Fo no reason I could think of, I could not focus at all during my father's sermon today. I know I stayed up 'til one watching [as], but I do that every Saturday; our VCR is broken.

This was particularly bad. I would try to focus, my mind would start wandering, and the next thing I knew, I was staring at my own lap. The funny thing is, the tiredness all but went away when the sermon was over.

It's the devil, you know.

abstruse envy


Whenever I go to Penny Arcade, under Tycho's usual verbose and unintelligible blathering—no, seriously, the frick are you talking about?—there is a small line of text. Hovering over the link reveals the name of a given band.

Most of which I've never heard of.

"Live - Pillar of Davidson". Wait, is "Live" the name of the band, or the song. I'm confused. I've...I don't know nearly that much about music. Anyone? Daddy? Why have you listened to so many more bands that I have, and so much obscurer, too? I'm younger; I'm supposed to have heard more music, dangit!

I mean, is this just me? Am I the only one with band experience this small? I mean, I live in an island nation where the most diversity the music stores have is in the oversized sports jerseys on rap stars, have no access to a credit card, don't have a job to buy music of of iTunes with, even if I did have one, and do not own, or want, an iPod. I'm happy with the tastes God gave me. And yet...

Maybye there's a pill one can take for things like this. I could've sworn I saw an ad for something like this in my email.
Seriously, I have an mrRB comic planned for exactly this.
// it's not enough

hot chocolate WIPWhile walking from my second class, I happened upon some sort of fair, hosted by the COB union of students(COBUS). I was going to avoid it, and head straight to the bookstore's cafe to have my usual lunch of a hot patty(a folded circle of pastry with ground beef, chicken or vegtables inside. Originated in Jamaica.) and an amalgamation of sodium, cornmeal, and food colorings packaged in a foil-lined bag called, for lack of a better term, "cheese puffs". Instead, I heard the two most beautiful words in the English language, at least to a crowd of hungry Black college students.

"Free food!"

After the quantum singularity cleared, there were about twenty students or so in front of the booth where they were giving out the free pasta salad and meatballs. There were also burgers. Purely theoretical burgers. Schrodinger's burgers. They did not exist; they were constantly "on the grill". There were a crowd of people standing around, buns dressed in their hands, staring at the one man on the grill. Standing next to the larger grill. Which was cooking chicken. I found myself restraining an urge to go "I'll risk samonella! Just give me the @$$#in' burger!"

As the hour wears on, one's thoughts begin to drift. One considers grabbing the dude cooking the burgers by his polo shirt, pulling him close, and yelling at him over the giant speakers four yards away blasting Sean Paul clear to the beltway "At what point were you planning to actually start serving boys?" Honestly, if the second grill hadn't been fired up-because the first guy was never going to get to the twenty people with plates hanging about like begging dogs-I swear, his face would've received a delivery; a water-soaked bun, lettuce, and tomato, mixed with the
usual toppings, delivered by Right Hand Couriers, postage paid, beyotch. Mr. Shirt, who lives in the same building, may also be getting that cup of barbecue sauce he ordered.

Oh, and the burger sucked. The next-to-last hotdog*, however, was great.


March 10th//Choc_wip2.png


Background added for contrast. I've never used white as counterlighting for one of these before.

*They were just packing up when my class finished two hours later.

// the backstage betties taking more than they can get

sing a song that doesn't sin

I just got this review to one of my stories. Basically, I got a review, and I checked the reviewers profile. They sucked, so I sporked them at Deleterius, linking my fic and explaining how I found the sporked one. The fic in question was started as an MPREG fic parody. Except it somehow became an actual MPREG fic. The sporking was trolled, and I suspect this is the same person, or one of their friends.
Jonn Wood,

The following review has been submitted to: Engorgement Chapter: 5

From: Wordslayer ()
-------------------

Complete and utter canon raping crap, and you consider yourself some sort of anti-sue police or "ASP"; more like "ASS". You're not serious in any way, shape or form.

Funny, I could've sworn that was the entire point.

// and it grows

Bismillah!

Last night, I was allegedly studying for an exam. In theory. In reality, I was trying to get several mrRB strips down on paper. The problem, mind you, wasn't forgetting them, but remmbering them. Specifically, the mnemoic(funny word!) I used. It was described in the magazine I read as a technique for remmebering one's grocery list; simply imaginge each item in one of ten locations, moving upward from one's feet. I don'[t remmber the locations, but I use it anyway. The toes on my right foot are glowing, there's a bandanna wrapped around my left big toe with the word "unlimited" on it, a baby rattle sticking out of my right ankle, a flyer flapping against my left, a coupon stuck to my right calf, a red scarf wrapped around the left, and both a stick and a penis sticking out of my right knee. And no, I will not explain. You'll have to read the comic.

Nonetheless, I basically sktched out outlines until EVA came on. I had already brushed my teeth and stuff, and was pretty much asleep by the time the show was over. Did I mention that my fandom has serious Daddy issues? And overabundance of obscure symbolism? But mostly serious Daddy issues?

I realized that I was too zoned to even start studying-yes, I'm that lazy-and decided to wake up early in the morning. And so, a whole half-hour before my usual wakeup time, I got up and studied the lone column of Marx. Great. Done, time to check my Gmail.

After arrving at the midterm a clean half-hour late, I took the test paper. We had a choice between outlining Marx's theory of social equality and class struggle, among other things, or writing about Freud's theories of development. Freud was a freak, and the info had only been given orally by the teacher, and I hadn't made notes, and I was to lazy to look it up online, and I wasn't going to study anyway, so I didn't do that one. So I wrote half a page, and took it up to the teacher.

"Did you say do one or both?"

"I said choose one."

"I apoligize for writing so little then, but I just don't think there's that much to say." I had written everything I could remember from my cramming studying.

"This...is too short."

"It said outline."

"You need to elaborate."

"I don't see what else there is to say."

"Well, if you're sure..."

I was sure, and I was acutely aware of the titters behind me. I wasn't the first in the room to finish, but I was making the largest spectacle. As I walked to the door, thinking that I needed an exit line, she called out after me "You won't pass the course like this!"

I paused.

"But I can try."

There was the usual half-second gap, then the class started laughing. It didn't matter if I made myself look like an idiot; I got the last word.

Truth be told, I am honestly worried about my chances of finishing this class; we have no assignments but for exams and the term paper, which I should've started. And the teacher just reads from the book in class. If...when I fail the midterm, that's at least a quarter of my grade, gone.

My problem is that I don't have the willpower to get myself to study. In fine; I slack off until it's too late. That's why, despite my potentially genius level intellect*, I have only once reached the Honour Roll.

I understand the need to study, but I simply can't motivate myself to do it, short of taking a hiatus from the Internet until April. And then all of next term. And until the end of my academic career.

I don't even need to be taking Sociology; I'm a Comp. Sci. major, for cryin' out loud. Nor to I need to be taking Finite Math, which, like all Higher Math, has no practical use everyday life whatsoever. I should've suspected it from the "Finite" which is Acadamia for "built on concepts you learned years ago and forgot which we will now reteach you in order to teach you new concepts which will not work no matter how hard you try and the text book is useless and the teacher too aimiable to ask for help".

I don't even need to take either of those courses; my brother pressured me into adding them to fill out my schedule. The onlt courses I need to take are Intro to Programming and Computer Applications 2, whcih, among other things, involves learning how to design web sites in Word. Yes, I know. Observers tell me blood started to trickle out of my nose.

More on that, and what else I've been up to, later.

*My parents refuse to tell me what my IQ is, other than it being well-above average.

//no, we will not let him go!