Notes to stave off much-needed sleep

Every Thursday I put the trash and the recycling out to the curb, and every Friday I take it in. Some Fridays, though, I go out the door to find the recycling bin all the way up the stairs, and the trash barrel put back near the bottom of the steps, away from the curb. I had always been wondering who was moving them; on Fridays, I’m usually one of the first ones up, and none of my housemates admitted to moving the containers. Then, last Friday, it hit me. There was a ring of the doorbell at 9:30—no one got out of bed to answer it because, well, we’re college students and, really, who comes to the door at 9:30 AM?

Leaving for work about 20 minutes later, I noticed a pamphlet under the door. I don’t think it even said anything about the Jehovah’s Witnesses, but it was published by the Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society, which is the official organ of the Witnesses. And the recycling bin was on the front step. Bingo! I don’t even mind bringing in the trash and recycling containers, but hey, thanks, Jehovah’s Witnesses. I think your religion is ridiculous (only 144,000 in heaven, okthxbye), but you’re awfully nice to bring my recycling container all the way up from the street.

My, my. I’m due for a haircut. It’s awfully long again. Still soft and fluffy, but just too long. I think I’ll get it cut tomorrow, when I go home for Chris’ “Highlighter Party” in Rockland. That should be fun; I’ll get to meet his girlfriend-ish person and hopefully see some people I haven’t seen in a while. All while wearing fluorescent body paint that I have yet to procure. The downside is that I miss our first Senior Cocktails, and have to rush back down to Connecticut on Sunday morning to make a meeting in the afternoon.

After work today, I’ve set up the first meeting of the Wesleying Fundraising Task Force. We’ll be forging a plan as to how to solicit donations, to allow us to move Wesleying to its own server and away from Blogger. I’m really excited about the potential we’ve got in that blog.

I hated the book Walk Two Moons. I don’t remember what it was about, just that it was one of the three worst books I’ve ever read (the other two were Annie Dillard’s An American Childhood and Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran). I had been trying to remember the name of that detestable book for months, and I finally remembered it while talking with Mad the other night… so, I just wanted to record it here in case I forget it again.

I’m not one to take much interest in celebrities, which makes my attraction to those rare few who catch my interest all the more intense. That’s recently come to my attention when thinking about Carmen Electra and Tina Fey. I’ve always had quasi-crushes on both; Carmen Electra because she’s so goddamned hot, and Tina Fey because she’s such a great combination of being physically attractive and being so funny and real-seeming.

All right, that was a poor excuse for an adjective. Sorry.

In addition to “She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain” (don’t even ask), Jim Guthrie’s “So Small” has been running through my mind lately:

So small on a porch in Montréal
The setting sun while Missy catches flies for fun
It’s not what I’ve had to drink
That makes whatever I feel sink
It’s not all that bad

If you assume that what you say is your own doom
With much delight, then flowers bloom in light just right, tonight

It’s not what they’ve had to sip
That makes their petals all sag and dip
Grass withers, flowers fall
So small, so small…
Can you hear the crow call?
So small, so small…

If I had cashed in my AAPL stock at the close of the market today, it would’ve paid for the new hard drive I bought earlier this week. It feels weird to make money without working for it. It almost feels like I’m cheating, somehow. It seems like it would be so easy to just make a lot of money and then live off the investments you make with it, for the rest of your life.

Meh. What a silly way to live.

I’ve been missing NOLA lately, and have been considering brushing up on my French and spending some time in Montréal after graduation. If only listening to Karkwa, Navet Confit, and Malajube could put all that knowledge of the French language back into my brain. 

Oh, Montréal, t’es tellement froide
Une ours polaire dans l’autobus
Je m’inspire du pire pour m’enrichir
Et je t’aime tellement que j’hallucine

Oh, Montréal, you are so cold
A polar bear in the bus
I’m inspired by the worst to enrich myself
And I love you so much that I hallucinate

Mm, Malajube. That translation is what four years of not using my French gets me.