Tavie blogs i like:
amy
dave foley
mark mckinney
e.mail
archive
andrew
anne marie
barb carr
barb
beth
boing boing
buddy cole
camille
caroline
cartoon brew
craig northey
crissy/alternate link
dave
disney blog
francis
polly mcaffable
gina
goose
jamie
james kochalka
Jersey City DFA
jordan
jim hill
kirsten
kithblog
liz
matt k/word du jour
mike t
passive agressive notes
patton oswalt
post secret
rule the web
rynn
sarah
sarah c
serra
soft communication
tea rose
terry
toothpaste for dinner
tilly
My Flickr account
Subscribe in a reader
my 'currently-reading' shelf:
i want:
wish list
i've read:
goodreads list
Saturday, May 03, 2003
I wanna go to Buffalo and wash an elephant!
!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:29 AM | shower me with attention
!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:29 AM | shower me with attention
An oldie but a goodie. I actually tried to visit Rob's Amazing Poem Generator a few weeks ago and the code didn't seem to be working. But I see it's back in working order:
tavie head? 9:20 AM | shower me with
something that I made
a nice strong duct tape,
and hung a kitchen on a cruise then I made
a wall WAS probably more
than the . Return I can only ceased
a spool of apostrophes.and Alex,
two of the piano. on the hook.
All OOOOOHed when awake, Because
as in cartoons and
perhaps caffeine.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:18 AM | shower me with attention
tavie head? 9:20 AM | shower me with
something that I made
a nice strong duct tape,
and hung a kitchen on a cruise then I made
a wall WAS probably more
than the . Return I can only ceased
a spool of apostrophes.and Alex,
two of the piano. on the hook.
All OOOOOHed when awake, Because
as in cartoons and
perhaps caffeine.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:18 AM | shower me with attention
Thursday, May 01, 2003
My good pal Terry gave me a beautiful watch for Christmas. I love this watch. I wear it all the time.
I was walking to school today, swinging my arms as people do when they walk, and passed over a subway grate, and woosh. Watch slipped right off my wrist and fell down into the subway grate.
I sort of stood there gaping down at it for awhile. I couldn't move. Couldn't quite bring myself to leave it. It was a very deep grate with pretty narrow openings, so there was no way of getting to it.
After awhile I sat down on the grate-- in the middle of the sidewalk on Lexington avenue-- and took some yarn out of my bag. And my latch-hook that I use to weave in yarn ends. I had some sort of cockeyed idea that I could tie the yarn around the latch-hook, lower it down and snag the watch.
A woman walking by paused to sympathize with my plight. She suggested that it would probably be there for awhile if I came back with something better to snag it with, like some wire or a fishing pole. I thanked her and she walked on. Then I went into the stationery store nearby, bought some extremely overpriced, extremely crappy masking tape, and hunkered back down, trying to get the yarn anchored to the hook.
All of a sudden there was the woman, standing in front of me with a spool of wire. This was a woman I'd never met in my life. Her name was Mary. She told me she went to the hardware store down the street and bought some wire. She'd told the hardware store guys what it was for and they advised her not to do it, said that it was probably a scam, but she said that she told them that no, it was just a nice girl who'd really lost her watch.
She wouldn't take any money or anything for the wire. So we both hunkered down now, and lowered the wire down. But we couldn't get any control with it. People were starting to stop now and offer us suggestions. One man came by and told me that I should get some nice, strong duct tape, ball it on the end, and use it to snag the watch. So I went back in the stationery store and bought some extremely overpriced, extremely crappy duct tape. It did not do the trick.
By this time a fair-sized crowd was gathered. There were many suggestions. The most popular suggestions was chewing gum. At least one out of every three people who walked by told me that I should stick some chewing gum on the wire. That's ridiculous. If duct tape isn't sticky enough to catch the watch, how is chewing gum gonna do the job?
Finally a man named Alex-- thick New York accent, just like Mary, so I knew they were both locals-- stepped forward and hung a weight from his keychain onto the wire, and the three of us crouched down and held our breaths as he tried again and again to snag the watch. There was a big crowd by now, and we all OOOOOHed when he finally managed to catch it, and AHHHHHHHed as he slowly brought it up, and D'OH!!!ed when he dropped it. Once, twice. The third time, oh-so-slowly, was the charm. And a rousing cheer and applause went through the crowd.
It was a beautiful, priceless moment. Because, you know, these sort of things happen all the time in cartoons and on Kate and Allie, but it doesn't often actually happen for real.
So that's why I asked for their names-- Mary and Alex, two complete strangers to eachother and to me, and Alex said he was glad to help and went on his way. And again I asked Mary if I could send her a check for the wire, and she told me no, but I could do something for her.
So together we went to the hardware store and I showed the man my watch and said to him, "There, don't be so cynical. New Yorkers are good people."
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:20 PM | shower me with attention
I was walking to school today, swinging my arms as people do when they walk, and passed over a subway grate, and woosh. Watch slipped right off my wrist and fell down into the subway grate.
I sort of stood there gaping down at it for awhile. I couldn't move. Couldn't quite bring myself to leave it. It was a very deep grate with pretty narrow openings, so there was no way of getting to it.
After awhile I sat down on the grate-- in the middle of the sidewalk on Lexington avenue-- and took some yarn out of my bag. And my latch-hook that I use to weave in yarn ends. I had some sort of cockeyed idea that I could tie the yarn around the latch-hook, lower it down and snag the watch.
A woman walking by paused to sympathize with my plight. She suggested that it would probably be there for awhile if I came back with something better to snag it with, like some wire or a fishing pole. I thanked her and she walked on. Then I went into the stationery store nearby, bought some extremely overpriced, extremely crappy masking tape, and hunkered back down, trying to get the yarn anchored to the hook.
All of a sudden there was the woman, standing in front of me with a spool of wire. This was a woman I'd never met in my life. Her name was Mary. She told me she went to the hardware store down the street and bought some wire. She'd told the hardware store guys what it was for and they advised her not to do it, said that it was probably a scam, but she said that she told them that no, it was just a nice girl who'd really lost her watch.
She wouldn't take any money or anything for the wire. So we both hunkered down now, and lowered the wire down. But we couldn't get any control with it. People were starting to stop now and offer us suggestions. One man came by and told me that I should get some nice, strong duct tape, ball it on the end, and use it to snag the watch. So I went back in the stationery store and bought some extremely overpriced, extremely crappy duct tape. It did not do the trick.
By this time a fair-sized crowd was gathered. There were many suggestions. The most popular suggestions was chewing gum. At least one out of every three people who walked by told me that I should stick some chewing gum on the wire. That's ridiculous. If duct tape isn't sticky enough to catch the watch, how is chewing gum gonna do the job?
Finally a man named Alex-- thick New York accent, just like Mary, so I knew they were both locals-- stepped forward and hung a weight from his keychain onto the wire, and the three of us crouched down and held our breaths as he tried again and again to snag the watch. There was a big crowd by now, and we all OOOOOHed when he finally managed to catch it, and AHHHHHHHed as he slowly brought it up, and D'OH!!!ed when he dropped it. Once, twice. The third time, oh-so-slowly, was the charm. And a rousing cheer and applause went through the crowd.
It was a beautiful, priceless moment. Because, you know, these sort of things happen all the time in cartoons and on Kate and Allie, but it doesn't often actually happen for real.
So that's why I asked for their names-- Mary and Alex, two complete strangers to eachother and to me, and Alex said he was glad to help and went on his way. And again I asked Mary if I could send her a check for the wire, and she told me no, but I could do something for her.
So together we went to the hardware store and I showed the man my watch and said to him, "There, don't be so cynical. New Yorkers are good people."
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:20 PM | shower me with attention
My ass looks fabulous in these pants.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:16 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:16 PM | shower me with attention
For god's sake, somebody stop me!!!!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:16 AM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:16 AM | shower me with attention
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
I was in the ceramics studio until 10 tonight. I made two more good bowls, total is now three, three, THREE good pieces, ah-ah-ah! None of them look alike. So I guess I'll get an F, since the assignment is to make four pieces that look alike.
I don't even care. I'm just thrilled that I made a bowl that looks like a bowl.
I'm sitting here exhausted, but if I don't shower now I will not have a chance to in the morning, and I will smell bad tomorrow, like clay and stinkiness. So I have to go shower, which will wake me up and I won't be able to sleep.
I guess I could try a bath. I bought Mr Bubble. I like Mr Bubble. What I really want is some nice bath melts and bath bombs from Lush, but there aren't any around here and I don't have a credit card.
Is it my birthday yet? Can we celebrate my birthday now and just skip it in July?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
I don't even care. I'm just thrilled that I made a bowl that looks like a bowl.
I'm sitting here exhausted, but if I don't shower now I will not have a chance to in the morning, and I will smell bad tomorrow, like clay and stinkiness. So I have to go shower, which will wake me up and I won't be able to sleep.
I guess I could try a bath. I bought Mr Bubble. I like Mr Bubble. What I really want is some nice bath melts and bath bombs from Lush, but there aren't any around here and I don't have a credit card.
Is it my birthday yet? Can we celebrate my birthday now and just skip it in July?
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:55 PM | shower me with attention
Welcome back to the Point of No Return.
I had this elaborate scale worked out in my head as to why I will be miserable for the rest of my working life. It had to do with the difficulty of waking from natural sleep versus melatonin-induced sleep. The scale went roughly as follows:
1 - Waking from exactly the right amount of sleep. Anything less than 1, in the negative numbers, is too much sleep and equals sluggishness. I think that people rarely experience this sort of perfection. This is Morning Nirvana.
3 - Waking earlier than one would like, but after an adequately restful night's sleep. I think most normal peoplen would fit under this category.
5 - Having some trouble waking up. Grogginess. Wears off with the aid of adrenaline from morning routine, and perhaps caffeine. Rest of the day is okay. Maybe sleepy in the afternoon. Probably more people fit under this category than the 3-gradient. (This would be the cause of all those "Americans aren't getting enough sleep" studies.)
7 - Definite difficulty waking. Much continuous caffeine needed to stay awake. Sleepiness throughout the day. This is how I usually function.
10 - Waking after melatonin. Nearly impossible. Always results in lateness or missed work/school. Would rather trade in life than wake up. Bottom of a deep pool of sleep. When awake, very sleepy all day.
This is why I can no longer take melatonin at night.
Anyway, I had a point to all of this. The point of this is, I will never get the right amount of sleep in a nine-to-five life, because no matter what, my body wants to be awake at this time of night. Take now, for example. Last night, I got about 3 hours of sleep-- definitely less than the norm, and much MUCH less than I need to function comfortably. Despite this fact, I woke up feeling more awake than if I had gotten more sleep, and went to work. I needed more coffee than usual to stay awake. When I got home, I watched tv. Around 8:30, I felt ready to pass out, but stayed awake to watch the rest of Buffy. Around 11, I started to chat with some friends online, realized I was completely exhausted, and went to bed.
And lay awake.
Because that's what happens when I go to bed. I start out falling asleep, barely able to keep my eyes open. I turn out the light. I shut my eyes. And suddenly, after having gone through the routine of being ready to sleep, as if the routine itself were jinxing me, I am wide awake. The very act of going to "sleep" wakes me up. Even if I crossword myself into a near-coma, the act of reaching to turn off the light and settling down into a comfortable position wakes me up.
So basically I'm fucked, pretty much for the rest of my life, unless I can find a job that lets me set my own hours or work from home. How does one get into telecommuting? What kind of jobs allow it? This is what I need to be shooting for.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:36 AM | shower me with attention
I had this elaborate scale worked out in my head as to why I will be miserable for the rest of my working life. It had to do with the difficulty of waking from natural sleep versus melatonin-induced sleep. The scale went roughly as follows:
1 - Waking from exactly the right amount of sleep. Anything less than 1, in the negative numbers, is too much sleep and equals sluggishness. I think that people rarely experience this sort of perfection. This is Morning Nirvana.
3 - Waking earlier than one would like, but after an adequately restful night's sleep. I think most normal peoplen would fit under this category.
5 - Having some trouble waking up. Grogginess. Wears off with the aid of adrenaline from morning routine, and perhaps caffeine. Rest of the day is okay. Maybe sleepy in the afternoon. Probably more people fit under this category than the 3-gradient. (This would be the cause of all those "Americans aren't getting enough sleep" studies.)
7 - Definite difficulty waking. Much continuous caffeine needed to stay awake. Sleepiness throughout the day. This is how I usually function.
10 - Waking after melatonin. Nearly impossible. Always results in lateness or missed work/school. Would rather trade in life than wake up. Bottom of a deep pool of sleep. When awake, very sleepy all day.
This is why I can no longer take melatonin at night.
Anyway, I had a point to all of this. The point of this is, I will never get the right amount of sleep in a nine-to-five life, because no matter what, my body wants to be awake at this time of night. Take now, for example. Last night, I got about 3 hours of sleep-- definitely less than the norm, and much MUCH less than I need to function comfortably. Despite this fact, I woke up feeling more awake than if I had gotten more sleep, and went to work. I needed more coffee than usual to stay awake. When I got home, I watched tv. Around 8:30, I felt ready to pass out, but stayed awake to watch the rest of Buffy. Around 11, I started to chat with some friends online, realized I was completely exhausted, and went to bed.
And lay awake.
Because that's what happens when I go to bed. I start out falling asleep, barely able to keep my eyes open. I turn out the light. I shut my eyes. And suddenly, after having gone through the routine of being ready to sleep, as if the routine itself were jinxing me, I am wide awake. The very act of going to "sleep" wakes me up. Even if I crossword myself into a near-coma, the act of reaching to turn off the light and settling down into a comfortable position wakes me up.
So basically I'm fucked, pretty much for the rest of my life, unless I can find a job that lets me set my own hours or work from home. How does one get into telecommuting? What kind of jobs allow it? This is what I need to be shooting for.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:36 AM | shower me with attention
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Tom Brokaw said "tax cunts". Ha ha ha ha ha.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:11 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 7:11 PM | shower me with attention
I've concluded that the water coming out of the walls last night was, in fact, hot tap water like the handyman said, and not toilet water like I feared. I've concluded this because the water was lukewarm-- yes, like urine, but urine mixed with toilet water is cold. So if it had been toilet water, it would have reached our apartment cold.
So at least the walls weren't peeing.
Anyway, not only did it leak out of the hall-wall, but it came seeping out from the wall directly perpindicular to it, the one behind the piano. If I discover that the water damaged the piano, I am going to sue them. It's an old, cheap, crappy piano in bad need of tuning worth not more than $300, but I am going to sue for emotional distress. Its sentimental value is high. I learned how to play the piano on that thing. Perhaps more significantly, I learned to hate playing the piano on that thing. When I was seven I carved into it with a ballpoint pen, "Fred's piano only". (Fred being my father, who, when I learned to play, told me it was now both his and mine.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:41 PM | shower me with attention
So at least the walls weren't peeing.
Anyway, not only did it leak out of the hall-wall, but it came seeping out from the wall directly perpindicular to it, the one behind the piano. If I discover that the water damaged the piano, I am going to sue them. It's an old, cheap, crappy piano in bad need of tuning worth not more than $300, but I am going to sue for emotional distress. Its sentimental value is high. I learned how to play the piano on that thing. Perhaps more significantly, I learned to hate playing the piano on that thing. When I was seven I carved into it with a ballpoint pen, "Fred's piano only". (Fred being my father, who, when I learned to play, told me it was now both his and mine.)
Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:41 PM | shower me with attention
People, PLEASE!
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:45 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:45 PM | shower me with attention
Did I mention that a couple of days ago everyone in our household woke up at 8 am to the sound of something that can only be described as a jackhammer coming from the apartment above? If it wasn't a jackhammer it was something remarkably like a jackhammer. I don't know what people would be using a jackhammer on in a cheap, paper-thin-walled, wooden-floored apartment, but it was most definitely there.
Well, tonight. Tonight as in about half an hour ago. Kirsten and I were both having trouble sleeping tonight and luckily for us she got out of bed around that time, thirty minutes or so ago. Just as I was beginning to approach the early stages of sleep, I heard her go, "What's that sound? Do you hear that?" And I believe I said, "PLEASE let me sleep" and then she yelled "TAVIE COME HERE" and do you know why?
I'll tell you goddamnedmotherfucking why. It's because the GODDAMNED WALL WAS LEAKING. THE GODDAMN WALL WAS GODDAMN LEAKING. This isn't a wall that is connected to a bathroom or a kitchen or anything with pipes. This is the wall against which our bunk beds sit. On the other side of this wall is the hallway where the doorman-buzzer-phone is. The fucking wall was gushing water. Or whatever it is between gushing and dripping. I can't think of words right now because I am very upset. But it was more than a drip, I'll tell you that.
We got most of the books and shit away and pushed the bed away from the wall but we used up all the newspapers in the house and it's hard to tell right now what's been ruined.
Kirsten called the doorman and finally got him to understand that it's not an air conditioner or anything in our apartment, and that our apartment was, in fact, flooding. The dripping sounds only ceased a few minutes ago which is why I'm blogging right now, because as of yet no one has been to our apartment to tell us what the fuck's going on. The doorman isn't at his station and I actually went upstairs and banged on the door of the apartment above us, but either they aren't home or their goddamned jackhammer has DEAFENED THEM.
Although if they're not home I'd like to know how the handyman got the wall to stop leaking. Telepathy?
Anyway, so there's nothing we can do now but wait. We went down and no one's at the doorman station. We called emergency maintenance and the fucker said in the calmest, nasalest, most ANNOYING voice possible, "Yes, they know about it." That's all he said. Not "they're on their way" or "it'll be a few minutes". Just "they know about it." What the fuck are we supposed to do? Kirsten is pacing and I'm blogging.
I hope the water's not septic. I can't wait to get in the shower. Please let someone come soon so I can take a shower.
It's almost four in the morning. I'm going to cry if someone doesn't show up soon. Why's this shit happen when my parents are away? One time I set the kitchen on fire and our parents were on a cruise then too. Whenever they get on a ship all hell breaks loose here.
Update: The doorman and the maintenance guy just showed up with a giant vacuum thing, which wasn't necessary. Then they left. Didn't even go into the apartment. As they were walking down the hall I called after them, "Uh, what happened?" Because if I hadn't asked they wouldn't have offered the following explanation: "Hot water faucet wasn't turned off."
As I was closing the door I saw a man appear down the hall at the stairwell and ask the handyman something, because "there's still dripping upstairs from the toilet area".
The toilet area? Does that mean that I'm wallowing in piss right now? Just tell it to me straight. Hot water faucet or toilet?
There are no answers. I'm going to have to kill someone.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:53 AM | shower me with attention
Well, tonight. Tonight as in about half an hour ago. Kirsten and I were both having trouble sleeping tonight and luckily for us she got out of bed around that time, thirty minutes or so ago. Just as I was beginning to approach the early stages of sleep, I heard her go, "What's that sound? Do you hear that?" And I believe I said, "PLEASE let me sleep" and then she yelled "TAVIE COME HERE" and do you know why?
I'll tell you goddamnedmotherfucking why. It's because the GODDAMNED WALL WAS LEAKING. THE GODDAMN WALL WAS GODDAMN LEAKING. This isn't a wall that is connected to a bathroom or a kitchen or anything with pipes. This is the wall against which our bunk beds sit. On the other side of this wall is the hallway where the doorman-buzzer-phone is. The fucking wall was gushing water. Or whatever it is between gushing and dripping. I can't think of words right now because I am very upset. But it was more than a drip, I'll tell you that.
We got most of the books and shit away and pushed the bed away from the wall but we used up all the newspapers in the house and it's hard to tell right now what's been ruined.
Kirsten called the doorman and finally got him to understand that it's not an air conditioner or anything in our apartment, and that our apartment was, in fact, flooding. The dripping sounds only ceased a few minutes ago which is why I'm blogging right now, because as of yet no one has been to our apartment to tell us what the fuck's going on. The doorman isn't at his station and I actually went upstairs and banged on the door of the apartment above us, but either they aren't home or their goddamned jackhammer has DEAFENED THEM.
Although if they're not home I'd like to know how the handyman got the wall to stop leaking. Telepathy?
Anyway, so there's nothing we can do now but wait. We went down and no one's at the doorman station. We called emergency maintenance and the fucker said in the calmest, nasalest, most ANNOYING voice possible, "Yes, they know about it." That's all he said. Not "they're on their way" or "it'll be a few minutes". Just "they know about it." What the fuck are we supposed to do? Kirsten is pacing and I'm blogging.
I hope the water's not septic. I can't wait to get in the shower. Please let someone come soon so I can take a shower.
It's almost four in the morning. I'm going to cry if someone doesn't show up soon. Why's this shit happen when my parents are away? One time I set the kitchen on fire and our parents were on a cruise then too. Whenever they get on a ship all hell breaks loose here.
Update: The doorman and the maintenance guy just showed up with a giant vacuum thing, which wasn't necessary. Then they left. Didn't even go into the apartment. As they were walking down the hall I called after them, "Uh, what happened?" Because if I hadn't asked they wouldn't have offered the following explanation: "Hot water faucet wasn't turned off."
As I was closing the door I saw a man appear down the hall at the stairwell and ask the handyman something, because "there's still dripping upstairs from the toilet area".
The toilet area? Does that mean that I'm wallowing in piss right now? Just tell it to me straight. Hot water faucet or toilet?
There are no answers. I'm going to have to kill someone.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:53 AM | shower me with attention
Today my Research Design professor spent most of the two-hour class period explaining the proper usage of apostrophes.
Puckernuts.
Apostrophes. And also, correct bibliographical format for a social sciences paper was discussed.
Apostrophes and bibliographical format.
I just... I can't describe... why the... waste my... two hours... there are grad students in this class...
I just bet they don't have to explain this stuff to the students at Yale.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:14 AM | shower me with attention
Puckernuts.
Apostrophes. And also, correct bibliographical format for a social sciences paper was discussed.
Apostrophes and bibliographical format.
I just... I can't describe... why the... waste my... two hours... there are grad students in this class...
I just bet they don't have to explain this stuff to the students at Yale.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 12:14 AM | shower me with attention
Monday, April 28, 2003
My personal chef is grilling me a steak dinner right now. Our parents are on a cruise until the 10th of May, so it's just the two of us. Lucky for me, one of the two of us is an excellent cook.
Her only condition is that I play MP3's for her to listen to while she cooks, and as I use her computer. (Mine is in Texas right now getting yet another ethernet port replacement.) So I went through her collection and made a surprisingly large playlist of songs that I would possibly also want to listen to.
I haven't heard BNL's cover of "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" in years.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:00 PM | shower me with attention
Her only condition is that I play MP3's for her to listen to while she cooks, and as I use her computer. (Mine is in Texas right now getting yet another ethernet port replacement.) So I went through her collection and made a surprisingly large playlist of songs that I would possibly also want to listen to.
I haven't heard BNL's cover of "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" in years.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:00 PM | shower me with attention
Article about M*A*S*H in yesterday's NYT. Yeah baby.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:11 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 3:11 PM | shower me with attention
As of a few weeks ago, my home will be the only place in the city that sells subway token, and in another few days it will be the only place that accepts them. So says this article.
But does anyone remember a few years ago, before the Tram accepted subway tokens? Was a time when the Tram sold its own special tokens, Tram tokens. I wish I'd kept one of those. There sure ain't any transit museum selling cufflinks of those.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:12 PM | shower me with attention
But does anyone remember a few years ago, before the Tram accepted subway tokens? Was a time when the Tram sold its own special tokens, Tram tokens. I wish I'd kept one of those. There sure ain't any transit museum selling cufflinks of those.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 1:12 PM | shower me with attention
Holy shit, is that Jason Alexander singing "Tradition", from Fiddler?
I'm THIS CLOSE to giving up on showtunes forever. This is too much.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:20 AM | shower me with attention
I'm THIS CLOSE to giving up on showtunes forever. This is too much.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:20 AM | shower me with attention
You know what? No. Just, no. I should not put on my favourite Broadway internet radio station and have the first thing I hear be some assy-voiced idiot singing a medley of Billy Joel songs. No. No. No. That is not Broadway. Broadway is dead. Broadway died.
Come to think of it, the last good new musical I can remember seeing was Parade, and that was in 1998 and closed immediately. So, really, Broadway's been dead for five years. Broadway's been dead since they gave Martin Short the Tony over Brent Carver.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:18 AM | shower me with attention
Come to think of it, the last good new musical I can remember seeing was Parade, and that was in 1998 and closed immediately. So, really, Broadway's been dead for five years. Broadway's been dead since they gave Martin Short the Tony over Brent Carver.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:18 AM | shower me with attention
Happy Tara day, everyone!
In honour of this special day, I will do a lot of work and then go to school at quittin' time. Spring break is officially over.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:55 AM | shower me with attention
In honour of this special day, I will do a lot of work and then go to school at quittin' time. Spring break is officially over.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:55 AM | shower me with attention
Sunday, April 27, 2003
I read this blog all the time, so why don't I link to it?
Duh.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:59 PM | shower me with attention
Duh.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:59 PM | shower me with attention
I think I might enjoy shopping for yarn even more than knitting.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:53 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:53 PM | shower me with attention
Yesterday was a day of A Mighty Wind (I laughed a lot but not as much as in previously, was very excited that the important-to-me Town Hall theatre was a big part of the story), and The Enchanted Forest (I didn't buy any toys) and a bead shop (I made a choker even though I don't really have a neck) and taking Tara to Serendipity for her birthday dinner, which was nice because one doesn't really get to go to Serendipity unless there are people in town, even though it is insanely close to where I live and the food is amazing. I had strawberries for dessert.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:52 PM | shower me with attention
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:52 PM | shower me with attention
School starts tomorrow and I've read maybe four pages of the hundreds I downloaded and printed out to research for my anthro project. Four out of hundreds. Nice. Semester ends in two weeks and I've read four pages of research. Just trying to acquaint myself with this dismaying evidence of my procrastination problem.
Erin just said, "I wish South Park was on in stead of South Pacific." I'd have to agree.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
Erin just said, "I wish South Park was on in stead of South Pacific." I'd have to agree.
Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 PM | shower me with attention
