"Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night! Dost hear me?"

Books're good. Paradin's better.

Today I did my Christmas tradition of watching A Hard Day's Night, and I noticed that the movie means more to me (and has gotten funnier) than it used to. You know, I can't quite imagine what it must have been like to be one of those poor young girls at a Beatles concert. It sort of gets you thinking, you know, all those prim little girls screaming, crying, tearing at their bobbed hair; you can't tell if they're happy or sad or afraid. And probably most of those girls now have children and maybe even grandchildren now, isn't that weird? They got over a hysteria that deep and moved on. Heh!

( Johnny, give us a kiss. )

My poor Johnny.

Does anyone think it's maybe that grey area between possible and likely that this was a political assassination like some people think? (Not the nut jobs who think Stephen King did it, I mean, you know, the more reasonable ones.)

Yeah, yeah, and Kurt Cobain didn't kill himself. I'm sorry, he didn't. He might have done, down the road, and maybe he was considering it, but he didn't.

Layne, though? Layne killed himself.

( Peace On Earth? We'll see. )

Well! Enough of that nonsense.


( Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night! Dost hear me? )

I'm bored and hormonal. I have to go to Blockbuster to rent a movie after dinner. I was going to go to my parents' and try to get them to watch The Two Towers, but they don't feel like it. I totally need some ice cream, too.

Happy Christmas Eve everyone, or whatever you celebrate. I notice that at midnight or thereabouts on thi snight, every year, there's this weird stillness to the air that I don't hear any other time. Give it a whirl if you live away from constant traffic.

Addendum: I loathe the way this new version of notepad frigs (or maybe it figs!) with my formatting. >_< I have to re-space every blasted thing before I post it.

"Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night! Dost hear me?"

Books're good. Paradin's better.

Today I did my Christmas tradition of watching A Hard Day's Night, and I noticed that the movie means more to me (and has gotten funnier) than it used to. You know, I can't quite imagine what it must have been like to be one of those poor young girls at a Beatles concert. It sort of gets you thinking, you know, all those prim little girls screaming, crying, tearing at their bobbed hair; you can't tell if they're happy or sad or afraid. And probably most of those girls now have children and maybe even grandchildren now, isn't that weird? They got over a hysteria that deep and moved on. Heh!

( Johnny, give us a kiss. )

My poor Johnny.

Does anyone think it's maybe that grey area between possible and likely that this was a political assassination like some people think? (Not the nut jobs who think Stephen King did it, I mean, you know, the more reasonable ones.)

Yeah, yeah, and Kurt Cobain didn't kill himself. I'm sorry, he didn't. He might have done, down the road, and maybe he was considering it, but he didn't.

Layne, though? Layne killed himself.

( Peace On Earth? We'll see. )

Well! Enough of that nonsense.


( Spirit that haunts this dark lagoon to-night! Dost hear me? )

I'm bored and hormonal. I have to go to Blockbuster to rent a movie after dinner. I was going to go to my parents' and try to get them to watch The Two Towers, but they don't feel like it. I totally need some ice cream, too.

Happy Christmas Eve everyone, or whatever you celebrate. I notice that at midnight or thereabouts on thi snight, every year, there's this weird stillness to the air that I don't hear any other time. Give it a whirl if you live away from constant traffic.

Addendum: I loathe the way this new version of notepad frigs (or maybe it figs!) with my formatting. >_< I have to re-space every blasted thing before I post it.