It's Official...

I start working on Monday. Eight o'clock in the morning. I haven't had to be anywhere at that hour in a while. Since high school. And I had trouble making it to nine o'clock classes sometimes. But I shouldn't have too much trouble getting up early enough. Sure, it'll suck, but going to work isn't quite optional the way Hum lecture was.

My dad continues to be nosy, and I continue to be angry with him.

The sky is velvety black with silvery ribbon around the almost-full moon. And sometimes the moon is blocked with just the glow visible above a ragged black edge.

Stuff

I just discovered that my CD of Shostakovich's 7th symphony is horribly scratched up, thus being unplayable with my computer's drive, and somewhat playable on my stereo (there are rather loud clicks which you can hear all too well on the quiet parts). So, Thursday, I think I'll cash the check from the old housing deposit and go forth in search of a new copy. And in search of something new to read, a current copy of The Atlantic Monthly, a zipper, new clasps for my chokers, and shampoo/conditioner. Exciting stuff, I know.

When I get back to Portland, since I'll have money (yay!), I'll go buy a complete set of the Shostakovich string quartets as recorded by the Emerson String Quartet. Why in Portland? No sales tax, of course! The recording is rather expensive, since there's five CDs to it, and I'd rather not deal with the sales tax. Yep, I'm spoiled.

The other morning, I noticed that the morning show on the radio station I listen to most often here in Albuquerque is actually interesting to wake up to. The DJs are amusing, they play snatches of comedy routines, and periodic news reports that sometimes have a segment called "Bitch, Please!" the name of which never fails to amuse me. (Plus, one of the two female DJs the station has is on the morning show.) And waking up to that radio show is about ten gazillion times better than waking up to Howard Stern. As for the rest of the radio station, well, I like most of the music and tolerate or maybe mildly enjoy the rest (aside from ZZ Top, that is -- ick), but I could definitely do without most of the DJs and their rampant sexism. Well, maybe it's just one DJ, but he talks as though hard rock/metal has no place for women aside from giving men something to stare at when they get bored at concerts and a method by which to get into a woman's pants. This has been bothering me more and more lately. Granted, some of the music has the same kind of attitude, but not all of it. Sometimes I wonder why I still listen to the station. Maybe to prove that women really can honestly listen to that kind of music. I don't know.

Right now I'm more in the mood for Shostakovich.

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I've beaten the Evil level four times in the past week. I rock.

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This afternoon on TV there was a half-hour show called "Memories at The Wall." The wall in the title being, of course, the Vietnam memorial. It showed some Vietnam vets going to the memorial. Two things I couldn't figure out: 1. The show's point. 2. Why they played "Simple Gifts" incessantly in the background.

I smell something burning. I don't think it's my house.

And damn it, I still haven't used the sparklers that I've had for something like two years. And apparently we have more in the closet.

Closets and garages are good places to store fireworks. Ovens are not.