Dear Internet,

Things are okay! Right now. At the moment. The moment before everything I have ever known ends forever not with a bang, but with a fee courtesy. In short, I got a full time job at the university with benefits and everything. One day, I will be able to have a genuine licensed Doctor of Medicine tell me I'm fat. Awesome!

I have keys and a desk with drawers and while I am further from the window, I am closer to the light switch. I will show those environmentalists who's boss.

I've decided against getting an apartment for now, but I've made other arrangements so I don't die of exhaustion during the upcoming Semester of Computing. I had to brush up on Unix, y'all. (You did not know I knew Unix, did you?) Soon we will see if Perl and I are BFF or this whole tech thing is just a way to side track me from paper books.

I have made some actual friends who are people and we do things. I had dinner with one of them the other night and he was a boy, but nobody should jump to conclusions. A) I talked so much he could be entirely awful and I would not know. B) I talked so much I could be entirely awful and now he knows. We can always be friends.

Now that I have written that sentence, it occurs to me that I am importing this journal into Facebook and now all those new friends know I am writing about them and how awkward to be written about and not to. I am sorry new friends! I do not mean to make you feel awkward, but as of this writing I can speak to your face more often than to the old friends who stubbornly refuse to ignore gas prices and spend their precious few vacation days in such an exciting area as South Central Indiana.

It is now solidly past my bedtime on account of my recent e-mail checking obsession. If you would like to e-mail me, this would be a good time to do it. If you would like to IM me, I am sorry you are pretty much out of luck. Weird, I know.

Best of luck,
S.

So Saturday I threw a little party and was delighted to have a house full of strangers to each other who spent a pleasant evening realizing that they should be bestest pals. This was a much better result than my sixteenth birthday, but let us leave awkward childhood behind and talk about serious adult things. Like board games.

My friend Michael's favorite game in the wide world is called Twilight Imperium. I'd never heard of it but it was a giant box with a bazillion little plastic bits of things. It's only kind of a board game in the way that Settlers of Catan is kind of a board game. The game is a giant space thing with warring races, intrigue, diplomacy, lavish backstories, and the cutest little half-Death Stars you've ever seen. In other words, dear friends, exactly the kind of game I can't bear to play.

Why then, did I gladly accept the invitation to learn how to play such a behemoth of a diversion? Uh? Because . . . trying new things . . . is good? Yeah. Also, I do enjoy my new friends and Michael is such a dear heart, how could I begrudge him this one thing? Besides, it might be fun!

Robert, Thomas, men and women(uh?) of the FIURPs, do pay attention for I think you know what my personal opinion of the game means.

I do not enjoy playing it.

There are several bajillion rules, many of them infuriating, but all are designed for the sake of the kind of balance only an experienced gamer can appreciate. It is customizable; there are so many variants it can get to the point where, they tell me, you are not sure you are playing the same game. The universe and the many diverse races have long and colorful histories of the type suited to RPGs and fanfiction. Most important of all, from the moment you start dragging things out of the box the game is all about strategy. Only one person can win, but to do that you often have to have the help and support of your rivals. You can spend the game in warfare; you can spend it in conniving, you can spend it any way you like.

You can see why I don't like it. You can also see why I think you would. It's a big honkin' game which means it isn't cheap and there is a mighty lot of things to learn to begin playing. Nevertheless, if you'd like to give it a shot, ask around if anybody has it and would be willing to teach you. Also, there is an extensive walkthrough of the game to give you an idea of what's it like before you go make a mess.

If I'm honest, probably the only thing that truly put me off was the fact that we were playing it until 3 a.m. I SPENT NINE HOURS ALMOST PLAYING THIS GAME OH HELP ME. Furthermore, Michael, I thought about it today and I realized that having your ships blown up isn't so bad. You can always build more! Hooray!

DON'T MAKE ME PLAY TWILIGHT IMPERIUM UNTIL THREE ANYMORE OR THERE WILL NEVER BE ANYMORE PIE FROM ME FOR YOU EVER EVER OH WHY OH WHY MAN

But youse guys back home? You might give it a go.

Maybe I forgot to mention that the Spring semester ended and I rocked it pretty okay. Also, I'm getting plenty hours of work at the library for which I received a raise that impresses me and the existence of which I repeat to myself again and again as I fill up my gas tank every ding hanged week.

Dad is on a new medication involving a needle which isn't insulin. He did a sleep study and enrolled us in AAA. He may be sensing his mortality.

I had thought of coming to visit sometime in the summer, but it doesn't look like I shall be able to afford it. The nice thing about having scholarship money was that I never had to worry about the rare occasions when I wanted to do something. Shoot, it occurred to me the other day that I may not even get more loan money for next year because of the Giant Pool of Money, as described on This American Life's excellent explanation of the mortgage splort.

Everyday I am shocked, SHOCKED, that there are people who don't listen to This American Life. Okay, maybe A Prairie Home Companion has too much Minnesota in it for the average young person, but This American Life is chock full of weird stories that are usually true. Also, if you are listening to This American Life and not to Radio Lab, your radio listening life is incomplete.

Furthermore, Car Talk is more entertaining that I thought, mostly because the hosts remind me of my dad.

Suddenly this post is about podcasts. Uh. Probably I should just list them all and beg you to do likewise. What is everybody listening to?

Did everybody know that Kim died in February?

I guess, um, she won't be calling back. Oh Kim! Dear Kim! I wish I had been a better friend to you!

So we had an earthquake. That was nice.

The preceding post has been deleted as I apparently can't type so good. Try clicking on this link instead and maybe then the proper degree of Internet shock and outrage will ensue.

LiveJournal isn't so much your friend as you are their source of gold plated yachts.

So the other day I'm fall over sick and watchin' the news. There's a report on how the flu is washing over the country which they illustrate with a map of the U.S. that every state in the lower 48 all painted orange with flem. Except Florida.

I'm still sick, stayin' home on a Sunday (which says a lot), and while the horrible body aches have ceased, I am still alternately chilled and sweaty. Mom says as long you're sweating you can't have a fever, but it isn't much consolation when you go through the day playing the "Blanket on, Blanket off" game.

My hands are aging faster than anything. I can feel the invisible slices the dry weather cuts into them, like tiny atmospheric paper cuts. I've never been able to keep lotion on my hands or feet and now one day I will return to society and reach out in friendship a petite elephant's foot.

On the up side, my nephew gets cuter all the time. That would make up for everything except that the weather has been so bad, they didn't come to dinner last night and since I'm staying home, I don't actually get to see him today either.

The sum of it is that I hate winter. I hate it. You can take your virginal blankets of glittering white and stick it in your ear for all I care. It doesn't matter because most of what you get is just ice. Oh it's lovely up in the naked trees, but put it on the ground and see how many hips stay unbroken. Miami is an awful place, but at least you didn't have to worry about dying because you stood around outside for an hour.

So the other day I'm reading for a class about the struggles libraries are having deciding which journals to keep. The articles mentioned the explosion in the journal industry, the constant increases in subscription rates, and the constant decreases in library budgets. I got to thinking about how many words there are out there that could be useful if only the right people were reading them.

Of course, from what I've learned from professors about the quality of these words, it's probably not a big deal in most cases. Even so, for a moment I was overwhelmed with how much stuff there is out there that will never get read. Think of all the things in the library. Think of how every magazine may have hundreds more issues behind it. Think of all the wonderful things people do on the Internet. Just thinking of the 40 bazzilion volume set of the Britannica is enough to make my stomach churn, honestly.

I got to thinking, is it really a good idea for me to write? Should I really be adding to all that literary static? While somebody is wasting their time on my writing (OR ADRIANA WHASTERNAME'S), they could be reading something genuinely helpful. Of course, the logical argument against that is to ask who the judge of what's worthy to be read is. Just because I think my (OR ADRIANA WRITESTOOMUCHIANAI'S) is bad doesn't mean everybody does.

What do you think? Frankly, I think we need to get past teaching people to read and start teaching them to read faster.

It is nearly three.

But my orphan socks are done.

Several hours ago.

1) Semester is over and I have won. Good grades have I got, as well as the distinct impression that people don't find me as annoying as I think that they find me.

2) I forgot number 2. (*EDIT* I remember. I have statistical proof that my iPod/Tunes plays "Be My Yoko Ono" disproportionately highly. It's poosible "Yoko Ono" would have even more plays, only I've started skipping the thing. The only songs with higher play counts are "Canned Heat," "Star Witness," and "Sonic Bloom." These are all songs that rock very hard and so I seek them out a lot. A Lot. )

3) So this LJ icon. It's pretty lame, right? I totally need to find something better, yeah?

Added Bonus: Lessons Learned in the last week or so.

First, if someone asks you to hand-code a portfolio website that validates, you should probably punch them. Unless they are fragile or in control of your future/paycheck. In that case, you should only punch them with your eyes. In either case, before you begin, find a mouse. Laptop touch pads are full of science, but not much comfort.

Second, the reason I know more about computers and the Internet is because I am a strange strange English major. I had forgotten that most of your MLS types come from humanities backgrounds. Had I remembered this, it wouldn't have mattered because I also forgot that most people interested in the humanities (AND ARE NOT ON THE INTERNET) have a lot of interest in dead people and dictionaries, but very little interest at all in technology. In short, my adviser thinks it's technical services for me. That's okay.

By the way, if my presence on the Internet has been sparse of late it is because I have found a place to live during the week in town. It is a lavish place full of every creature comfort to be desired -- except TV, the Internet, and, to a large extent, the telephone. I sleep calmly at night and when I do stay up entirely too late it is because I am, gasp, reading. You can send me the e-mails. I will get them. Eventually (I check at work).

HOW ARE YOU DOING?

How many of you men folk grew a beard in November? If you didn't, why not? I mean, I can't grow a decent set of eyebrows, much less a beard. Women can have babies, men can grow beards. A fair trade off? Probably not. But alls I know is it must be pretty weird to have all that hair all over your face.

Men, grow some beards and tell me about it.

All right you yobs. I've read the whole Harry Potter thing now so you can stop complaining. No, it wasn't AS bad as I remembered, but Order of the Phoenix is still pretty awful. If I wanted to get repeatedly kicked in the face I'd have enlisted in the marines. I did enjoy all the running about and deadly attempts at not dying, but I did not appreciate the contrived devices Rowling uses every time her characters hit a Wall of Dumb. To paraphrase:

Harry: So we've gotta find this thing.
Ron: Whar? Cause I don't know.
Hermy: Hey, I'd go look it up, but I only brought the Condensed Deus ex Machina.
Harry: Owz my scar hurt!
Hermy: That's awful! Stop it!
Harry: Hoorays I know where to go next.
Hermy: I do not cease my protestation but I'll go anyway.
Ron: I'm hungry and I hate you all.

Repeat forty-eight times. Then go, "The End!" And that's the Deathly Hallows. Now, I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy it, because I did. But I can't stand repetition and I resent that these later books are supposed to be so dark. How grim! How adult! How mature and sober are the final chapters in the Harry Potter saga. To which I reply, "Fiddlesticks." How does the book get so dark? Well, the author just goes and starts killing people willy-nilly. Not important characters, mind you. Just some folks that the fan community have drawn dirty pictures about. It was a big deal when the first one died in Goblet, but the effect wears off after the twelfth secondary character snuffs it sans ceremony.

You want a dark book, read the part where Johnathan Strange goes mad. That's dark. Also another author.

My point is I can now begin to do other things. Though I haven't. I have a thing due in less than two weeks, but besides finishing Harry Potter and another thing and making most of a child's sock, I haven't done much of anything today. And now I'm going to bed late. Oh well.

(P.S. What happened to "show, not tell"?)

The reason that musicians stand on a stage is because they are very short.

Hipsters do not appreciate music very visibly.

I love the xylophone and all its relatives, no matter how orange and cat shaped they are, more than I can say.

Bishop Allen is better in person. Their current drummer has individual control of all four of his appendages.

You should not go to a concert looking dumpy -- especially if you are prone to make an idiot of yourself in front of the performers.

I do not care to sit and listen to a dude with guitar while sleepy unless it is polite for me to sleep.

The Waldron is very nice, or at least the musicians thought so.

John Vanderslice's amps pick up NPR.

His violin player gets ten dollars a show to do John Micheal Montgomery doing Hey Joe. He is worth his price.

I am still too shy to take good concert pictures.

Bishop Allen does not take credit because the band keeps losing the sales slips.

Bishop Allen has grown and I did not recognize them. I may have crossed the street with one but I am not sure because I can only tell by the shoes which he might have changed to look nice for the show. This is fairly common for me. One day, I may be the person to find Elvis, but I will not know it until a week later and he has returned to Mars.

Hey, you guys with the RSS readers. I can read the comics for you. Awesome.

RSS FTW!

Oh TBN. How do you find all these bizarre movies. I just spent I don't know how long watching a thing called "One Night with the King," a movie adaption of a historical novel of the book of Esther. It was kinda slow, and sometimes the regal accents of the noble characters meant that they mumbled, but good grief did it look like ILM did their production. I don't know if that's what a Persian queen would have worn but it was definitely mighty lavish. If you like to watch people run around in cloth-of-gold, this is the movie for you.

I've got one question, though. In these movies, the peasants are always wearing clothes with sleeves that are perfectly frayed at the cuffs. Am I to believe that peasants have tailors and fabric softeners, but they never learned to turn a hem?

Well, all in all, it could have been worse. One time I got stuck watching "King of Kings." If you need an example of a heavy handed movie, you need look no further.

This morning I half-dreamed the most beautiful thing. A ghost telling a mermaid of his determined love for a deranged specter of years gone by.

It is probably less beautiful when I tell you it took place in a big charming house that wasn't the least bit scary or decrepit and that American Chopper was on TV downstairs. In any event, sometime this afternoon I decided the mermaid looked like Althea and the ghost looked like that dude holding the lantern in the art for Led Zeppelin four. Only treey-er.

Just so you know.

First of all, Happy Birthday, Althea!

Second of all, it is very hard to operate a computer when your arm constantly mashes down the Esc key.