palace of winds

Today I spent hours and hours making Christmas cookies with my sister: rolling dough, cutting shapes, baking. Minus all the ones which broke (and hence found their way into the dog or the garbage) we made 185. Fifteen dozen and five cookies. All of which need to be frosted tomorrow. Oh joy. Six more hours of Elvis Christmas. (It is a Christmas cookies frosting tradition for my sister to put in Elvis and for me to complain about it but sing and dance like an idiot anyway.)

Despite being very cold and rather melancholy at the moment, I am excited for Christmas. Already there are presents encroaching greatly on the living room, piles and piles of them, and even though our tree is fake this year the silly cat (Socks) still gnaws on the branches (something far beneath Garfield’s dignity).

Mel and I went to Lord of the Rings last Wednesday, and despite the horribly infuriating ending it was quite good, and I plan to see it again tomorrow with one of Twelfth Street’s highest-grossing ho’s. I have filched Mel’s copy of The Fellowship of the Ring and am just past the 200 page mark. If I do not get the trilogy for Christmas (and I suspect I won’t, since I did not tell anyone I want it) I will probably buy it for myself, though it may have to wait for this summer when I actually have a job which pays me. I have decided a great many things must wait for summer, however, and I will probably be better off for the wait.

In three days I expect to have Ralph, if he made his journey safely from England. Also, for those of you who know/care: Mel has decided on Sophia for her graduation present. It fits the color and sort of gentleness of the lines well.

Today an employee at Sbarro’s asked me if I wanted the big fat juicy one, but I was not quick-witted enough to tell him I always enjoyed big fat juicy ones for supper. Mel and I sat by the German Shoe Repair and I remembered again the shallowness of boys, and how very strange it is when they seem to think you will not notice where they are staring while they talk and why they are offering you a good price.

It is very late, and though I have been itching to write (nonjournal) for days I must instead go to bed. Not that it would matter. Not that it does matter. Good night.

Psychologists have found people with green eyes are more susceptible to insanity because the photosynthesis can put dangerous chemicals in the brain.

Here we are, then — brand new website. I don’t think I need to explain to anyone how it works; you’ll figure it out eventually. You can even see I’ve decided to make things easier on myself by using an outside service [ed: previously Diary-x] to make my journal entries.

“What if terrorists infected themselves with a deadly virus and walked down a crowded street? What if terrorists bought a small black suitcase and stole a small nuclear device from a ship in an east coast port and put the nuclear device in the suitcase and were going to sneak it onto a plane but really had to pee and got it swapped with a little kid’s Elmo suitcase and the kid tried to take the nuclear device on the plane and then he was caught and arrested?” And that is my commentary on CNN’s hyperactive and specific imagination.

On the bright side, VW is bringing back the microbus. If I were rich I would buy one and a square of shag carpeting and I would drive it to southern California. Or I would outfit it with hydroglide thingies and drive it to England. That would be just as fun.

I know I haven’t written for a while, but stuff has been going on. (I know the explanation is really lengthy, but a lot has happened between November and now.)

Also: “Where’s Osama bin Hidin’?” should be a headline on SNL’s Weekend Update, not CNN Headline News.

Today there is an early September wind blowing: cool but shapeless, strong but a force without bite, something that does not quite remember winter. It is sixty-five degrees and promises to get warmer. I cannot quite take finals seriously, and today I will blame it on the weather. Perhaps tomorrow I will have a new excuse.

My new website is finished, save the change-over of the guestbook, which I have not done (read: made Bryce do) because it would look very, very funny in conjunction with this site. I am waiting to buy hosting space, although I had half hoped I would just happen upon some lying around, like finding pennies in the Target checkout lanes. Ah well, what’s a girl to do?

Leave this entry half-finished, apparently. To lunch I go.