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And so the great cycle has turned again; I have the sudden, urgent need to have a Mat Devine gracing my living room. This is based on the latest blog of his, which I find even more fabulous than usual. I'm sorry, Gerard, Bill, Gabe - I'm going to have to forsake you all. Don't forget not to write.
I'll keep him next to the shamrock plant, by the little bookcase. I think he'd look fab there. He can even wrap himself in my silk afghan.
In other news, I'm debating getting my other wrist tattooed because, well, I want another tattoo, I can probably do it for about $150, and I kind of really want to post to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
literarytattoos to point out that I am not an English major, and I do not read such high-flying literary works as produced by authors such as Toni Morrison, F. Scott Fitzgerald, or William Faulkner and think "God, I need a tattoo of THAT," nor do I think that I need to demonstrate my logophilia by going absolutely bugfuck nuts with tattoos of really ludicrous things that are going to look like ass in five years.
Literary Tattoos: the latest "female bisexual college student".
But I tell you what - as soon as I have a job again, my dragon tattoo (which I have FINALLY decided should go on my upper back in all its glory) and the mice tattoos are happening. I have a list of things I get to buy when I have truly disposable income again, and they're on it. I probably would be smart to start pricing for going over all my other ones, all of which could use some cleanup and support now that I'm older.
It's sort of freaky to realise that I've had the tattoo on my back for TWELVE YEARS. HOW? But from everything I hear about it, it could use some touchup. If that's even entirely possible; apparently it's done some stretching. Alas, when I was twenty, I thought I would remain the same size essentially forever, unless I got pregnant.
I'm working on a wikidot theme (by working on it I mean I've now cleaned the bedroom and just need to make the bed and vacuum, and cleaned the kitchen except for cleaning up the sewing table, sweeping and taking out the recycling, and made coffee, and then pizza) and I am NOT working on a statistical analysis of what everyone who did that meme in my last post says in theirs, but rest assured that I find it absolutely fascinating and unsurprising that there is so much similarity between responses, and not least of all because there's no statistical outliers there - every person who's done that is friends with me (obviously) and also with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
apiphile so there's a lot of common personality there, but still. It's pretty interesting to me, in a casual-research-method sort of way, to see how similar we all are, and to see what I think of as the elegance of the answers.
ALSO.apiphile is recommending that everyone read Watching The English, which I intend to pick up since it's at Borders and I have a $5.00 credit at Borders and because the subject sounds fascinating. I recommend, in some sort of weird internet-reciprocal book exchange, The Cheating Culture, which, as I said on Twitter, is punching me in my relationship to America exactly as Three Cups Of Tea did. After the long drudge that was Nature's Metropolis and the success of Little House In The Big Woods, which I actually read because it's an extant biography of a time period and place that I'm deeply interested in currently, I was starting to fear that I actually had no more ability to read, but The Cheating Culture is making me think that this is an untrue statement.
Reminds me: I need to go poke Square 1 Books about whether they can get The Great Peshtigo Fire in or not, and decide whether I want to replace Under A Burning Sky, because all I will do is reread it and continue to be absolutely horrified at the fact that when human beings inhale superheated air, their vocal chords squeal from the contraction of the muscles as they cook. Evidently, it sounds somewhat like rubber bands. Right now, "late-nineteenth-century fire disasters in the upper Midwest" are like an immediate literaturegasm for me, evidently. "Nineteenth-century upper Midwest" is a little like porn, I guess - it'll get you there, but not without some help.
Apparently, I feel better today. I would like to quit losing bits of Italian sausage down my cleavage, though.
I'll keep him next to the shamrock plant, by the little bookcase. I think he'd look fab there. He can even wrap himself in my silk afghan.
In other news, I'm debating getting my other wrist tattooed because, well, I want another tattoo, I can probably do it for about $150, and I kind of really want to post to
literarytattoos to point out that I am not an English major, and I do not read such high-flying literary works as produced by authors such as Toni Morrison, F. Scott Fitzgerald, or William Faulkner and think "God, I need a tattoo of THAT," nor do I think that I need to demonstrate my logophilia by going absolutely bugfuck nuts with tattoos of really ludicrous things that are going to look like ass in five years.Literary Tattoos: the latest "female bisexual college student".
But I tell you what - as soon as I have a job again, my dragon tattoo (which I have FINALLY decided should go on my upper back in all its glory) and the mice tattoos are happening. I have a list of things I get to buy when I have truly disposable income again, and they're on it. I probably would be smart to start pricing for going over all my other ones, all of which could use some cleanup and support now that I'm older.
It's sort of freaky to realise that I've had the tattoo on my back for TWELVE YEARS. HOW? But from everything I hear about it, it could use some touchup. If that's even entirely possible; apparently it's done some stretching. Alas, when I was twenty, I thought I would remain the same size essentially forever, unless I got pregnant.
I'm working on a wikidot theme (by working on it I mean I've now cleaned the bedroom and just need to make the bed and vacuum, and cleaned the kitchen except for cleaning up the sewing table, sweeping and taking out the recycling, and made coffee, and then pizza) and I am NOT working on a statistical analysis of what everyone who did that meme in my last post says in theirs, but rest assured that I find it absolutely fascinating and unsurprising that there is so much similarity between responses, and not least of all because there's no statistical outliers there - every person who's done that is friends with me (obviously) and also with
apiphile so there's a lot of common personality there, but still. It's pretty interesting to me, in a casual-research-method sort of way, to see how similar we all are, and to see what I think of as the elegance of the answers.ALSO.
apiphile is recommending that everyone read Watching The English, which I intend to pick up since it's at Borders and I have a $5.00 credit at Borders and because the subject sounds fascinating. I recommend, in some sort of weird internet-reciprocal book exchange, The Cheating Culture, which, as I said on Twitter, is punching me in my relationship to America exactly as Three Cups Of Tea did. After the long drudge that was Nature's Metropolis and the success of Little House In The Big Woods, which I actually read because it's an extant biography of a time period and place that I'm deeply interested in currently, I was starting to fear that I actually had no more ability to read, but The Cheating Culture is making me think that this is an untrue statement.Reminds me: I need to go poke Square 1 Books about whether they can get The Great Peshtigo Fire in or not, and decide whether I want to replace Under A Burning Sky, because all I will do is reread it and continue to be absolutely horrified at the fact that when human beings inhale superheated air, their vocal chords squeal from the contraction of the muscles as they cook. Evidently, it sounds somewhat like rubber bands. Right now, "late-nineteenth-century fire disasters in the upper Midwest" are like an immediate literaturegasm for me, evidently. "Nineteenth-century upper Midwest" is a little like porn, I guess - it'll get you there, but not without some help.
Apparently, I feel better today. I would like to quit losing bits of Italian sausage down my cleavage, though.