caerula's Diaryland Diary

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i've got to give you credit for trying. my patience.

If I were a Dead Russian Composer, I would be Dmitri Shostakovich!

I am a shy, nervous, unassuming, fidgety, and stuttery little person who began composing the same year I started music lessons of any sort. I wrote the first of my fifteen symphonies at age 18, and my second opera, "Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District," when I was only 26. Unfortunately, Stalin hated the opera, and put me on the Enemy Of The People List for life. I nevertheless kept composing the works I wanted to write in private; some of my vocal cycles and 15 string quartets mock the Soviet System in notes. And I somehow was NOT killed in the process! And Harry Potter(c) stole my glasses and broke them!

Who would you be? Dead Russian Composer Personality Test

So, let's see. I'm too tired to be entertaining, so I'll tell you about my weekend. Friday night we stayed at Blue's hotel, which was very nice. King-sized beds are fun to play in, and we got to order room service, which actually came on a nice little cloth-covered table like in the movies. Blue had to do fun things like request a toothbrush and see how long it took, and run down and open one of the emergency doors to see how the staff responded. I'm sure they loved us.

Saturday morning we went to the Big Winter Book Sale at AADL, and picked up four bags of paperbacks at a quarter per book. Can't beat that with a stick. We came home and coddled three very unhappy animals, who had been left to their own devices for far too long. They hadn't wrecked the house, though, so that was a plus. In the afternoon Blue sorted junk in the den and I sorted books and talked to Natalieeeeee on the phone, while MST3K-ing the hell out of Changing Rooms and the Mrs. World pageant. Blue and I then absconded to Meijers where we spent a ton of money on groceries. Meijers is always fun, though � there's so much to look at. Hamsters and parakeets, and fingernail polish, and all sorts of nifty foodstuffs (although they LIED to me with a big sign that proclaiming my favorite and rarely-found garlic & mozzerella tortellini on sale, and there wasn't any); a well-stocked booze aisle; dozens of ice cream varieties (I splurged on Haagen-Dazs pineapple-coconut, drool); books and CDs and clothes and furniture and hardware. It's like Target, only cheaper and with more groceries and more scary people.

We got home and Blue had to work audit, so I stayed up and chatted online with Natalie and SWooP until 2 am, about god-knows-what � list stuff, gossip, recapping weekends, etc. I got up Sunday at the half-way decent hour of 9 am, although unlike Swoop I did succumb to a nap later in the day. Blue slept, and I went back to the book sale with my dad, who was lonely because my mom's up in TC visiting Kitty for the weekend. It was four-bucks-a-bag day, so we filled five, which was all we could carry, and returned home.

Dad fixed our spiffy new desk chair, which Blue and I had managed to put together backwards so that it tilted you forward into the keyboard instead of comfortably backward. He went home to clean up his weekend mess so my mom won't freak when she gets home and to give their Sheltie a bath, and I succumbed to my nap while Blue was supposed to be outside taking advantage of the surprisingly warm (in the 50s) weather by taking down the Christmas d�cor. I got up an hour later to find him playing PS2 and looking sheepish. Then my dad came back and took us out to dinner. The men wanted to try the new steakhouse that's opened up down the road, so we went there. Steakhouse indeed; there's actually the decapitated head of some sort of large male cow on the wall, and country music blaring, and not a vegetarian entr�e to be found. I ended up with a salad and a baked potato, and some of the appetizer, one of those blooming onion blossom type things. It wasn't exactly the best mean ever, but the boys like the meat options, and they had fun. My poor dad, when my mom's gone even overnight he misses her terribly and hardly knows what to do with himself.

Then we came home and I sorted my new book purchases, watched "Malcolm in the Middle," and went to bed. And now I'm here, and tired, and fixing a bunch of records that have Charles I of England's dates wrong (1600-1649, if anyone really cares).

Such excitement. I will leave you with this not-terribly surprising tidbit:

Daria is the poster child for "teen misfit," and holds in high contempt what she sees as the shallowness and superficiality of the world around her. She is also cynical -- though she'd say she's "realistic" -- and mistrustful of authority, and doesn't hesitate to make her opinions known when she sees fit. She has a talent for writing, a sharp intellect, an even sharper tongue (her sarcasm could cut tempered steel), and a wit so dry it makes the Sahara look like a rain forest.

10:27 a.m. - January 28, 2002

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