These feelings tend to leave me with a hole in my chest

So... yes.

Busy busy busy.

No, not really. Mostly I've just been throwing myself onto the bandwagon that is Twitter. It's a tad easier than dragging out Constantine, finding an internet connection, and word-vomiting out a post. Usually by which time I've forgotten what I was thinking. (Constantine, for the record, is my laptop. Unusual, considering I named my hard drive Eris Kallistrate many months ago when I got it. Two separate entities. Does this perhaps mean Constantine is a transsexual? Curious.)

Transgendered technology regardless! Today this has come to my attention:


I love Eddie Izzard, and putting him together with Lego animation, well. The heart rightly squeals in not-so-girlish delight. I believe that there should be more Lego-influenced media. That White Stripes video simply isn't enough.

Speaking of delight, my birthday is in two days. For those of you who are familiar with my history of birthdays, you're wondering why the hell I'm excited. I am never excited for my birthday. This year, however, I don't care about presents really. My mind is more preoccupied with the show I'm going to at Blake's in Berkeley. Please Do Not Fight, Django James and the Midnight Squires, and Jon Devoto of the Matches are playing, and they're all sterling chaps— and lovely lady, Erin— with whom I've hung out and of whom I enjoy the company immensely. Plus those crazy Dizzy Balloon kids are going to be there, as well as all my other favourite East Bay/music scene people.

The mind boggles.

However, before that (tomorrow as a matter of fact) I have to present a piece of poetry for my communications class. Slam poetry isn't my usual medium, and it's not one I claim to have any knowledge about aside from that it's harder than it looks. Why did I write the assignment in this way, you ask?

No clue. Moment of insanity.

I also have to turn in a portfolio of bullshit assignments for my social anthropology class. Call me an overachiever for doing the take-home final mere hours after it was assigned, but I call it laziness: I am not going in next Wednesday to turn it in. I have better things to do. Like lunch with certain people who've been in bloody Maine for three months.

Urgh, that reminds me. I have another paper to write before Monday and a huge fuck-off final in Music History to study for. Both things I will do later. And not now.

Procrastination is the great equilizer.