Stewing and Spewing-Mental Sewage

Monday, December 14: Christmas Cards, Henry Ford Style

Last week Jessica hung candy canes on her plant to celebrate their 'one month anniversary.' Today, however, the plant was treated in a deeper, more introspective fashion.

"If my life does not become more interesting [the plant] could be well on its way to getting its own profile... I don't really think people are fascinated by my plants or stuffed dogs, my intent is to make fun of my dull life. Some people think it helps to have a fascinating life in order to keep an online journal. The irony is, if I were in the midst of non-stop excitement right now, I probably wouldn't find or take the time to sit down and write journal entries."

December 14th also seems to have marked the inception of the highly successful 'Gluckman Christmas Card Assembly Line.' Imagine personally signing all the Christmas cards that your family sends out rather than one family member a year doggedly forging everyone else's names. Seems to have worked quite well; the assembly line ran quite smoothly from a logistical standpoint, each family member signing a card in approximately the same space and then passing them down the line where each card was neatly stacked and the process completed. Lo and behold-- what could have been an arduous task taking somewhat more than an hour was effectively reduced to nothing more than five minutes.

In closing, The mystery of the Tangelos (a somewhat mystical beast which is a mutated miscegenation of tangerine, yak and buffalo) seems to have been elaborated on as one has been spotted on the bottom half of this entry. No photographer was credited with having spotting the strange beast.

Ceruleanglow

Ceruleanglow? A typa lava lamp, ya know?

Sunday, December 6th: Anticipating a vast spread of all the proper and most extravagant Christmas time food, Jessica has her wisdom teeth pulled.

"I have never in my life been in so much pain. And I only have three wisdom teeth. My face is so swollen; I look like a manic depressive cabbage patch kid. The areas around my stitches are swelling, so I have this stinging sensation, and my jaw is stiff from holding ice on it for three days. Last night as I tried to explain where it hurt I started to cry. The fact that it's that time of the month and my back hurts from sleeping at strange angles doesn't help."

Obviously, ice is not the proper cure for such a ferocious malady. When teeth are pulled, roots and all, the only things that will dull the pain are a nice hot espresso and a gratuitously violent episode of the 'Jerry Springer' show.

On the other hand, a time of such pain can only lead to a greater tempering of both the mind and the body. What to do, what to do, stuck at home with a hurt tooth or two? Simple. Do some surfing and explore the new and fab in the world of html, scripting and avant garde web design. And of course, if all else fails, there's always HBO.

"HBO is showing a talk show documentary. Right now they're talking about the woman who chopped open her breasts to remove her implants and the talk show battle that ensued. This can't possibly be healthy for me to watch."

Here. In My Head

Wednesday, December 2nd: Mendi and Stuff

"I drew a little 'tattoo' on my wrist. It's hard to describe, but it's a string of five '~' looking things surrounded by random circles and stars and diamonds. It sort of looks like amateurish Mendi or something. I like it. It's very emotionally distinctive -- every time I've been pondering something deeply today, I've added another random shape. So far the count is: 5 circles, 2 stars, and 1 diamond."

Yet another day wasting away in a college where the future is about as distinct as a high altitude smudge fast disappearing on the horizon. Sure, Berkeley College of Music might be the goal, but with a lofty $25,000 a year tuition, as well as a veritable plethora of other daunting entrance requirements, a second go-round as college freshman might be a more realistic (and depressing) option.

Journal writing. Journal writing and passion, and how one interweaves with the other. The act of the soul speaking through the pen, with the keyboard as the antennae examined.

"That's one thing that Dom fears he's losing -- his passion for writing in his journal. And I think it must be a passion. I can't imagine reading a journal that was devoid of any passion. It's a life-force! See -- I may get moody and let my emotions go astray, but I can't lose my passion. That's the death of a person."

And, as we conclude with another OnCommon, we also segue seamlessly into yet another installment.

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