... then why can't I just move to the part of it I like?
I miss Britain.
11/30/2007
11/26/2007
Insane, Membrane, etc.
Some days I think the world must have gone insane. Just slipped across that thin, thin line sometime in the night whilst I was sleeping. In the morning I get up, turn on my computer, make a cup of tea, and sit down to the headlines on the BBC. Here's what tipped me off today: A British schoolteacher has been arrested in Sudan accused of insulting Islam's Prophet, after she allowed her pupils to name a teddy bear Muhammad. Seriously. You can't make this stuff up. Sad, but hilarious in a way at the same time.
With other headlines, I'm convinced there's still some sanity left, but it's only just starting to organize itself in the face of greater neglect: India's 'pink' vigilante women; They wear pink saris,... go after corrupt officials and boorish men, and brandish sticks and axes when the push comes to shove.
Although Trent Lott did announce his resignation today, which is brilliant. Of course, there's got to be some controversy about it, but check out Seattle's The Stranger's blog where they slog it out. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with women in pink saris.
Comedy and tragedy are so closely linked, as John Cleese once pointed out, and some days it rings more true than others.
Case in point:
From one of my favorites, The Perry Bible Fellowship.
With other headlines, I'm convinced there's still some sanity left, but it's only just starting to organize itself in the face of greater neglect: India's 'pink' vigilante women; They wear pink saris,... go after corrupt officials and boorish men, and brandish sticks and axes when the push comes to shove.
Although Trent Lott did announce his resignation today, which is brilliant. Of course, there's got to be some controversy about it, but check out Seattle's The Stranger's blog where they slog it out. Unfortunately, it has nothing to do with women in pink saris.
Comedy and tragedy are so closely linked, as John Cleese once pointed out, and some days it rings more true than others.
Case in point:
From one of my favorites, The Perry Bible Fellowship.
11/21/2007
Gutted
It's about quarter to 7 on the night before Thanksgiving and I'm missing out on one of my favorite bands, Maximo Park, at the Wiltern. They're opening for Travis and go on at 8. Everybody in LA is going everywhere. There's no way I would make it the 8-odd miles over hill and dale and surface streets to The Wiltern with enough time to see even half their set. Add to that $37.50 (plus convenience charges) for a ticket and parking and it's (monetarily) really not worth my while. If I was a Travis fan.... maybe. But I'm not. I am gutted. Le sigh.
Damn you, poor planning of laundry and false optimism about the traffic in LA!!! According to reports, nothing is moving, in any direction, anywhere. I thought, 'Well, doors are at 7 and the show's at 8, so if I leave about 7.30 I'll be fine!' Count in losing track of time folding my socks and suddenly it's 7.35. Doubts set in. I hem and haw for 5 minutes. 7.40 -- this is doing me no good. I check google maps for a time/distance estimate and traffic updates. "7.7 mi – about 21 mins, up to 30 mins in traffic" does me no good. It's too late -- no one can save me now. 7.45 and I capitulate.
Defeat is mine and victory is yours, once again, you cruel, cruel car-clogged asphalts of Los Angeles.
However, with this post I've turned inaction to action, so I feel at least 10% productive. I'll have to make the trek across town later anyway to pick up old-high-school-friend Britney who's coming up to NorCal with me for Thanksgiving. However, we leave at 5.15am tomorrow morning so there won't be anyone on the streets at that time!!! Ha HAH! Take THAT, city of angels!
Oh... oh, damn. I've given our brilliant plan away. Now I'll have to pray to the Parking Fairy to at least make our time in gridlock bearable.
Damn you, poor planning of laundry and false optimism about the traffic in LA!!! According to reports, nothing is moving, in any direction, anywhere. I thought, 'Well, doors are at 7 and the show's at 8, so if I leave about 7.30 I'll be fine!' Count in losing track of time folding my socks and suddenly it's 7.35. Doubts set in. I hem and haw for 5 minutes. 7.40 -- this is doing me no good. I check google maps for a time/distance estimate and traffic updates. "7.7 mi – about 21 mins, up to 30 mins in traffic" does me no good. It's too late -- no one can save me now. 7.45 and I capitulate.
Defeat is mine and victory is yours, once again, you cruel, cruel car-clogged asphalts of Los Angeles.
However, with this post I've turned inaction to action, so I feel at least 10% productive. I'll have to make the trek across town later anyway to pick up old-high-school-friend Britney who's coming up to NorCal with me for Thanksgiving. However, we leave at 5.15am tomorrow morning so there won't be anyone on the streets at that time!!! Ha HAH! Take THAT, city of angels!
Oh... oh, damn. I've given our brilliant plan away. Now I'll have to pray to the Parking Fairy to at least make our time in gridlock bearable.
11/14/2007
Touched by the hand
So, walking back from class today, I wasn't even out of the building when I get stopped by a shy little Asian guy who asks how I am and what happened to my arm, pointing to my sling. I said I'm ok, I just tore a muscle on my collarbone playing rugby. He then mumbled something about being asked to do a project for ministry or something about people who are injured... and asked if he could pray for me. Just before this I was hoping that he wasn't going to come out with something out of a bad movie like, "I've watched you walk down this hall every Wednesday... will you go out with me?"
"Ummmm okay, sure..." I said, not much relieved. He asked if he could put his hand on my shoulder -- "That'd be a little weird." So he didn't, and instead held his left hand out like he was halfway through a high-five and started asking god to heal me and my terrible injury on my collarbone. I stood there looking bewildered while lots of people walked by, looking similarly bewildered. When he finished he asked if I had felt anything (other than awkward and uncomfortable, I assumed). I said no, sorry, wished him a nice day left the building as fast as I could.
I should've told him to pray for the people of Darfur. They could use it a hell of a lot more than I do - I've got vicodin.
Stupid American religiousism-nesstastica. And hooray for painkillers.
"Ummmm okay, sure..." I said, not much relieved. He asked if he could put his hand on my shoulder -- "That'd be a little weird." So he didn't, and instead held his left hand out like he was halfway through a high-five and started asking god to heal me and my terrible injury on my collarbone. I stood there looking bewildered while lots of people walked by, looking similarly bewildered. When he finished he asked if I had felt anything (other than awkward and uncomfortable, I assumed). I said no, sorry, wished him a nice day left the building as fast as I could.
I should've told him to pray for the people of Darfur. They could use it a hell of a lot more than I do - I've got vicodin.
Stupid American religiousism-nesstastica. And hooray for painkillers.
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