Oh, a joke. I get jokes.

Monday, September 13th, 2004

I don’t remember any of my dreams from last night, though I did wake up at 2am with two completely dead arms. I hate waking up with both my arms asleep. I hate standing up (with no help from my arms, thankyouverrahmuch (yeah, I know, you probably stand with your legs, too)) and watching them flop violently at the elbows without my muscles to slow them down. I’m always afraid I’m going to break an arm that way. Eventually I realized my arms were numb because I’d fallen asleep with a shirt on, and all my twisting and turning before dozing off had wrapped the shirt so tightly around my chest and shoulders that no blood was getting through. So I went back to bed slightly less clothed than I had previously.

My first thought upon (officially) waking this morning? “Barking up the wrong tree. Oh, bark! Bark on trees. I get it.” I’d never gotten that before. Who knew you could live 23 years of your life without ever catching something like that?

I also learned what inculcate meant this morning, but I don’t feel too bad about not knowing that one. I despise academic writers. I swear, they spend more time scouring thesauri for obscure words than they do writing the damn essays in the first place. “Teach? Psh! Indoctrinate? Too many people know what that means. If I use it, they might not think I’m smart! Then the dean might take my lunch money at recess.”

Hmm… hate and despise. Don’t get the wrong idea, folks. I’m in a decent mood this morning.

I Dream of TP

Sunday, September 12th, 2004

I had a couple of strange dreams last night. Actually, the strangest part of it all is I’m awake and can still remember bits and pieces of them. Usually, if I do dream (and I can only assume I do), I’ve no recollection of them by the time I’m awake.

In the first, I walked into my composition classroom a few minutes before class began and turned on the overhead projector to show some assignment information or something. One of the students (we’ll call her Veronica) warned me that class hadn’t started yet, and I told her I was just giving the early people a little extra time to learn. Most of them started taking notes (remember, this is a dream). Things got really weird when class started. Eight or nine of my students walked to the front of the classroom, placed a gift on the desk, and went back to their seats. I was confused, and asked the occasion. One of them, Bob, gave me a funny look and said, “They’re for Thursday.” I had no idea what that meant, though my best guess was it was something Homecoming-week related, so I smiled and acted like I knew what he was talking about. I started to put the gifts aside so I could begin class, but they wanted me to open them before we started, and I complied. I opened the first gift, which I think was from Bob, and it was five half-used rolls of toilet paper. The rolls had a different embarrassing statement about my past printed on each sheet (in a bold, sans-serif font of different colors, justified text, and a corresponding visual aid in the lower-right of each sheet). At that point, an authoritative-looking woman of about fifty walked through the door and came towards the desk. I hid a mostly-empty bottle of Bud Ice (which, by the by, I’m pretty sure was another “gift”) on the floor and asked if I could help her. She asked if I was the instructor, and I said yes. She asked if I knew where the kissing competition was. And then I woke up.

In the second dream I was a teenager and an amateur wizard of some sort. I had just climbed an enormous tree because I’d heard there was a demon in the tree house at the top. When I opened the door, I saw a boy about my age playing with something on the floor, an old man sitting in a straight-backed wooden chair staring into space, and an identical chair in which sat the dusty skeleton of something that looked demonesque. I asked the boy where the demon was. The boy got up and skipped to the kitchen (big tree house), looked in the cupboard, and said, “Sometimes he’s in here.” He then skipped to the closet near the front door, pulled aside the curtain divider, and said, “And sometimes he’s in here.” Then he pointed at the skeleton in the chair and said, “And sometimes, he’s RIGHT THERE!” His voice had gone from childlike sing-songy to booming and menacing, and as he pointed, the skeleton took the form of something black and vicious which came straight at me, knocking me back out the door to the ground. On the way back up, I realized that the demon and the boy were working together, and that the old man was comatose and helpless. When I got back to the top, I tried to drive them both out of the tree house and into the sunlight, which I knew would destroy the demon and save the boy. Unfortunately, the only spell I seemed to know very well was how to increase the brightness of the available sunlight, and there was only one window in the tree house, directly opposite the door. Eventually, after being knocked out of the tree several more times and (I’m guessing) using some wizardry I don’t remember, I got them both out the door. I walked the boy back to the village where he would be safe. He asked how old I was, and I told him I was fourteen. He seemed pretty impressed, and said he was thirteen but would be fourteen soon.

I also had a third dream which I don’t remember well at all. It had something to do with the tuna in our fridge downstairs, and it was fairly bloody-looking tuna in my dream, so I think I’ll stay away from that stuff.

Can you see me?

Friday, September 10th, 2004

Let me know if you can see this post, please! I’ve done quite a bit of site maintenance today, and I want to make sure the blog is still working for everyone.

What I’ve done:

1) Moved to a new server. I’m still with LinkSky, but I moved to one of their newer, faster servers. Hopefully, this will result in the site feeling a little speedier. It also gives me 300MB of room to play around in. :)

2) Updated my name servers. This was required because of the move to a new server. What this means is, some of you may see the old page for a couple of days, while some of you will see the new site. That’s why I’m looking for comments… I want to see when people start getting the new site.

3) Updated MovableType. Previously, I was using MovableType 2.64. Now, I’m up to 3.11. What does this mean? For me, it means I have a faster, more customizable, and far more aesthetically pleasing blogging system. For you, this means I’ll probably require you to register for comments at Typekey within a week or so. In theory, this will eliminate the (non-family-related) spam problem I’ve been having.

So! Comment, comment, comment! If you do not comment, you are probably a Nazi. And probably not a very popular Nazi, either. I bet you don’t even get invited to the Party parties. Loser.

Between a sweet and a sappy place.

Tuesday, September 7th, 2004

I’ve had the oddest songs stuck in my head this weekend. Sunday, I kept hearing and re-hearing Grover Levy’s “Dear God,” which I haven’t heard in ~person~ for like five years or something. Luckily, I was able to give Grover the boot sometime Monday afternoon by setting something else echoing through my skull. What’d I get to take his place? Belle and Sebastian’s “Beautiful.” Argh. All this soft stuff is putting me in funny moods. I downloaded two complete Belle and Sebastian CD’s last night to use as study music. So far, my favorites are “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying” and “I Fought in a War.” That isn’t like me. :) Maybe if I play some Marilyn Manson or something, I’ll return to normal.

Eric and Ren

Hovering in much the same way that bricks don’t.

Friday, September 3rd, 2004

I was doing a little historical research on the ol’ Wayback Machine (think: time machine, now in condensed URL form!), and I decided to look up my own website. Some of what I found was pretty cool. Wayback has a record of a few entries I’ve since lost, so I may be able to reformat them and reintroduce them into the blogosphere, where hopefully they’ll breed and help sustain my ailing entry population.

Some of the stuff I read, however, only depressed me. I read an entry in which I’m bitching because I’d been eating so much that I had soared up to 170 pounds. 170! I was up from 158. Jesus. I didn’t even remember I ~was~ that skinny, however briefly. Shit, though. 170. I’m hovering (assuming an ass that heavy can hover) above 190 now. Wha happen?!?

In news that doesn’t cause me to price rice cakes and laxatives, I have a Gmail account! *beams a big smile at my new friendlike person, Alicia* Gmail, for those of you who both live under a rock ~and~ didn’t read my ranting on the front page about it this last April, is a webmail system created by Google that has several doubleplusgood properties. For example, instead of having to store everything in hundreds of mailboxes just to know how to find something a few months down the line (my Eudora, which I use to check my ISU email, has 111 mailboxes in 9 folders, and my Inbox is still hopelessly cluttered), you can just search for the message you want using Google-powered search technology. Also, Gmail organizes information contextually. Meaning, if send a message, they reply, I reply back, they reply to my reply (and so on…), Gmail will cluster those messages, giving me quick access to the entire conversation. Oh, and the ~gigabyte~ of storage space isn’t anything to spit at, either. :)

If you want it, my new email address is rglazebrook at gmail dot com. I’ll still be checking my ISU email and Rootarcana mail, of course. I just like having alternatives. Particularly cool alternatives.