November 28, 1999.

Look, I'm a bandwagon! So why don't you jump on me...metaphorically, of course.

I just had a cheery thought: 23 more days and the light starts coming back. That's less than a month, and even I can wait that long. Of course, this also means that it'll be 2 months before it starts getting better than it is now...and now's pretty dismal. Still, it's something.

warning: another complaint about my parents. please skip to the next section for your own sanity

Another fun conversation with my parents this morning. I've begun to suspect that they're not aware of the lack of logic in their own statements: nobody who was paying attention to what issued from their mouth could possibly tell me that the reason I'm missing Advent services is because I wasn't thinking rationally in September. It's a leap of logic that boggles my mind. They say gossip is the fastest moving thing in the universe; I counter that good old-fashioned pettiness can take you farther in less time. Although it's not a very enjoyable ride.

One of the biggest problems I have right now is that dealing my parents is making me feel constantly put-upon...which is a hard switch to turn off, and I start taking the Boy's harmless eccentricities personally. Just another thing to be suffered through with gritted teeth, you see. It was this insight that prompted yesterday's resolution that I would make more of an effort to be nice to the Boy, as my efforts in that direction have been seriously lacking.

I don't know what I've accomplished by public confession...this is just where my head's at right now, and I'm sorry that it's not a very nice place. If only I'd thought to give my brain a good wash before letting the public troop in...but it's too late now.

Tiny pissant paper to write today. I am not terribly excited about combining all of my insights from Boccacchio into 3-4 pages, challenge though it may be. I suppose I'm arrogant...big surprise there. Still, this is too small to be anything but an annoyance, a literary gadfly that will comprise 10% of my final mark at the final count. Big honking deal.

But it will be nice to leave these randy Italians behind for good. I don't know if I could stand another story containing a variation on the phrase "ecstatically enjoying the fruits of their love." Harlan Ellison said love ain't nothin' but sex misspelled (thanks, Stacy) - but this is just tiresome.

On another topic entirely, I think I've become permanently disassociated with popular music. It started in university; now I can't stand 75% of the music on what once was my favourite radio station...and the ratio is far worse when I flip the dial. I've toyed with the idea that modern rock is crap these days, but that's what all the old geezers say...so I have to conclude that it's just me.

Oddly enough, I haven't gravitated back to old favourites, but rather towards 80's alternative. You know...back when R.E.M. was only played on college radio? At the time I was too young to clue in, but now it excites me enormously. Just a few bars of "Strange Love" by Depeche Mode & I'm immeasurably happier. And don't get me started about Duran Duran.

I was reminded of this feeling while I was carelessly flipping through network teevee this afternoon. Ferris Bueller's Day Off was on, a movie I've never really liked...but despite that, I was transported by the art gallery scene. At the time I thought it was the art...then I figured out that the background music was "Please please please let me get what I want." Heaven.

Final note: I have found one escape hatch from radio hell; a station out of Buffalo that plays nothing but cheesy dance oldies. This ride home brought to you by "Theme From Shaft." Yeow.

Finally, I have no idea what to make of this. Amusing, though.