In a dream I had last night, I read in a newspaper (which was printed on a banana, oddly enough) that Senator John McCain had died, adding another crazy loop into this election, throwing another monkey wrench into the system.

In other news, it appears that LiveJournal has begun to show advertisements (banners, no less) on all basic accounts, which ( Read more... )

I forgot to mention that yesterday at work I broke a machine, a bar code-making machine. Man ( Read more... )

Went to work to-day. Made money. Had a green chile bagel from Einstein for lunch. Alright ( Read more... )

I listened to Parachutes last night. I really like Rush of Blood ( Read more... )

I ran eight miles yesterday, up to Burnham Park and back. Man, my legs hurt to-day. Didn't expect that. Blistered my toe, too. Popped it, bled it, put a band-aid on. First day of work to-day. Made $84.68. My boss had her birthday yesterday, birthday celebration to-day. Delicious cake. Lunch break was all business.

Doesn't it amaze you that there ( Read more... )

I watched Amélie in French to-night without subtitles; I listened to Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots with a bunch of extras related to the album, like lives and alternates; and I listened to Interpol's Turn On the Bright Lights ( Read more... )

I'm reading Bruce Metzger's Text of the New Testament: Its Transmission, Corruption, and Restoration, and I thought I would highlight some passages here:

Ink Making

The most common ink used in writing on papyrus was a carbon-based mixture made of charcoal or lampblack and water, with some ground-up gum arabic -- not so much to supply adhesive as ( Read more... )

To-day Sarah called me early around Seven o'clock, waking me up. I stayed up late last night, on the computer and reading Till We Have Faces, and so did Luke, playing video games, so we decided then not to go running the next morning. But Sarah called and woke me up early anyway. We had had plans to go to breakfast, but she said she had to go ( Read more... )

Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Second Canto,  xxv - xxviii

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
   To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
   Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
   And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
   To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
   With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
   ( Read more... )

All I ever feel like is revolution. Revolution and revolution and revolution, until I'm back to the place from where I first revolted, and then rebel again. And such a posture makes sense to me. It makes sense that in a world imperfected, a world in which not all things are yet done, indeed few are finished, in such a world it would be entirely ( Read more... )