So I read too much too. Oh well. Target boy sayes that my Hum Core class is going to kill me. Then I won't work or read too much. I'll be dead. So Hum Core could actually be good for me, right?
Thursdays are my days to drink coffee at the tennis club. But I'm working tonight, (as you can see) and so I didn't go. I'd only read while drinking coffee anyway, I suppose. And at least I'm going to get paid for the corpal tunnal I'm developing. (is that spelled right?) You'd think that someone who read as much as I do would learn to spell. Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you. No. Not happening.
So maybe I should get back to work. Or reading. I think The Map of Love is feeling a little neglected with all this workage.
this written by Mel at 8:43 PM
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
Similar to one of my sister's skirts, just when you thought my hair couldn't get any shorter..... guess what? It does. It is actually supposed to be a little longer than Bev's, but Ha! My hair curls under at the ends, so in actuallity it's quite a bit shorter. Way above my sholders. Slightly above my chin. It's fun! Woo hoo!!
I feel really bad for not updating..... at all. But I've been working (hurrah!) and also a lot of other stuff has been going on. Everyone is leaving me!!!! :(. Melissa is sad..... but she'll be okay. For all of you who have left me all alone in So Cal: You'd better keep in touch. For all of you who haven't (yet...): thank you!! I love you!! And to April: You are the best, girl. I could never underestemate your sneakiness. Never.
Cold Stone Creamery is really, really good. And the boy there was really cute. Woo hoo!! Old Pie Guy.... new Ice Cream Guy..... we need a Cake Guy or something next ;) hehe. Opps, gotta get back to work!
this written by Mel at 7:43 PM
Saturday, August 17, 2002
I was almost hit today. By an inconsiderate driver of a small black car, running a red light at the Euclid and Cerritos intersection. He was on Cerritos. I wasn't as close to being hit as the guy in the lane to the right of me. Lucky I picked the right moment to decide to drive defensively. And it wouldn't have even been that scarry except Beverly was in the car with me, and what would have happened if something had happened to her and it was all my fault? I think I should start paying better attention when I drive. Because other people's lives are at stake.
I was driving back from dropping off Beverly minutes later. And the intersection went on as if nothing had happend. I found this even more disturbing than the actual fact. My life could have been taken, and no one knew, no one cared. The car next to me was almost hit. There could have been serious damage, and here these people continued with their lives, never knowing the difference. Life is a series of near-misses, I guess. We all just have to move on, or nothing new will ever happen.
Everyone is leaving me. I miss you all. Already, if you haven't acutally left yet. I miss you already. And I miss those people that I left in CO. I guess I am just at that place in my life when everything changes and then I realize that I am changing right along with it.... I think we all are. It is just the way it is.
I think its funny - the things we remember. The things we keep. The images we choose to see in the beginning and then continually bring up in our memories. The shadow we can not forget. The moment that lives on forever. Listen: Billy Pilgram has come unstuck in time. Those sort of moments. Keep going back to, again and again. "Time travel"??? no. Just plain, simple survival. The brown sugar of life.
Razzelberry is not actually a berry. It's a bunch of berries stuck into a pie and then given a spiffy name for marketing purposes. Just in case you believed the Higgersez when they said "Sure, Razzelberry is a real berry. It's like a black berry crossed with a rasberry... right?"
this written by Mel at 9:55 PM
So much is happening. Comming to terms with the small details of life that make all the difference. Living alone is nice.
No, those sofocating noises are not just in your head. It's me. Sofocating. Maybe one day'll I'll fix this problem. Maybe it's not really a problem. Perhaps it's just a misunderstanding within myself. I seem to have a lot of those lately.
Applied for my new passport today. Hurrah. Won't get it until September, which means I have plenty of time to convince my dad that he works hard and that we deserve a trip to India. (United doesn't fly to Egypt, which, for some reason, is my first choice.) The line at the Post Office was insane. Prices double on Monday. Sorry to all of you who didn't listen to me when I told you. Now you are out of chances.
I don't know why I don't sleep anymore. It's sort of like when I first moved out. I didn't eat anything for about four days, which was highly unusual. The thought to eat just didn't occur to me. Sleep just doesn't appeal to me. I need it badly. My body aches. For sleep. For a bed. For lots of things.
I have this horrible feeling that I'm letting someone down. And I try and try to figure out who: the people I love, the ones who love me, friends and family and great philosophers who have it all figured out. It's me, you know. I'm only letting myself down. Compromising things I thought I never would. Letting myself bend in dangerous directions and positions. Knowing I may snap at any time. I've let myself down because I've stopped careing. Maybe. Maybe I care too much. I'm just trying to play the game. On so many different fronts. It gets difficult after a while. That's why I like living alone. It's just me, my books, my candles, my music, and my friends. There is nothing suspicious or fradulant here now. At least not as much. If I can deal with life one person, one free weekend at a time, if I can do the same for myself, and try to unfold the things I have boxed away for this particular move in my life, perhaps I will make it in the end.
I wonder where my alarm clock is?
this written by Mel at 1:23 AM
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
Today is a big day for me. This morning I register for classes at UCI and this afternoon I take my test to swich over my CO driver's licence for a brand new CA one, thus completing my transfer of residency.
The councelers at UCI hate me. I hate them more. There is a general, healthy mutual hate resonating between us. They laugh at me, I take six hours and re-do my schedual, taking not 21 credits, but 20. The most possible. I laugh at them. So far my *new* schedual, expertly worked out in black ink pen and crayons, gives me non-stop classes Tues and Thurs from 8am to 3:30 pm. no lunch break. no anything break. well, there is half an hour b/t 9 and 9:30 and a sometimes break b/t 10:30 and 11. Neither a very good place for lunch. Then, I have Calc. mon, wed, and fri from 8 to 9. That's it. Just calc. I'm thinking: Job. Yeah, so that's my sch. I think I can do it. Unless of course, all these classes fill up in the next 45 min. In which case I will just have to re-group. Scream and Yell and Regroup.
I am excited about my driver's test. Especially since I barely passed the written test in CO for my permit. (And by barely, I mean, had I missed one more question, I wouldn't have gotten it.) Also b/c I haven't actualy read a CA DMV book, so I have no idea what the rules are in CA. They can't be too diff, right? And the real point here is, this isn't school, where you get a letter grade. I get my licence as long as I pass. All I have to do is pass. No prob bob. I can do this.
I have... er, um, get to make dinner tonight. I suggested we explore other options, so we can actually eat dinner tonight. Ha! My dad thought that was funny. So maybe I'll actually learn something. That would be fun, since my new sch. is sort of dumb and I won't be doing much learning at school.
Oh well. Wish me luck!
this written by Mel at 8:24 AM
I talk to myself in the car. It's really more like yelling at myself over DMB's "Everyday," the CD that has somehow fused itself into my walkman. I'm not really sure why I do this, other than its harder to hurt someone if they can't actually hear what you're saying to them. Sort of like screaming into a pillow when you are angry. It works wonders.
The only problem is, if you have any real issues with the person, they will never get resolved in this manner. But at least you will have temporary sanity. Which is nice, every once in a while.
this written by Mel at 12:50 AM
Monday, August 12, 2002
postal workers are not to be trusted.
this written by Mel at 11:58 PM
Slaughterhouse-Five (yes, with a hyphen) was great. On to The Map of Love. I'm reading it b/c it almost won the Booker. So it goes.
this written by Mel at 11:20 PM
I love Southern California. It's hot and it's muggy, and everybody wants pretty much the same things: air conditioning and to be left alone. Non-Southern Californians make a big deal about how someone would shoot you dead on the street at any given moment (which may or may not be true), but the sliding glass door in the back is always open all the way, and we rarely lock the front door. The windows are always open, inviting any neighbor-turned-serial killer with the same gusto used for beckoning the "cool breeze" gods. And the realy great thing is none of this worries me even remotely as much as the bathroom pipes clanking after my evening shower.
It's never what you know, but who you know. This is true pretty much anywhere, but nowhere as much as here. Skills mean only a tenth of what someone thinks you know, or can make some innocent third party believe.
Sure, people are moody and brooding, and more than eighty-percent of them are on Prosac. So? They really warm up with alcohal induced stupors and apreciate being informed of the stupidest things that they don't care about and will prompty forget about after the first glass of honest to goodness California Grown wine. (Yes, I know wine doesn't actually grow. Thank you daddy).
The guy down the street has either a BMW, a Jaguar, or a Mercedes sports car. Doesn't matter which street, there's one there. Said yuppie millionare might have more than one. They don't care. If you ask nicely, he'll give you a ride to the over priced supermarket with a wide selection of organic foods and a conservation center in the back that cost more to design, construct, and maintain than will ever be saved because of its presence.
The tamale lady comes right to your door. Where else can you get that sort of service? The only downside is that she'll only come for so long unless you actually buy something.
Nobody here cares if you play the radio too loud or try to run over finky kids in the middle of the road. They can't hear anything over thier own music and are too busy trying to run over the brats themselves to notice you.
Everyone here is a freak. Hence, everyone blends in nicely, exept for those "normal" people, who are either on their way out of the area or are too involved with trying to maintain their normalcy to realize their slow slippage to freakdom. Some are able to excape this (ie myself), and are then able to save hundreds of dolars by watching any given sreet corner instead of overpaying for a movie that won't be as funny or as enjoyable.
Southern Californians are in desperate need of entertainment. Case Study #1: Matthew, a middle-aged coporate exec. Drives to work in "da hood" from his comfortable home in suberbia everyday by way of the 91 and his bright red jaguar. (Yes, he's in the middle of a rather difficult mid-life crisis, and no he does not want to discuss it with any of you.) He goes this way every day. He's seen enough auto accidents to fill a large, expensive looking book. And yet, he insists on slowing down and sucking up the details of each new one he passes. Starved for cheep entertainment of any kind, he once amused himself by counting the spare limbs on the highway.
Matthew is not alone, because every day, the people to the back, the front, the right, and the left of him do exactly the same. Even those "mad mom's in minivans" in the carpool lanes slow down for a little amusement. And they have kids in the car. They should be ashamed.
Last Thursday, on the way to UC Irvine for placement testing, I happened to get stuck to the right of a young executive-esque man, who was actually uninterested in the little fiasco that caused a thirty minute back-up. (the fiasco, by the way, was an old, beatup red volvo that had had enough of the city and quit in the middle of the freeway). Unlike myself, however, he was calm, unbotherd by the excessive heat, sunlight, and stupidity that surrounded him. I leaned over and asked him his secret. Glancing up at me as one might an unwanted salad appatizer, he muttered, "I think it's great. I woke up late this morning anyway. Now I have plenty of time to catch up on the paper." And sure enough, there was The Wall Street Journal, spread across the dash and the passanger side seat.
For the record, that was not the first time I'd seen someone reading the paper while stuck in traffic. But I've never seen it anywhere but here.
this written by Mel at 3:53 PM
Waking up by violently slamming the blind-slider against the wall in your sleep is not a good idea. Not only does it simmulate waking up in the middle of the bombing of some horrible battle-to-come in world war III, but it also makes you resentful about having to wake up. Don't do it.
this written by Mel at 7:11 AM
Okay, so, for those of you who care, my DMB song is "Two Step," the second song on the album Crash. But Crash is not my album, Under The Table and Dreaming is.
if you would like to find out which one you are, you may go here.
this written by Mel at 7:07 AM
Sunday, August 11, 2002
On a slightly more serious note.
First of all, I want to thank Patrick. Dude, you should have told me you were coming by. My dad and I could have gone to late service and we could have all had breakfast. Next time.
Second, thank you Bev. Next sleepover at my house! Let's invite the whole lunchbunch. If any of you are reading this, call me -- 772-6321-- so we can plan.
Third, the kids down the street are driving me insane. Short drive, I know. Nonetheless, I'll probably get lost along the way .
Fourth, I get the distinct impression none of you have started reading The God of Small Things. Now, I know Bev has a good excuse, but what about the rest of you, hummmm??? Oh well.
Okay, time for me to resume Slaughterhouse Five. Whoo hooo!
this written by Mel at 2:57 PM
So I'm talking to Tom, now. Yes, this is where I could go on, and on, and on, and on about Tom, and none of you can stop me. Muwahahahaha! Besides, a lot of you are still asking me, "Who's Tom?" after the first ten minutes and ten thousand casual references to him in conversation. Tom is going to college soon. Tom is really cute. Tom is crazy but sweet. He heard that I was talking about us with some of you. He wants to know what all that is about, but I'm not telling him. So he's really crazy now. He's tall. Really tall. He introduced me to DMB (yes, he is responsiible for that obsession). He was in show chior, and drama at Junction. He made me dinner for prom. He drives a little white tank. It's called "The Tank." He was working at Hastings, which is a book/music/vidio store. He quit yesterday.
That's about it. Oh, and I love him.
Okay, I have to go. I mean, I am talking to Tom. Maybe I should pay more attenttion to him.
this written by Mel at 2:13 PM
Saturday, August 10, 2002
|
blue, huh? interesting......
this written by Mel at 4:57 PM
Friday, August 09, 2002
I take back anything bad I ever said about the Ana Pub Lib. They had Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. All is right with the world.
this written by Mel at 8:46 PM
I hate Antigone. I mean, I really hate it. There are just so many other things I could be doing. Reading Slaughterhouse Five, for example, or critically injuring the kid next door who finds it nessesary to make believe he his a lunitic animal on my front lawn. Arr.
On the plus side, I think I have a job now working for Mr. N. Higger, who, as you probably already know, looks freakishly like our own beloved Mr. L. Higger. Makes me shutter everytime I think about it. Too bad, I guess, Bev, b/c now I can't tutor you. Bummer. :( I was really looking forward to it.
Well, I suppose this is enough staling. I've already written Tom a letter, tried to call almost everyone I know, re-organized my schedual for next year and unpacked enough boxes of books to actually find my "Dictonary of Classical Mythology". I can't really put off Antigone any longer. Oh well.
Oh! But guess what?!. You don't have to read Antigone. This leaves every one of you (exept Bev, sorry hun) free, free, free.... to read The God of Small Things. I'm so jealous .
this written by Mel at 7:28 PM
Thursday, August 08, 2002
Wow. I've been blown away by literature before, but Aiyya.
Read The God of Small Things by Arundahati Roy. All of you. Read it now.
Wow.
Read the opening passages at Amazon.com
this written by Mel at 7:31 PM
I keep seeing Mr. Fletterjohn, my old AP Chem teacher. Twice, today alone, in a three minute period, I saw him at UCI. I mean, Tom I could understand, I mean, I love him, but Doug??? I just don't get it.
I think I failed my placement tests, despite Tom's best attempts to assure me placement tests can't actually be failed. I'll sure show him...as soon as I get my results in..... forty-two minutes.
this written by Mel at 4:17 PM
Wednesday, August 07, 2002
No one wants a song that says "I wasn't sure at first, but now I think I love you" or "I'm sorry I didn't realize you existed for the better part of a year. I love you now, please forgive me."
Why is that?
this written by Mel at 5:43 PM
Wow everyone, I have great news. I just got back from the doctors, and she says I'm only twenty pounds over my ideal wieght! And here I was, thinking I was way overweight. Oh, wait, I am way over.
Time for me to start running again...
this written by Mel at 4:06 PM
It's probably too early to have deep, involved thoughts like this, but this is what I was thinking:
Yes, my accomodations for at least the next year do have a fireplace and a realy big fridge stocked iwth really expensive foods. I will get to go out for dinner a bunch and have all the comforts of "home" without any of the serious drawbacks (ie, hasseling parents living there).
Butcha know what I realized? In this moment, I would give it all up to live somewhere else with Tom. Which is probably really dumb b/c we couln't afford to live anywhere, I don't think. I mean, my price-range is pretty much a cardboard box behind a major supermarket. Well, maybe a little better. The point is, I think I've reached that point when I don't care, as long as we are together. I miss him so much, and parts of me don't think I should, that whole, "I'm not supposed to care" mentality.
Anyway, that's a pretty big realization. Maybe I need more sleep.
this written by Mel at 8:47 AM
Tuesday, August 06, 2002
It's the little things that make the biggest differences.
this written by Mel at 9:29 PM
Monday, August 05, 2002
"Your distinct personality, The White Knight, might be found in most of the thriving kingdoms of the time. Don Quixote was a White Knight as was Joan of Arc, the Lone Ranger and Crusader Rabbit. As a White Knight you expect nothing in return for your good deeds. You are one of the true "Givers" of the world. You are the anonymous philanthropist who shares your wealth, your time and your life with others. To give, is its own reward and as a White Knight you seek no other. On the positive side you are merciful, sympathetic, helpful, giving and heroic. On the negative side you may be impulsively decisive, sentimental and misdirected. Interestingly, your preference is just as applicable in today's corporate kingdoms."
I think this is completely bogus. (ha Tom! I used Bogus in a sentence!) I am not a giver. I am a taker all the way. If I get money, it's mine, baby. Well, maybe not all mine, but I don't see myself as giving to complete strangers. To my family, sure, what's mine is yours. Okay, well, Bev, I think this thing is broken. I remember when I was a dreamer back in Jr. High. Sigh. What a bummer.
Take the Kingdomality Test
this written by Mel at 9:57 PM
i'm a hamster.what kinda pet are you?
quiz made by muna.
a hamster. great. I have the shelf life of salad in a bag. not my day.
this written by Mel at 9:14 PM
Today = not my day. There are no bookstores in this stinkin town, and the ones in Santa Ana don't have what I want/need. The Office Max people are out to get me, and I missed Tom this morning.
On the plus side, UCI's campus is begining to come back to me (I didn't get lost there today) and my dad is at least "considering" getting us a CD Burner. Hurrah! If I can burn Busted Stuff that means I won't have to spend fourteen dollars I don't have to fill up the CD changer with DMB. That means I can have "real" DMB marathons, instead of DMB, DMB, Sting, DMB, DMB. hehe.
Yay! I got a letter from Tom today! :) A part of me wonders if I should miss him more now that he's gone too. I mean, I miss him a lot b/c I'm not in GJ anymore, but now he's on the road to San Fran. So should I be sad, or happy that he's going to be eight hours away (for a few days) instead of twelve (eleven if I drive). I bet I could make it to San Fran in less than eight hours. I love you Tom!!!
More good news: my dad said I could start looking for a bed. This is a major development b/c previously he believed I could "make it" with the Futon. Sure, I can make it, but only if he'll pay for my chiropractor. Or Tom. He could pay for Tom's "theraputic" trips out here to see me. He isn't really going for that. So a bed it will be. The couch is more comfortable than the futon. Ay ya.
Okay, so the Ana. Pub Lib. is out of control. Crazy. I miss the GJ lib. Not only is it bigger, but the people are nicer and it is definitly more orginized. My five shelves in my dad's bookcase are more orginized than our Pub Lib.
Oh, I think my media player is broken. The background music plays louder than the lyrics. I thought maybe it was the speakers, but the standard CD player on the computer works okay. Does anyone have any ideas?
That's about it for now. I have dirty feet.
this written by Mel at 6:27 PM
Sunday, August 04, 2002
I had forgotten how beautiful the sun set is out here. And the best part is, because of all the smog and stuff, I can look right at the sun and my eyes don't even hurt a little.
Like a giant egg yoke. It's sort of funny, if you think about it.
this written by Mel at 8:25 PM
I am still finding clothing tags from my sister's "shopping experiance" in Southern California. Just so you all know, the vaccume does not like those little thin plastic things that hold the price tag to the over-priced article of clothing. These small plastic demons blend in with the carpet and then attempt to destroy every vaccume within miles. They are not to be trusted. Do not listen to thier pleas for mercy. Evil, I tell you. They are evil. (insert sudder of fear here)
Unfortuantly, mice like them. Small grey mice. They also like dishwasher parts. Plastic diswasher parts. Don't trust the mice either. It's just not a good idea.
this written by Mel at 4:12 PM
Okay, I take it back. Seattle has Dave Matthews Band. Not fair. I want to live in Seattle. Tom.... weren't we going to move there anyway? Let's move there now. I'm so jelous of all those snobby "but I've just lost my job" Seattle whiners. They have DMB, why are they complaining? They shouldn't get on the cover of LATimes Mag for how sucky thier lives are when they could go see DMB live and in person in thier own hometown. Life just isn't fair.
this written by Mel at 2:52 PM
 | You are Kermit! |
this written by Mel at 2:21 PM
Seattle is on the cover of L.A. Times Magazine . Seattle isn't even cool any more (which is probably why it's on the cover) so I figure, if it can be on the the cover of a semi-quazi magazine, then surely I could do the same.
I believe this is a great oportunity for me to earn lots of money for college, which is something I really, really need. While I don't know exactly how much Seattle got for being on the cover (maybe it would help if I read the story??) it had to be something more than what I'm making now, which is a big, fat nothing. I figure, hey, I'm interesting and quazi talented. What does Seattle have that I don't?
Millions of dollars worth of industry. Oh, wait, I take that back. The memory of millions of dollars worth of industry. What good is that? I, on the other hand, have the hopes for millions of dollars. Let's all stop living in the past and start giving me money! That's what I'm talkin' bout.
this written by Mel at 2:13 PM
four hours of sleep is not enough. oh, wait, beverly corrects me, four and a half hours of sleep. not enough. grrr... and there are not any eggs in the house. well, there's one egg. but not two, and all we need are two for some muffins. grrr. have I mentioned there's no tuna fish either? But at least Josh Groban is still playing. All is right with the world? And it's a nice break from my six-day DMB marathon. All Dave, all the time. So this change is.... good. yes. good.
Now off to harass my neighbors into giving me an egg. I hope none of them are too bitter about me almost running over their kids with my *new* car.
this written by Mel at 9:36 AM
I miss you Tom!!!
this written by Mel at 1:54 AM
Find your inner fast food! by Emily
this written by Mel at 1:34 AM
Yay! I have a blog! hurrah. Thank you Beverly.
Since its 12:50 in the morning, nothing terribly interesting is happening. Josh Groban is playing. Now, if that isn't excitement....
this written by Mel at 12:50 AM
links to people:
:: beverly's homepage ::
:: beverly's journal ::
:: tom's blog ::
:: my blog's name is jennifer ... mackenzie's journal ::
:: insanity is contagious...kunal's journal ::
:: gary's kustace ::
links to music:
:: something corporate's official Site ::
:: david crowder band ::
:: dave matthews band ::
:: dave matthews in brazil ::
:: the get up kids ::
:: further seems forever ::
:: relient k ::
links to neat stuff:
:: it's walky! WIIGII! ::
:: pvp ::
:: the visual thesaurus ::
:: maystar ::
:: arr.... how to talk like a pirate ::
:: the X Prize ::
current book:
lolita by Vladimir Nabokov.
newest cd:
"give up" by the postal service
"destination beautiful" by mae
"treats" from barsuk records
"we have the facts and we're voting yes" by death cab for cutie
"you can play these songs with chords" by death cab for cutie
"something about areoplanes" by death cab for cutie
"this is a pinback cd" by pinback
"tell all your friends" by taking back sunday
"a mark, a mission, a brand, a scar" by dashboard confessional
"ok go" by ok go
"how to start a fire" by further seems forever
"two wrongs don't make a right... but three do" by relient k
"transatlanticism" by death cab for cutie
"the moon and antarctica" by modest mouse
"on a wire" by the get up kids
in the mail:
big news:
I'm gettin married....
email me about anything
