July 18th, 2002

Salt Precaution


Okaaay, I've got a little announcement to make. For those of you who have been wondering whether I went through and satisfied my desire for the Legend: Ultimate Edition . . . I did, and it is (pardon the pun) fantastic. I didn't tell you for the first few days of my possession of the DVD, because the DVD, while beautiful and just perfectly healthy, needed plenty of rest. But now she's laying all cosy and snug in my arm as I write this, and she's very happy to see the world.

Say hullo to the nice people lil' DVD!

(keep in mind that this is prolly the closest I'll get to having a baby).

. . .

I was shocked to find the new Tori Amos single, A Sorta Fairytale, already floating about for download. Am I of the deviant stock of soul that would in fact illegally download an mp3 from one of my favourite artists apparently a full month before the single is officially released??!

I have just one thing to say:

  • Current Music
    Tori Amos - Wrapped Around Your Finger (Police cover)
Salt Precaution


Feeling pretty loathed to-day.

Dropped by my mum's house this morning, which, you'd think I'd've learned by now, is never REALLY a good idea. But hey, she's my mum and I guess, in a sense, I love her.

This is in spite of the third degree she gave me this morning about what a fuck-up I am, along with the underlying message of how much she resents being related to me, which, when I tried to point it out to her, she immediately denied.

Just the usual argument about how I ought to have a career by now, and that I should not allow any of my generous grandmothers to provide me with extra money so I can go to school without having to work so much. I guess she feels I'm depriving myself of serious character-developing experiences. I mean, it's not as if I'm gonna learn anything from SCHOOL. It's not like I'm going to experience adequate emotional hardship from my fucked up love life (or lack thereof) or even from the miasma of miscellaneous maddesses congealing on the bottom of my brain. Oh NO. Writing novels and comic books and such ain't work boy!

And ya wonder why I hate capitalism so much?

"Oh," you may say in mocking-whinny-sarcasm-voice, "I'm an ARTIST. I don't GOTTA work,"

First of all, fuck you. Second, just because my chosen career ain't giving me money right NOW does not invalidate it as a career choice, nor does it mean I'm fucking lazy.

I'm saying all this now because at least you, dear journal, won't close your ears to my rationale in your subconscious resentment of me. Well, okay, so you don't have ears, nor a subconscious (prolly not, anyway). But still, erm, thanks . . .

So after my mum tosses me out on my ear ("Finish your orange juice and get out!" little did she know that it was in fact a sprite/orange juice cocktail heheh) I went to get coffee and write until my friend Trisa called to tell me she needed to be picked up, as her car is in the shop.

Trisa's under a lot of stress. And she was very quiet. I'm still trying to decide whether she was just in a bad mood for other reasons, or just generally resentful of the fact that she HAD to be in close proximity to me because she needed rides. At any rate, she put up a show of ignoring me and making it clear that my once vaguely charming little stunts like opening the car door for her were certainly NOT charming at all anymore and perhaps never were actually and would I knock it the fuck off?

I might've said something, except while Trisa was sitting outside reading and I was sitting inside in my perpetual state of awkwardness that settles over me like a cloud whenever I'm in a friend's house, I happened to pick up the newspaper. My horoscope said something to the effect of, "A powerful personality in your life shall require a lot of patience to-day. Be a model of unconditional-love,"

"All right, fine," I said to myself and kept my trap shut. Of course, that effort'll prolly be all for naught if she reads this journal entry, but fuck it, I needta rant now. Anyway, she knows I love her.

Indeed, I'm fucking disgusted with myself. I sound like a fucking cuddly cartoon penguin whenever I compliment her lately. I keep wanting to yell at myself, "Oh for the love of Dionysus, Shut the FUCK UP before I strangle you,"

It's just that she's always rolling such a big emotional boulder up a hill that I'd feel remiss if I dinna give her a pat on the back and a "I say, well done! Splendid!" whenever I can. Maybe it's because such words, although always genuine, are so unfamiliar on my tongue. I dunno.

She seems on the whole like she wants time alone. I think I'll just give her that and cross my fingers . . .

Now I see I've a ton of e-mail for once (that is, three). I think I shall save them for this evening (whoo-hoo! party!).

I wonder how Cryptess and Richard are doing? They're in Oregon now or thereabouts. I spoke to them on the phone the other day and realised that Cryptess's voice has changed slightly since last I spoke to her--she now sounds something like a very young, slightly higher pitch, Tori Amos, which is of course, enormously charming.

Richard sounded far away, as if a part of him were still speaking from Scotland.
  • Current Music
    Elvis Costello - All the Rage