|
February 13, 1999.tinker /'tinke(r)/ n. & v. -n. 1. an itinerant mender of kettles and pans etc. 2. Sc. & Ir. a gypsy. 3. coloq. a mischievous person or animal. 4. a spell of tinkering. 5. a rough-and-ready worker.-v. 1. intr. (foll. by at, with) work in an amateurish or desultory way, esp. to adjust or mend machinery etc. 2 a intr. work as a tinker. b tr. repair (pots and pans). ((tinkerer n. [ME: orig. unkn.] As in, "I don't give a tinker's fuck what Alexi says about me, but he better leave Little Spider alone." I know that you're tired of hearing about this, but I find to my annoyance that no one on the Anti-Little Spider side of the fence is listening to me. An attempt to bring it into email has failed, so here I am. A new piece of [writing] has appeared by my exboyfriend. Apparently, he thinks that it's about me and him. Specifically he claims that it's his right to put up anything he wants and it's my right to turn off the monitor. To which I respond: "holy shit! Are you paying any fucking attention?!" An open letter to Ern Malley: Write whatever you want...but don't tell me that you're naive enough to believe that if you make several insulting comments about someone and then send them the URL, that they're not going to figure it out. Would you be happy about it in their place? The right of free speech includes the right for the rest of us to exercise it and rebut your fucking ass. Remember that? You are the same person that used to keep up with me via my old diary...not talking to me any other way, but just peeking into a conveniently open window. When I expressed concern about this, you self-righteously replied that "if I didn't want you to read it, I could take my page down." Wait a minute...are you the same person who wants to write any old bit of insulting tripe about my friends and have me turn off my monitor...because otherwise, you might be called on it? Uh huh. All right. That's it, I hope...I don't want to bore you people with stuff you prolly don't care about in the least...but damn it, if bad logic is exhibited in a public forum, the rebuttal should occur in a similar arena. So there.
Yesterday was one of those Fridays that starts too early & goes on too long. The kind where the only way you got yourself out of bed was by promising yourself that as soon as possible, you'd have a nap and a shower...so of course, none of those events take place. Armpit kinda Fridays. But it was interesting, at least. Javina dropped in halfway through a kung fu movie, and we spoke of the things that are getting her down right now. I feel somewhat proud that I was able to get her to stop crying for a few hours at least...mostly by my inane chatter about utility belts. We decided that no job was worth having unless it included a large leather belt with essential items dangling down. I almost regretted my choice of career...no teacher wears a big belt these days, more's the pity. By the end of the night, she'd been converted into the big belt plan of action...for what stubborn problem will not yield to the prospect of a jangly keychain? Of course I'm being facetious, silly.
I'd like to write more, but it's too fucking loud in here. The roommate's having her pot-smoking po-faced neo-hippie friends over, so I'm hiding in my room to get some writing done. The problem is that the walls are too thin to hide. Damn it! I need a marsupial pouch to crawl into. Only without the mucous.
Oh yeah...my friend Mike has started a web journal. His emails are often hilarious, so I have high hopes. Look for more Mike commercials in the future.
|
