Things I have learned in the last twenty-four hours:

- This 'pleasant surprise' thing is not just a myth.

- In the 1980s, some French people had trouble with 'DJ,' pronouncing it 'dee-jee,' because in l'alphabet francais, 'g' is pronounced 'zhay,' and 'j' is 'jee.' Woo, confusion!

- There is actually a page on my school's website specifically for class cancellations due to weather, which makes my past frantic phoning of professors utterly ludicrous.

- 'Un,' which is French for 'one,' is not pronounced 'oon' or 'uhn'; the 'u' is pronounced roughly like the 'a' in the English 'all.' That's also what the 'i' in 'cinq' (five) sounds like. Good to know.

- I may actually have a job this semester, which would be beyond wonderful. It would also help with my goal to lose weight, since it's up two steep hills and six flights of stairs.

- My travel mug tastes like soap. I must rinse it out better after washing it.

- My new almost-boss is so much nicer than the last two bosses I've had. This is exciting!

- Hemingway, while still not one of my favorite authors, is much less unbearable now than he was in high school. Or perhaps it's just that I'm not reading The Old Man and the Sea, which, I feel certain, is the only book available to sinful bibliophiles in Hell. A Farewell to Arms, on the other hand, is much more enjoyable--though I still absolutely despise Catherine Barkley. What a fawning caricature of a woman.

- Really, this soap-tea thing is not pleasant. I must rinse it out better.

- Apparently my 'things I've learned in the last 24hrs' list has become a bulleted relation of whatever I happen to be thinking while typing.

- This happens to me a lot.

- Soap soap soap soap soap.

Don't you wish we remembered the way they do on television?

I had the latest episode of Desperate Housewives on while getting ready this morning, and it's mostly flashbacks. I don't know about you, but when I remember things, it becomes increasingly fuzzy. I can't remember what the room was like, what I was wearing, how I felt physically (unless it was extreme), or even (and this is bad) when it was. I have trouble remembering the day, and sometimes the month or year. I'm left with vague impressions, more like a Monet than a John Singleton Copley. Splashes of color, ghosts of movements--it's almost more like remembering a story I once read than something I once experienced.

While my memory may be bad, I'm relatively certain people don't normally remember in vivid flashbacks. But wouldn't it be wonderful if we did? If we could remember everything?

How much do you remember?

It's been a week for nostalgia.

As you may or may not know, my laptop--the dearly departed Gunter, may he rest in peace--left this plane of existence on December the 24th. This was a pretty cruel trick of fate, actually; he'd had his harddrive replaced in late October, and that rather expensive operation was supposed to be my Christmas gift. Luckily, I have the awesomest parents ever, and they deduced (as I had) that being an English major without regular access to Microsoft Word doesn't work very well. Thus, my pretty Satellite.

While I backed up my music about a month before Gunter's last breath, it was in a really abysmal state of disarray. Broken links, duplicates, duplicates that were broken links--it was bad. Thus, I'm fixing up Satellite's iTunes by hand. Which meant (after transferring purchases over) burning all my CDs by hand.

A lot of my old stuff is back at home and safely packed away, but I'd tossed a few poorly labeled mixes into my CD case before heading back. I listened through them while burning the 40+ CDs last night. Man, there was some good stuff in there! I'd forgotten how into Creed I was (okay, so, that's not so good--but it did really take me back), and that one song by Yellowcard I loved. Avril Lavigne, the Backstreet Boys, Sarah McLachlan, The Corrs, Santana, the Lord of the Rings soundtracks--I had truly eclectic taste. And while most of it is pretty banal (and/or pretty bad), it's still fun listening to the soundtrack of my formative years.


On another quasi-nostalgic note: going up to the 13th floor tonight to--for the second night in a row--watch iCarly with Stef. It's not good so much as amusing, in the vaguely wholesome, silly, simple way that Nickelodeon always was. It doesn't put stock in subtlety or subtexts, and that's kind of a relief, with all the reading I've been doing for my major lately.

And did I mention it's silly? Silly is not to be underrated. It can save lives.

Question of the day: Is that really necessary?

See: Uggs, Lil Wayne, getting so drunk you cannot enjoy the experience, Microeconomics classes, Paris Hilton, the crazy guy on the Staten Island ferry.

This, however, is utterly necessary:



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For those of you not in the know, I live on Staten Island (the forgotten borough of New York City), and, from my dorm room window, can see the Atlantic Ocean. And I'm not talking just a glimmer on the horizon--the North Shore is basically right at my feet, and the ocean stretches on and on forever.

There is a small island--apparently uninhabited, because I have yet to see a boat or lights there--right off the North Shore.

I desperately want to go there.

Field trip?

make it stop!

It is 1:37am (EST) and I should not be awake. This point was emphasized for me a moment ago, when a Sheryl Crow song came on. I mean, I know Staten Island has horrible radio stations anyway--but Sheryl Crow? Really? You couldn't find anything a smidge better?

Then again, I'm just stationsick for 94.7 The Globe. And, for that matter, for WXPN.

Is it really possible to be stationsick, you ask? Why yes, yes it is, especially when you live in a dorm full of females with shite taste in music.

And that, my good friends, is that.