So I got up this morning and turned on the Today show while I ate my cereal, and immediately noticed a very strange trend in the commercials. In the first commercial break, there were five advertisements involving elementary school in some way, shape, or form. Two of them had little boys falling in love with little girls. Two more had teachers, and yet another, a principal. NBC has obviously mastered the fine art of commercial coordination.
I have just rediscovered, as you might have noticed above, Neil Gaiman's website. The weblog is hilarious and very very British, as one should rightly expect. I love it when authors, actors, musicians, and anyone in the public eye communicates with fans and speaks about his or her day (or about great obituaries, as the case may be). What fun.
Anyway. That's all I got for now, besides the obligatory please-hang-around-while-I-tweak-the-site-incessantly-and-change-many-things-about-layout-and-interface spiel. Namar.
All I can say, Mark, is that I sympathize. Totally, utterly, and completely, but probably not in the way you might think. When one lives in [state name deleted for the protection of the author], one is continually surrounded by jerks and arses of every variety. They leak out of every crevice. I think they spontaneously generate from tobacco juice.
I'm an NBK. I've never gone on a date; not even to a dance. I'm finally beginning to enjoy this fact. I decided, after watching Emma last week with some friends, that I'm going to marry a gentleman. On the heels of this revelation came the discovery that I don't know any gentlemen. Somehow, that was incredibly liberating. I have sworn off every guy I know-- even the cute ones. Even the musically talented ones. Even the smart ones.
I'm not sure if that helps you at all. Maybe the constant droning of U.N. delegates over the radio behind me as I languish at work is fogging my mind. Anyway, all I can say is that we're in the same boat, you and I. That, and don't give up. I want to find a gentleman, and I truly believe I will. You want true love to come along. It will. I promise.
Anyway, I wish I could have written that in a letter to you, but it would have taken far too long to reach you. This is much faster. Hope you don't mind. ;^)
--Hannah
"Video trading cards... of the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders!"--The guy sitting at the computer across from me. See? Spontaneously generated from tobacco juice.
Current Music: Shiver, Coldplay (stuck in my head)
Current Thought: Pay day is waaaaaaay too far away.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to find the poetry of Patrick Kavanagh? Good Lord! He's Ireland's second-most influential poet (right behind Yeats, by most accounts), yet there's one book available on Amazon and Alibris. It's as if nobody's ever heard of him!
Well, nobody beside Russell Crowe, anyway. And Bono.
There was a guy in the Information Commons today with a table set up for "student work" starting at $13.25 an hour. I stopped to look over the material. As I approached the table, he asked, "Looking for a fun job?" Under any other circumstance, I would have laughed at the use of such a hooker-like phrase in such a situation, but it was even funnier as he said it in a tone so unenthusiastic as to be about as close to dead as one can get without physically stopping one's own heart. I smiled insincerely and replied, "Possibly." For the few moments I stood there listening to his spiel, I grew progressively less convinced that the job was fun or even mildly enjoyable. (It involved houseware sales, or something.) They need a new rep.
Heeeeeey, looks like Michael's finally got his site up and running. Everybody go visit. Nice lookin' little blog, and nifty entries. Yay, I got the first comment! Wish I'd had something intelligent to say. (I considered responding to the question of "Who cares what music you're listening to?" but refrained.)
Moving right along... What, you may ask, does the title of this entry have to do with Kavanagh, boring jobs, and other people's weblogs? Absolutely nothing. The title itself comes from a decision that I made over the weekend, after watching Emma with Natalie and Brittany. I could tell you what that decision was, or I could keep you in suspense a little longer... ::watches stopwatch:: Okay, that's long enough. The decision is: (drumroll please) I want to marry a gentleman.
So why is that a big deal? Well, how many gentlemen have you seen lately? Yeah, that's right, not many. They're a rather endangered species. In fact, I don't personally know any gentlemen. This is, for some reason, extremely liberating. It also contributes a bit of hope to my otherwise rather bleak little existence, in the form of such thoughts as Maybe today I'll meet a gentleman. Pathetic? Possibly, but not nearly as pathetic as I was before.
In other news, I get my hair cut today. Yes! Goodbye, curtain of static-clingy filaments! Seeya in hell! (From heaven!) I'm going for something like a Halle Berry look, knowing full well I'll never look like Halle Berry. That's okay. I just want her hair.
Maybe I'll meet a gentleman at the salon. Namarie.
