abbot of unreason

Wooo. So I was only moved to sit in front of my sister's computer (my poor little drama queen Guido is still in the trusty hands of Suneet, the noble tech of my neighborhood Apple-ish store. I totally misjudged him by the way. He's not the douche I initially thought he was -- even though he did make me wait for 10 minutes while he smarmily congratulated his friend over the phone for being featured in the Sun, under the guise of consulting him about the painfully obvious state of poor Guido. Fried temperature sensors, that's what it is. What a ho. Guido's a skank. I should've known. My dad says I can go get a new one -- hello Macbook -- but I'm attached to Guido. I think.) because I wanted to write about how much I hate armpits, my own and everyone else's. I just really hate them. There's this one scene in some movie where this guy is licking Patricia Arquette's armpit, and then her character's husband walks in, and it was just disgusting. I hate armpits. Come to think of it, I do believe Sarah Moro probably has the best armpits ever. I don't mind hers, because they're stunning. But that's it. Anyone else's, they're just gross.

Anyway, I was supposed to go on and on with that, but my sister's keyboard is truly pissing me off. It just won't type properly. And I'm unofficially banned from my mom's snazzy laptop because she caught me reading her mail (a gross invasion of privacy to be sure, not to be condoned in any civilized society, but she was writing about me! How could I resist?) twice. In any case, this is a really shitty laptop.

I have a neat pile of books next to my bed. I'm not doing them justice, but I do try my best. Just finished The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs, which was a total trip. In a nutshell, it's about this guy who reads the entire 2002 edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, all 65000 entries, all 44 million words. It's all absurdly fascinating bits of trivia combined with random insights about the pursuit of knowledge, working definitions of intelligence, the intricacies of fatherhood, the triumphs and abominable failures of humanity. At one point, he mentions how someone once summed up the Encyclopaedia in one sentence: This too shall pass. I like that. I should get a tattoo of that, slap it on my ass or something. Anyway, neat pile of books. Some Pamela Aidan (glorified fanfiction! The first book of her Fitzwilliam Darcy trilogy), Georgette Heyer (Angela's influence), Curtis Sittenfeld, Ronlyn Domingue, Zadie Smith. I have a separate pile for my trashy books, but that's another story. O, and that Richard Rorty book I picked up on a pseudointellectual lark. Where did that one go?

Finally got around to watching Howl's Moving Castle (bought the D.W. Jones book, too. It was, embarrassingly enough, in the kids 9-12 section, but I've been to worse.) Wow. That Howl, he's a stud. (Speaking of studs, why didn't Stephen Colbert win any Emmys? Barry Manilow?? Seriously. Yeah, I watched the whole thing, I'm a spaz.) I want to live in a Miyazaki movie. I mean, as I was watching, I just had this soaring feeling, like I wanted to just burst, like I wanted to just slit myself open and just fly. Either that or get baked. Same deal with the rest of his movies (haven't watched Kiki's Delivery Service and Porco Rosso though). You should've seen me when TCM had that Miyazaki tribute festival. Totally spastic, rushing home from class and camping out at the couch and everything.

But, yeah. I'm strangely chatty tonight. That's what everyone's been saying. Lia, you're so chatty, it's totally scary, what happened to you over the summer? Well. This too shall pass.