this is my dull life. this is my dull life on drugs. this is a haiku.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

You know your take-home
final essay is bad when...

...the last line of the email in which you submit it is:
Again, I apologize for the oncoming assault on all your rational senses...

For serious. I'm going to bed.

Monday, April 17, 2006

I'm too busy to post right now,
so I'll link to Ashley's blog

The title says it all. No need for any more... y'know... those things... describe-amajigs... WORDS! That's the describe-amajig I was looking for!

Ashley talking about today

Coleman being pseudo-angry at Ashley

Ashley's tribute to Coleman and I

The end.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

Bright Eyes

Bright Eyes - The First Day of My Life

When the President Talks to God (Protest Song on Leno)

That's all I got. I wrote a real post yesterday...

Friday, April 07, 2006

Conversations with myself

So Ashley says I talk to myself.

Apparently all the time, while I'm alone in parts of the house. My defense is that I'm not actually talking to myself, but only talking in the hopes that someone will listen to me. So it's more an issue of me just being sad & lonely, as opposed to outright weird & crazy -- which is kind of comforting... maybe?

She told me this when I came up from my room earlier today. I guess I'd been cursing downstairs as I was looking for something. I hadn't really thought about it before, but the accusation got me thinking... I suppose that I do speak quite a bit when no one else is around... One of those habits that I don't notice until someone else points it out to me -- Like how I recently found out that I double-up words all the time, such as "cool cool" and "ok ok" and "yeah yeah".

So as I was thinking about all this in the kitchen, I got it in my head that I was going to turn this habit around. I was going to stop it before it got out of hand.

"I, Patrick Cahill Connolly, will hereby never talk to myself AGAIN!" I announced triumphantly.

And then I had to call Ashley back in, because she'd left the room while I'd been mulling it over.

Given that my mom is also prone to talking to herself, I have a feeling that this might be genetic. She also has a habit of making up words that she thinks fit what she wants to say, but I don't think I've inherited that little quirby. But it does seem that my talking-to-myself issue is a little worse than hers is.

Hopefully my problem doesn't get worse with age, but just in case it does, I've got a solution: Surround myself with dogs. It's not seen as quite so odd when people talk to their animals. With this strategy, instead of turning into a crazy old man who talks to himself incessantly, I would simply turn into an elderly fellow who really loves his animals.

So they wouldn't be so much pets, but objects at which to channel my pent-up senility.

Come to think of it, with this solution comes yet more problems, since I would now be an old man who lives in a house full of dogs...

Drats. Is there no way to win?? Am I doomed to be CRAZY?!?

"Yes. Yes you are."


Thursday, April 06, 2006

I haven't died

So Ashley and I were chilling out in the TV room a couple of nights ago, watching the news. Our house watches the news fairly regularly, since we've only got two glorious channels of antenae-fed televational goodness. Actually, it'd be more appropriate to say that we've got 1.5 channels, since the sound on one of them often freaks out and starts buzzing really loudly for no apparent reason. It's baffling, since it's the CBC station that does this, and the CBC building, with its 20-foot broadcast dish, is located a hundred yards down the road -- so go figure. If you ever stop by our house, there's a good chance that you'll find a buzzing television and at least one person literally yelling at it. I don't think I've ever cursed with so much conviction as I've done when I'm watching that goddamn TV...

So anyway, Ashley and I were watching a news story and Alisha comes down into the room. She glances at the screen, then goes "Oh this guy! He's like 19 now? Started when he was 14 years old, right?"

Ashley and I both: "Yeah..."

"Yeah, I've seen some of his stuff before."

Blank looks from Ashley and me.

"Huh, what? No? What's this kid do then?"

We looked at each other, then back at Alisha, who was keeping a straight face and apparently being serious. Then Ashley answered:

"Umm... child pornography."

Anyway, I'm not sure who Alisha thought he actually was (cause I was laughing as she tried to explain), but she'd coincidentally nailed all the facts on the kid who, testifying at an Online Child Safety hearing, had formerly been mixed up in the kiddie porn business.

I found it funny. The misunderstanding, that is -- not the child pornstar...