K*KO, Princess-Wings, Starfighter Tigerlily, does still update this journal occasionally, despite the abandoned appearance. Due to security reasons involving family, friends, and my pretense at a career, we prefer to remain Friends-Only. If you would like to be admitted to our inner circle, please submit your request for consideration.

I spent the last fifteen minutes dancing naked in my kitchen to the San Diego Symphony.

Just because I can.

The three screws in my hip are named Athos, Aramis, and Porthos.

When I was at Walmart today, I saw a giant pile of the new Harry Potter book on a big table, totally ignored by all shoppers.

I thought of you all and smirked.

I've read them alll merely because Dad has bought them all. Brat has the new one, and I'll probably read it when she's done. I personally don't have any real feeling about the series one way or the other.

In a pathetic attempt to motivate myself to start chucking in this thing again, I am emulating the esteemed brakspants and opening the floor for random questions.

I am forced to attend a barbecue this evening. There will be meat and beer, both in large quantities, neither of which hold the slightest interest for me. I was instructed to bring "a salad."

A Salad:
Napa cabbage
organic whole-wheat couscous made with organic miso broth
aduki beans
scallions
dried nori
tofu
shiitake mushrooms

There are subtle degrees of snark.

October approaches and saturates my senses, neither scent nor taste, yet both and still more. It envelops me like smoke, vapors rising from phoenix ashes. All things die in winter to be born again, and autumn is the blaze of glory, the trail of the comet. The transient beauty in all things becomes more apparent as it peaks and fades; the bittersweet tang quickens my blood, the current pulling relentlessly. The squirrel outside the window digs with tiny paws, eyes shining blackly with blind thought of ACORN, and my hands curl with the feel of fur. Everything is so perfect within itself. A kernel of popcorn is a raindrop until it becomes a snowflake, and where is a greater miracle than that? I am spellbound by the pumpkins in their bins; smooth, orange rinds slide under my fingers. The ridges and dimples and cracks are a secret message to those who care to read. I want to take it all in, but I am not large enough to hold the world and can only stand in the wind transfixed as it runs through me. It is an agony of impossibility, that the universe even is, that a pumpkin exists, and therefore all things are possible. It leaves me moon-mad to a degree, and I dance in unlikely public places.

"Please sit back and relax while Windows 98 installs on your computer" MY ASS.

(it's bratpookie, not Ada. but still.)

The day of reckoning has arrived.

Law: 93
Audit: 93
ARE: 94
FARE: 97

Most people who pass get upper 70s or low 80s. I gloat and feel guilt for gloating and now intend to burn every Becker notecard ONE AT A TIME.

Daddy is buying me this as a "Happy I Didn't Waste A Shitload of Money On Your Education" present, since I have been borrowing one at work on the rare occasion I need such.