Bones on the Table

I'm not sure what was wrong with this bird's leg. It was still able to fly, so I hope that means it's not terminal, whatever it is.

I finally had a good dream last night, after several nights of bad dreams. The night before last was something about a hostage situation on a monorail. I remember lots of blood and bullets.

Last night's good dream I barely remember--something about visiting a pretty girl in a mansion. I've certainly been seeing plenty of really pretty girls lately--it's weird how nice it is just to stand around and watch all those great legs in tiny shorts walking by at college. But I love the ones in dresses the most. Three girls complemented me on my hat yesterday, maybe I should've said, "Why don't you dress like it's the 50s?"

I remember talking to a girl in line for Ray Bradbury's panel at Comic-Con one year who was wearing this lovely, bright blue velvet strapless dress. She had big black horn rimmed glasses too.

I do love people watching in general, and I kind of need something to do since I have forty five minutes between two of my classes. It's amazing how much more disgusting the guys are compared to the girls. Waiting in line at the bookstore yesterday a heavyset young man cut in front of me. As he waited, he grabbed candy off the shelves, opened the packages, and started chewing loudly.

Then there's the Chinese guy trying to crash my English class. I have no idea what he's trying to do--the teacher already told him the class was full, but he was welcome to stand against the wall and observe the class. This happens to be right next to me, and I try not to be distracted by the guy's loud and unselfconscious farting. I'm not sure he understands what's happening in the classroom, as he tends to volunteer long, rambling, barely intelligible stories that aren't relevant to discussion topics.

I like my English teacher--it's a critical writing class, and he told us off the bat that we're not going to be asked to do the standard essay topics of abortion, rape, capital punishment, and so on, but rather we'll be asked to write essays about the entertainment media. Sounds right up my alley.

By the way, is there seriously anyone who doesn't think this video by Jim Carrey is a joke? Both Yahoo! News and Huffington Post ran stories calling the video "creepy", though Huffington Post, in typical weaselly fashion, re-titled the article after a number of comments calling it a joke. Now the Huffington Post calls it "Possibly Creepy". How about I say Bjork is possibly a serial killer? I'm not saying I actually know, right?

I can't decide if this is journalists being too stupid to get a joke, or journalists being too stupid to see past their own envy to laugh with a celebrity rather than at him. It's definitely, not possibly, one of those kinds of stupid, though.



Twitter Sonnet #296

Misleading dogs regurgitate brown rice.
Dashes paint the conical lamp edges.
"W" glands bear parental advice.
Eggs show what Jack O'Lantern alleges.
Racists are crushed in a dry jacuzzi.
Hardened ink simulates blackened grapefruit.
Tap water tears spray from plastic uzi.
A sober plumber leaves in a green boot.
Bunny shadows condemn excess cutting.
A foreign fart is lost in English class.
Ancient sickle swordfish were self-gutting.
Too much beer drowned aluminium bass.
Salt keeps the unrefrigerated meat.
Of work, low gravity deprives a seat.