What a dork dreams...

My alarm clock is set to NPR. If you knew me 10 years ago, you would have know that I needed two alarms, one halfway across the room, and the other, loud and honking, right beside my ear. But since the elderly are light sleepers...I now wake up to the gentle sounds of world news delivered in quiet, respectful tones. So, Nicolas Sarkozy was in town, and they're talking about it on NPR, and I'm interested, but it's 6:58 and so I'm also interested in sweet sleep. I ended up having the most awesome dream. I was to address the U.N. General Assembly because someone really important asked me to give the preamble to Sarkozy's speech, basically a short history of France. So I'm thinking to myself, hmm, I wonder if I can overcome my fear of public speaking before this speech thingie in a few minutes (Ms. Entitlement Jones never questioned that she was the most qualified to deliver a treatise on the awesomeness of France), and with the wonderful relativity of time of dreams, I really was about to conquer that fear. But at at the last moment, they decided it was a security risk and my services weren't needed. And I had a few friends in the audience (like my jazz-dance recital when I was twelve) who were seriously bummed that I didn't get to speak. I think the Ayatollah Khomeini might have been there too, and behind it all. Stop oppressing women from the grave.

Razors of love

the speech bubble says, "i dig my toes into the sand the ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn across a big blue blanket." so true.

Sometimes I feel conflicted about graffiti, you know when some poor nona has to spend her fixed-income money to get rid of the huge penis that someone has painted on her garage-door? But not this morning. When I walk down the stairs of the G train (usually hurtling down the stairs because my entrance to the G is on the short side of the tracks) there's a new poster right at the bottom of the stairs that I actually have to avert my eyes from, because it causes a physical reaction. It's a huge K-Rock ad, featuring the band Incubus. I hate this band so much, but maybe I hate that guy's face even more, with his blank, bland look (at least look guilty for making such horrible music) and his horrible ear plugs. Well, this morning, some had razored his face out. Just his face. The rest of the band was intact, everything else was fine, and the poster wasn't even tagged. Major joy, and that never happens on a Monday morning.

Put the razor down, soul mate, and call me.