"such sweet-complaining grievance" the two gentlemen of verona: iii, ii

I would really prefer it if the portmanteau-word "ginormous" would disappear completely from the American lexicon. I can't explain why, but it irritates the hell out of me, almost as much as hearing the Austin-Powers-inspired phrase "YEEAH, Baby!" exclaimed by a douchetastic frat-boy. I guess I don't feel as though the word ginormous adds any value or color to the language; in fact, if anything, it feels to me as though it detracts from the language.

I'm sitting at the bar at a tea shop right now, and I am loathe to confess this but I need to get it off my chest -- instead of studying for the last hour an a half as I intended to do when I came in here, I spent it purusing a copy of JANE magazine that someone had left here. That's an hour and a half of my life that will never be restored. I just feel fortunate that I was able to stop myself before delving into the LUCKY magazine that was underneath it. Man, it is like eating M&Ms.

Meanwhile, I am trying to tamp down all the knowlege I already have in my head about tempering chocolate so I can make room for more. As soon as I think I have learned all that I could need to know to succeed in this class, more information is presented. The class is extremely interesting and I find the work supremely gratifying, but it is pretty intense, to say the least.

On the bright side, I feel pretty relaxed today, and am hoping I will have a nice sleep through the night and will wake up tomorrow feeling ready to go.

Well, back to the books.

endeavour thyself to sleep twelfth night: iv, ii

This is the crappiest part of the week for me. I think. Actually I'm torn. It's one of two times: It's either 9pm on a Saturday night, when I am at home, trying futilely to settle down to sleep so I can get up at 5:30am for my all-day Sunday class. Or it's Monday at 7am, when I wake up and remember I have to go to work, and I haven't had a day off when you consider school and work since March 9 and won't be having one until April 8 (thank the gods for Easter, even though I don't observe it).

I shouldn't complain. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I mean, I'm taking advantage of an opportunity not everyone has, to go to school and learn a trade and a craft that I really enjoy. But I'm still fucking exhausted, and I'm tired of Saturday nights being such a bummer.

Oh well. Time marches on. Each word I type is that much less time I can spend in the throes of my once-a-week insomnia. The one night I really need to get to sleep is the one night I never can. I get too nervous that I won't wake up in time and so I can never fall asleep. It's pathological, really.

"an apple, cleft in two, is not more twin than these two creatures" twelfth night: v, i

So, I have to confess that I did look for photos of Boy George when he was doing his community service in NYC, picking up trash. I didn't feel good about it, though -- he's a bit of a wash-up at this point, he looks like hell these days, and more than anything it just seemed sad to me. However, I took pure glee in this one. Why? Because Naomi Campbell is not a wash-up, she's a spoiled brat who threw a cell phone while she was having a temper tantrum because something didn't go exactly her way. The article states that "she has blamed her temper on lingering resentment toward her father for abandoning her as a child." Get over it. It's sad and all that her father abandoned her, but it doesn't even register on the scale of acceptable excuses for assaulting at least three employees.


In other exciting news, I have joined the wireless revolution, and I am now typing to you from a brand spanking new MacBook. It's great. My favorite perk so far is that it has a built in camera with PhotoBooth, software that lets me take pictures using different cool filters such as this one:


Fun, right?

Oh, also, apparently I have a twin roaming around the city; according to V. she looks so much like me that people who know me have addressed her as if she was me before taking a second look and realizing that it's not in fact me. Now, I assume that since we are twins, one of us must be the evil twin, so I will assume, unless I meet her and it proves to be otherwise, that I am the evil twin.

Someone I work with speculated that if we ever did meet, it would create a tear in the space/time continuum and unmake the world. Maybe I'll stay in tonight, just in case.