Seventeen syllables, No. 46

Yesterday, the first
Pages of my calendar
Were dry and curled up.

Happy New Year

Happy new year to all of you out there.

I write this in the Plantation, hours after the family and I return from Seaside where the big fireworks display happens customarily. This is the first year we are able to capture the event on video, and there we were, our hard disk camcorder pointed fastidiously upward, as we shared in the yells and other racket in front of the old Ypao Beach Store (now a restaurant).

I am tired. Now that in itself is not unusual; I find that my most hectic time of year is the Advent/Christmas season. Music is in full demand during the proceedings of these holidays. But now I'm more tired than I was last year. I conked out after only one Carolling night, and the only reason I was able to show up for the fourth night was that I left the house with that express purpose. And now as I write this I have a slight pounding in my head, which tells me that I should end this post right quick and get some sleep.

Earlier in the week I was finally able to write some Christmas cards to my far-flung friends. I wanted to start some sort of tradition with myself, as a way of remortaring and strengthening those paper bridges I built (and perhaps to start some new ones). I don't know. Half the people I invited never came forward with their snail mail addresses, which says two things about our current culture. One, why mail it out when you can email/MySpace/Friendster/Txt it? Gone are the magic of the closed envelope and the expectation of the carefully-written word inside. Two, the Internet is rife with people we do not know who want to get to know us so that they can take our money. Perhaps they erred on the side of caution and took me for one of these schemers.

It doesn't matter, really. I'm not sure whether my handwriting is widely readable, anyway. If anything else my Holiday wishes should shine through as clearly as a bell, in 10pt Verdana/Arial/Georgia font on a glaring computer screen in the dead of winter. Right?

Hopefully.

So, in wishes expressed most clearly by the style sheet applied by your browser of choice, Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and have a safe and hopeful New Year.

I for one am partied out. I screamed my heart out Seaside as the incendiary blasts pounded in my chest. I shall go get some sleep in my Moon-chilled room in the Plantation.

Thank you very much for reading.

Song in my head: Tom Jones, "It's Not Unusual". What a catchy song! Gets the job done in less than two minutes.

Seventeen syllables, No. 45

Piano fingers see
Kitchen blade--thud!--Fingers one
Piece; Peking duck two.

Seventeen syllables, No. 44

While I type, the song
Buzzes about in my head--
My fluorescent head.

Seventeen syllables, No. 43

Enlightenment is
The silence from the last song
Up to pressing "Stop".

The semester I came back

It feels like coming back from a long vacation, and just like in a real vacation, it feels good. ^_^

Today I received a tiny yet momentous hope that I will be able to pass my Calculus class--after three tries. My grades haven't been the best for that class, but from the tests and homework I have been submitting, it seems that I am at least hanging by a moment at a C right now. Additionally I'm feeling really good about the final, even though I wasn't able to answer these two really easy questions there (which I chalked up to the normal test jitters)--I walked out of that testing area looking forward to the next class in the series. I really hope the third time is the charm. ^_^

Today I found out that someone has counted me among her friends. Quite a surprising discovery for me, because lately I've been feeling kind of nothing special. She spilled her guts over some fast food, so the best I could do was to comfort her, saying that I went through almost the same thing. Kind of therapeutic, I should say... for both of us.

Hope tomorrow is also good.

Thanks for reading.

Song in my head: Genesis, "Follow You Follow Me". I can't describe what this song makes me feel. There's an almost spiritual quality to it... whatever it is, it's part of imo.

Seventeen syllables, No. 42

Sesquipedalians
Have internationalized
Me demonstrably.

Seventeen syllables, No. 41

To ears, the shower
Is indistinguishable
From pan fried fish halves.

What about some high-order communications topic?

What about, indeed. If you've got a few minutes, please help a fellow friend out; one of my friends has written a reflection on underlying gender messages in popular fairytales; she invites as many people as possible to give it a read and place a comment. She hopes (as do I) that you be enriched by this endeavor.

http://vee-f.blogspot.com/2007/11/fairytales-not-so-happily-ever-after.html

No, you don't have to leave a name. Yes, it's for a class (hers, not mine ^_^). Any other questions? Go on over to her blog and ask her yourself.

Thanks for reading. Now, what are you waiting for!? Go on, I won't be upset. Not too much.

Seventeen syllables, No. 40

How did the half moon
Manage to fit between my
Bedroom window slats?