update because i CAN
Mar. 2nd, 2006 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Yeah, I'm an updatin' fool.
1600 words so far today--- but we won't point out how many of those were pasted in from a previous draft. (Not all of them! And that's what's important.)
It is snowing like a Mother Fucker out there. It's been doing that all day. To that I say, About Fucking Time EH? We live in BUFFALO dammit, and this is measly four inches or so is pretty much the most we've had. Let it come: I'll keep shoveling. I got nowhere to be.
Tomorrow night I am going to go see a free showing of Juno and the Paycock by Sean O'Casey-- it's one of those Celtic Twilight turn-of-the-century pieces from that era of Irish Nationalism that I so loathe to love, or vice-versa. I am so not in love with what amount to Victorian morality plays, clothed in the despairing garb of the depressed/repressed Irish and sprinkled here and there with reference to the Glorious Ancients; I have little patience for Joyce and I loathe Yeats, that pretentious little shit. (He couldn't speak Gaelic to save his overpriveleged white ass. He had Lady Gregory do all his Irish for him. His ethnicity was pastede on yays, and y'all were SO not expecting that I would be able to use that phrase in this post! Ha ha ha. I am so amused now.) When there is Irish it's all fucking fwee and twa and faeries at the bottom of the garden and WE ARE SO MYSTICAL AND THAT IS WHY WE ARE ALWAYS SHIFTLESS FUCKING DRUNKS kthanxbai. I have little patience for this.
And yet I love the little fuckers, I do, and I can't stop. I used to be able to recite bits of Synge's Playboy of the Western World-- hackneyed bit of overidealistic fluff that it is. (It caused riots once, you know. The world was much different then.) Oh the despair! And we have forgotten our mystical and glorious past and are REPRESSED! Oh the pain. My eyes burn with some emotion I cannot name, and this story? Has no point, and fuck you for looking for one because there ISN'T! NA HA HA.
So, I am looking forward to this, I admit. Squee! Hopelessly cynical despair concerning Irish independence!
And really the whole reason I started this post was to share this little bit of awesomeness from Z's workplace. For the Mardi Gras festivities, they made a bunch of signs that said, on one side, RACE IN PROGRESS, and on the other, PARADE IN PROGRESS, for people to hold to direct traffic. They made these with stencils. Naturally, the letters they cut out to make the stencils are left over. They are sitting on the floor of the art department, where Z works. (It's art-plus-computers, I guess.)
So. What would you do with these letters?
On Sunday, when I came in to help Z pack up the equipment for the Geek Meet, the floor said (somewhat forbiddingly) "GOD IS NEAR". So on my way out, I switched two letters so it said "DOG IS NEAR" because I am a twit.
Today Z came in and it says:
"IGOR SEND AN EAR".
1600 words so far today--- but we won't point out how many of those were pasted in from a previous draft. (Not all of them! And that's what's important.)
It is snowing like a Mother Fucker out there. It's been doing that all day. To that I say, About Fucking Time EH? We live in BUFFALO dammit, and this is measly four inches or so is pretty much the most we've had. Let it come: I'll keep shoveling. I got nowhere to be.
Tomorrow night I am going to go see a free showing of Juno and the Paycock by Sean O'Casey-- it's one of those Celtic Twilight turn-of-the-century pieces from that era of Irish Nationalism that I so loathe to love, or vice-versa. I am so not in love with what amount to Victorian morality plays, clothed in the despairing garb of the depressed/repressed Irish and sprinkled here and there with reference to the Glorious Ancients; I have little patience for Joyce and I loathe Yeats, that pretentious little shit. (He couldn't speak Gaelic to save his overpriveleged white ass. He had Lady Gregory do all his Irish for him. His ethnicity was pastede on yays, and y'all were SO not expecting that I would be able to use that phrase in this post! Ha ha ha. I am so amused now.) When there is Irish it's all fucking fwee and twa and faeries at the bottom of the garden and WE ARE SO MYSTICAL AND THAT IS WHY WE ARE ALWAYS SHIFTLESS FUCKING DRUNKS kthanxbai. I have little patience for this.
And yet I love the little fuckers, I do, and I can't stop. I used to be able to recite bits of Synge's Playboy of the Western World-- hackneyed bit of overidealistic fluff that it is. (It caused riots once, you know. The world was much different then.) Oh the despair! And we have forgotten our mystical and glorious past and are REPRESSED! Oh the pain. My eyes burn with some emotion I cannot name, and this story? Has no point, and fuck you for looking for one because there ISN'T! NA HA HA.
So, I am looking forward to this, I admit. Squee! Hopelessly cynical despair concerning Irish independence!
And really the whole reason I started this post was to share this little bit of awesomeness from Z's workplace. For the Mardi Gras festivities, they made a bunch of signs that said, on one side, RACE IN PROGRESS, and on the other, PARADE IN PROGRESS, for people to hold to direct traffic. They made these with stencils. Naturally, the letters they cut out to make the stencils are left over. They are sitting on the floor of the art department, where Z works. (It's art-plus-computers, I guess.)
So. What would you do with these letters?
On Sunday, when I came in to help Z pack up the equipment for the Geek Meet, the floor said (somewhat forbiddingly) "GOD IS NEAR". So on my way out, I switched two letters so it said "DOG IS NEAR" because I am a twit.
Today Z came in and it says:
"IGOR SEND AN EAR".
