Monday, May 17, 2004

I wonder if Allen Iverson knows his Chinese tatto says 'I desire young boys.'

The above, among other things, was written on the piece of paper my friends stuck to my locker last Friday. The results of this action have left me contentedly aware of the fact that my friends are some very cool people. After all, what kind of un-cool people would write what they did? May you kill billions of humans! -Monika May your head never asplode! -$amm Orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc orc Riceballs o_o; -orc "SorryWhoever said "fighting doesn't solve anything" obviousliy never won a fight. -??? I think the last one there came from Yin, but I am unsure, as most of these people did not sign their names. -.-" Ahh, yes. It was a good day. I ambled down the hall, after exiting the strings room (there was morning practice again x_x) to see the smiling face of Rock Lee shimmering in the flourescent light. Upon changing the angle from which I stood, I was also able to see the beautiful violet eyes of Hyuuga Neji staring straight back at me. *faints* So, now I'm a teenager, whatever that's supposed to stand for. Hoo. Ray. *** The summer she was eleven, Drusilla went abroad with her parents. There she climbed endless flights of stairs. She tried to make out the subjects of vast dark paintings. Sometimes she was made ill by curious dishes. She was called upon to admire views. When the weather was bad, she leafed through incomprehensible magazines. One morning her parents, for some reason or another, went on an excursion without her. After luncheon an acquaintance of the family, Miss Skrim-Pshaw, took Drusilla with her to pay a call. They walked to an inn called le Crapaud Bleu. They were shown to a garden where the topiary was being neglected. Drusilla was told she was oging to meet a wonderful old man who had been or done something lofty and cultured inthe dim past. Eventually, Mr Crauge appeared. He kissed Miss Skrim-Pshaw's hand, and she presented Drusilla to him. After they had sat down, Drusilla saw that Mr Crauge wore no socks. He and Miss Skrim-Pshaw mentioned a great many people who had done things in their conversation. Tea was brought: it was nearly colourless, and there was a plate of crystallized ginger. Mr Crauge asked Drusilla if she liked paper. He said he would have liked to show her his albums filled iwth beautiful pieces of it, but they were upstairs in his room. Drusilla promised when she got home to send him some insides of envelopes she had saved. Miss Skrim-Pshaw said it was time they made their adieux. On the way back a few drops of rain fel. Somehow Drusilla was hungrier than she had been before tea. Days went by. Weeks went by. Months went by. Years went by. Drusilla was still inclined to be forgetful. One day, soemthing reminded her of her promise to Mr Crauge. She began to hunt for the evelope-lingings in her room. On a sheet of newspaper at the bottom of a drawer she read that Mr Crague had died the autumn after she had been abroad. When she found the pretty pieces of paper, she felt veyr sad and neglectful. The wind came and took them through an open window; she watched them blow away. The above story is entitled "The Remembered Visit". It was written by Edward Gorey, and is quite possibly my favourite book, although it is short. I would have loved to show you the wonderful artwork, but I don't have it on my computer. Just thought I would share that with you.

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