Its amazing. My mother is possibly the least apt verbal communicator I have ever known. She sends me this threatening sounding email earlier today, basicly saying to me "YOU WILL BE HOME THIS WEEKEND" when in fact she was asking if I would be home this weekend or not.
So all that undue stress over nothing. Sheesh.

On a more serious note. What the fuck. Things like this are only supposed to happen here in the deep ole ignint south. A seventh-grade social studies Teacher in Presque Isle, ME, sues school district over limits on history curriculum, claiming he was barred from teaching about non-Christian civilizations.

What
The
Fuck

I had a good weekend planned. I really did. Sure, I have a lot of stuff to do, like writing two papers and working on grad school aplications, and taking my GRE tomorrow, but I was going to do all of that at Erik's place this weekend.
Not so, says my mother. I am to stay home, work on applications, and anything else I have to do. Oh yes, and take the GRE friday, and go to a group meeting for my Marketing class Sunday. So, I have to scrap all my plans. Great. This, after having to scrap my plans for Thanksgiving weekend at her request, and getting bitched out by my father for not spending Thanksgiving at home, but instead at Erik's place because I had been invited up for the holiday.
This comes as a blow especially because I was looking forward to this weekend for a number of reasons, the least of which being spending relaxing time around Erik and being able to do work without the interuption my mother will inevitably cause every 30 minutes to every hour and a half.
Nothing good comes of telling my parents I have things to do for school/grad school/etc. They seem to think I am incapable of working anywhere but at home, which is far from true. If anything I work better everywhere else - especially at Erik's or on campus somewhere.
Arguing against it, however, is pointless, as once my mother has her mind made up, getting her to change it is worse than trying to pull the teeth out of a tiger without using a sedative. You are more than likely to come away with less than you had going in, so be grateful for what little you get and get on with it. Even if you are miserable.

Today, 113 years ago, Capt. Morehouse of the Dei Gratia discovered a sight that would unnerve even the most salty of sailors: the abandoned, yet completely in tact, Mary Celeste, adrift in the mid Atlantic. The ship showed no sign of damage, nor of hasty abandonment. Half smoked pipes were found in the gallley, oilskin boots were at their owners bunks, and even the sewing machine in the captians cabin stood ready to be used, its needle threaded and raised, as if waiting for cloth. On board there was no sign of struggle, no evidence of violence, and, most importantly, no sign of the eleven people who had been her passengers and crew: the captian, Benjamin Briggs, his wife, toddler daughter, and the eight seamen who sailed with him were gone without a trace.
The only evidence present at all, in fact, was that the ship was soaked through. Every surface, the bunks, floors, carpets, everything, were wet. One of the two water pumps was found to be broken, and the forward hatch had been left open and was filled with water. Gone too were the sextant, navigation book, ships register, and the main life boat. From this, along with a broken rope found dangling over the side of the ship, the Board of Inquiry concluded that the Mary Celeste had encountered rough seas and storm, and her crew and passangers had fled to the life boat, leaving it tied to the ship, until the line had broken. Inevitably, the small life boat was swallowed by the swells, leaving no trace.
But is this the real answer? Though many have theorized, no one knows for sure what the fate of those men and women really was. Sometimes reality is stranger than the supernatural.

Well, in posts past you have heard mention of my new cat, Kinky. She is now offically an inside cat, with her own litter, and as such has permanently taken up resedence in my heart. Currently, she is asleep on my bed, in a pile of my shirts and socks. The cute is so much it hurts. But yes, shes now offically moved into our life.
Here she is.

This one is a bit dark, but its also good.

you are teal #008080

Your dominant hues are green and blue. You're smart and you know it, and want to use your power to help people and relate to others. Even though you tend to battle with yourself, you solve other people's conflicts well. Your saturation level is very high - you are all about getting things done. The world may think you work too hard but you have a lot to show for it, and it keeps you going. You shouldn't be afraid to lead people, because if you're doing it, it'll be done right. Your outlook on life can be bright or dark, depending on the situation. You are flexible and see things objectively.

the spacefem.com html color quiz

On that note, if I had anything to write about today, I would write about it now. Maybe later.

This, inspired by "The Train Man Cometh" and various thoughts and ramblings.
The doors hiss shut with the sigh of dying hydraulics, closing in once again this steel tube of existence. How is it possible, I find myself wondering, that such a place as this manages to so well capture of the nature of the obligatory but hollow city above it. Down here, down in the dark, this is where the flavor of the city lives, where its life’s blood drips as the city above bakes in the sunlight, and congeals to form that stock which is the city its self, in all its aspects.
I have ridden on the strangely antiseptic but well used trains of outer Vienna, as well as on their Victorian slum loving brothers who guard the ringstraβ and the city center. I have seen the strange beasts which haunt the dark layers of DC, the many colored worms of the New York lines, even the strange above ground wonders of San Francisco. I have even, despite my better judgment, been in the depths of the tope and pastel world that is my local transit authority’s vision of hell, the two line wonder that is MARTA.
But no matter what system, no matter where I am, I can wake on any train and know distinctly what city I am in. Without the cue of language, without the clues of context, the very radiation of place tells me, deep within my bones, that I am on the Underground, or on the famous L, or even in some god forsaken rapid rail with a euro card, about to be boarded by the ubiquitous AK toting border patrols.
There is a smell unique to each, and even those I have spent bare moments on, I remember the smell as almost a part of the place its self. The lighting, the flicker, the sparks, the advertisements, all of it an atmosphere, and above all, the people which fill the cars, these are the essences of the underground. From the rotting bums to the bored business traveler, to the every day commuter who knows each bump on the tracks by heart, even the tourists. They all add their flavor to the mix.
And that is how it is. A train is a way of getting from one place to another, yes, but is a way through space and time as well. And sometimes, we find ourselves at an unmarked station with no exists, and no train coming for hours. And that is simply how it has to be. Because no matter how long we have to wait, the train will come.

So yeah. Thanksgiving is over. I'm still sick, if anything sicker. The right side of my face is clogged with mucous, blood, and god only knows what else. Back to school tomorrow. Woo hoo. Um. Yeah.
On a bright note, I got the new power adapter for my laptop today.
Also, tomorrow I start my new diet. No meat, no dairy, no animal protean of any type, till new years. Ill allow my self to cheat for sushi, and for christmas dinner, but thats it. Everything else is tabbo.
So yes, for the next month I'm technically going vegan. God.. .help..me..