Real date on this one is Feb 18th, 2009. BACKLOGGED

I was thinking about separating my "blog" blog from my art blog, but then i remembered that I have 678 art history pages left to read for tomorrow and it would be really irresponsible to ignore that. So now I'm writing this, which is helping neither of those problems.

I've been playing my violin a lot recently. This is puzzling for multiple reasons, the first being that I have no time to spare for such nonsense, the second being that I'm (surprise! five years later) incredibly terrible, and the third being that I don't think I'm going to get any better by playing the same measure of the same song 30 times in a row every time I "practice." Every day I brace myself for a knock on the door from my neighbor telling me that I'm being too loud (and also horrific), and that if he hears the opening sequence to Don Quixote one more time he might kill me, or do something equally upsetting, like write "nark bitch" on my door and pour beer on it.

here's a good story: that last one actually happened to me. unfortunately the harassment was completely undeserved but, you know, it makes for a good tale. I also feel the need to point out the spelling of "nark" so as to explain that it wasn't my idea to spell it like that. It just looks dumb.


I have a paper due for my existentialism class on tuesday, and I have no idea what I'm going to write. I wonder if I can just grab 6 pieces of white paper, write "PAPERS ARE EXISTENTIALLY IRRELEVANT" across all of them and hope they appreciate my finely-tuned sense of delivery.

I'm done with sentences. here's a list that constitutes my life since my last post (in an order that makes almost no sense):

1. Polite and nicely-worded email informing me that my ethics essay didn't make it past round one of deliberation. zinggg.
2. Shitshow trip to the dentist involving overzealous, needle-wielding crazy lady disguised as dentist
3. Solo Exhibition on display in the extremely professional and not at all lame Heritage Room in the AC library, visited by various students (who were forced, no doubt, by "the man" in the form of art experience points) and none other than the wife of my 7th grade science teacher for God knows what reason.
4. Loss of internship with said venue because the librarian (who, incidentally, writes death poetry) found me inappropriate and unprofessional for not answering a seemingly inexistent email
5. Fumbling creation of two speeches on the day they were due, one being suspended by the religious phenomenon sometimes referred to as "class cancelled"
6. Late night drive to Ann Arbor as a result of this phenomenon, where fingers dance on keyboard in the apartment of a friend who is no doubt angry with yours truly for making her watch A Series of Unfortunate Events even though she really didn't want to. Sooooo yeaaahhhhhh. I'm gonna go. I wouldn't want to scuff up yer floors with me ol' cripply leg.