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theladyroseSince Friday:
-My grandmother left for Hong Kong with my aunt. Yay that she's doing much better.
-I've slept in my own bed for the first time in a week (too many relatives, not enough beds; I end up sleeping on the floor in my parents' room. It wasn't that bad, though.)
-Franck the Quebecian Anarchist (apparently he's not one anymore, but the nickname has stuck) gave a spiel sounding an awful lot like that of a tourism bureau's to encourage me to visit Montreal in February.
-I discovered that the Avengers episode "The Joker" is like a color version of the previous episode, "The House that Jack Built" except that Steed ends up saving Emma's life. Awww, how sweet.
-I downloaded the font that's used in the Village in the Prisoner. Ooh, my ringer will get to see this in the letters that I send to her for the ringing process. How special.
-Said ringing process is a twisted combination of a modern music history lesson, a Prisoner episode, and a really amateurish adaptation of Sophie's World.
-I finally got to talk to Adric for a long period of time. Mixed confused feelings about life and relationships. It's lovely to be able to talk to someone who I normally don't get to talk to much.
-A pathetic, slimy but good-looking freak in England tried hitting on me. The attempted pick up lines were nowhere near as bad as Franck's, in Austin's (the pathetic freak's) defense. I vaguely know him, but at least his French is decent. What is it with foreign blond guys anyway???? It's some kind of massive conspiracy against me.
-I had a really cool dream that was almost entirely in French in the beginning. It was very atmospheric, with really light pencil lead-gray clouds, overcast, some lingering shadows. It felt like a juxtaposition of black and white and the buildings were all muted colors, though certain modern advertisments and things stood out vividly in the background. I was wandering around Paris (which in certain neighborhoods looked a lot like New York) and had an apartment there and met a lot of cool people, especially this one black woman who reminds me of my old friend Patrice. The uncool bit was when a old depressed Parisian bum wandered into my beautiful apartment, looked at what was his childhood flat, and died of heart failure in what was my bedroom. Then, inexplicably, I call an ambulance, make sure that the man's family buries him, and go over to some kind of trendy clothes boutique to meet the black woman who reminds me of Patrice but who can speak beautiful French since she works there. The real Patrice works at Disneyland, actually. Then we end up going over to what looks like the Orpheum Theater in San Francisco so that my classmates and I can get fitted for some kind of big musical revue Broadway-type show that we'll be performing. I switched over to English at this point, and the Patrice look-alike had to go back to the clothing store to work or else she'd be fired. It's like the 8th grade musical except that we don't sing, and the costumes were really lovely. For some reason in my dreams I remember fabrics very vividly, and this very lustrous heavy red satin material keeps reappearing in my dreams. For some inexplicable reason the music we were dancing to was the overture of the Mel Brooks musical, The Producers, and we kept on dancing to an instrumental version of "Springtime for Hitler" (I can't figure that one out) For some reason generic parents were watching our first dress rehersal, though we weren't performing for many more weeks. The Orpheum Theatre set was actually the inside of the school Chapel, and I walked up with Sophia (we kept on making snarky comments about having to follow such ridiculous choreography during rehersal) to the language area so that she could meet with her French teacher. However, said French teacher was actually the middle school Spanish teacher. They talked about various things and I kept looking out the window and saw Paris, rather than the circle. Hmmm. I was tempted to mention that the reason why I didn't finish my French essay was because a mysterious French man had appeared in my apartment (it was mine, all mine! My family lived next door, but there wasn't enough room for me there, and they wanted me to have my own place) and died over the weekend. Sophia's French teacher, who for some reason was also mine, took this all very calmly as if this was an ordinary occurence and let me turn in my essay a day late without penalty. Sophia and I left the language building and got a sip of water outside, which had turned into the regular school grounds again.
Somethign else happened at the end that was quite interesting, except that I forgot it. Damn.
-I found the garage light circuit problem for math ridiculously easy. Now I'm suspicious that I seriously mucked something up.
-I discovered that the word "subway station" is not in my Oxford Hachette French-English dictionary. Those dingles.
I am really screwed on my Proustian essay as I'm just starting it. My eloved free period right before lunch will hopefully save me...I HOpe.
Chomskyan is apparently a legitimate dictionary adjective.
I still have yet to finish my damned essay. Erp. Maybe I should stick with the sucky slightly incomplete one I originally did.
-My grandmother left for Hong Kong with my aunt. Yay that she's doing much better.
-I've slept in my own bed for the first time in a week (too many relatives, not enough beds; I end up sleeping on the floor in my parents' room. It wasn't that bad, though.)
-Franck the Quebecian Anarchist (apparently he's not one anymore, but the nickname has stuck) gave a spiel sounding an awful lot like that of a tourism bureau's to encourage me to visit Montreal in February.
-I discovered that the Avengers episode "The Joker" is like a color version of the previous episode, "The House that Jack Built" except that Steed ends up saving Emma's life. Awww, how sweet.
-I downloaded the font that's used in the Village in the Prisoner. Ooh, my ringer will get to see this in the letters that I send to her for the ringing process. How special.
-Said ringing process is a twisted combination of a modern music history lesson, a Prisoner episode, and a really amateurish adaptation of Sophie's World.
-I finally got to talk to Adric for a long period of time. Mixed confused feelings about life and relationships. It's lovely to be able to talk to someone who I normally don't get to talk to much.
-A pathetic, slimy but good-looking freak in England tried hitting on me. The attempted pick up lines were nowhere near as bad as Franck's, in Austin's (the pathetic freak's) defense. I vaguely know him, but at least his French is decent. What is it with foreign blond guys anyway???? It's some kind of massive conspiracy against me.
-I had a really cool dream that was almost entirely in French in the beginning. It was very atmospheric, with really light pencil lead-gray clouds, overcast, some lingering shadows. It felt like a juxtaposition of black and white and the buildings were all muted colors, though certain modern advertisments and things stood out vividly in the background. I was wandering around Paris (which in certain neighborhoods looked a lot like New York) and had an apartment there and met a lot of cool people, especially this one black woman who reminds me of my old friend Patrice. The uncool bit was when a old depressed Parisian bum wandered into my beautiful apartment, looked at what was his childhood flat, and died of heart failure in what was my bedroom. Then, inexplicably, I call an ambulance, make sure that the man's family buries him, and go over to some kind of trendy clothes boutique to meet the black woman who reminds me of Patrice but who can speak beautiful French since she works there. The real Patrice works at Disneyland, actually. Then we end up going over to what looks like the Orpheum Theater in San Francisco so that my classmates and I can get fitted for some kind of big musical revue Broadway-type show that we'll be performing. I switched over to English at this point, and the Patrice look-alike had to go back to the clothing store to work or else she'd be fired. It's like the 8th grade musical except that we don't sing, and the costumes were really lovely. For some reason in my dreams I remember fabrics very vividly, and this very lustrous heavy red satin material keeps reappearing in my dreams. For some inexplicable reason the music we were dancing to was the overture of the Mel Brooks musical, The Producers, and we kept on dancing to an instrumental version of "Springtime for Hitler" (I can't figure that one out) For some reason generic parents were watching our first dress rehersal, though we weren't performing for many more weeks. The Orpheum Theatre set was actually the inside of the school Chapel, and I walked up with Sophia (we kept on making snarky comments about having to follow such ridiculous choreography during rehersal) to the language area so that she could meet with her French teacher. However, said French teacher was actually the middle school Spanish teacher. They talked about various things and I kept looking out the window and saw Paris, rather than the circle. Hmmm. I was tempted to mention that the reason why I didn't finish my French essay was because a mysterious French man had appeared in my apartment (it was mine, all mine! My family lived next door, but there wasn't enough room for me there, and they wanted me to have my own place) and died over the weekend. Sophia's French teacher, who for some reason was also mine, took this all very calmly as if this was an ordinary occurence and let me turn in my essay a day late without penalty. Sophia and I left the language building and got a sip of water outside, which had turned into the regular school grounds again.
Somethign else happened at the end that was quite interesting, except that I forgot it. Damn.
-I found the garage light circuit problem for math ridiculously easy. Now I'm suspicious that I seriously mucked something up.
-I discovered that the word "subway station" is not in my Oxford Hachette French-English dictionary. Those dingles.
I am really screwed on my Proustian essay as I'm just starting it. My eloved free period right before lunch will hopefully save me...I HOpe.
Chomskyan is apparently a legitimate dictionary adjective.
I still have yet to finish my damned essay. Erp. Maybe I should stick with the sucky slightly incomplete one I originally did.
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(no subject)
Date: 2004-09-27 03:38 am (UTC)