Okay, back to being ready to cry. For some unfathomable reason, all the files were sent *twice*. Lucky Priscilla has four more hours of downloading ahead of her. That’s it, I’m rewriting everything myelf. Mackenzie said that tonight was going to be the night I got back on caffiene (I’ve been abstinent from soft drinks and coffee for three years now). She may be right.
Ooh, I love where this is going! This binder is positively “Derelicte”. Yay!grunge. New binder + duct tape + sandpaper + black charcoal + sharp objects + stress-relieving violence + mailing tape = day-um. Pretty cover art + liberal amounts of water + scrunching + smooshing = a nice compliment to said binder.
Four hour update: Still downloading stupid files. Currently on #19 of 21, though, so things are happy. Then I’ll finally be able to access the documents Mackenzie, Sleen, Elizabeth, Tori, & co sent me. Huzzah.
I love you, HAL. This stupid, outmoded rubbish heap of a machine just might end up saving my life.
EDIT: ::cries tears of joy:: It’s working. It’s working. Now if only I could actually see through these tears so I could get back to work!
2nd EDIT: Permission to seriously injure Christine? She sent me 21 files, each between 2 and 3Mb. Each is taking approxmately 10 minutes to download on my demeted modem. And I’m on #2. ::twitches::
3rd EDIT: Back to loving Christine. She’s rushing me a photo CD of the 21 files, an action that merits uncountable kudos-age. Of course, I still have to continue downloading the 21 files, because the files I really need were sent after the 21. Ye gods.
Don’t you love it when everything you’ve been working on for two weeks suddenly crashes and burns in your face? Yeah. That’s fun. I had such high hopes for the JETS notebook, but the irony gods have decided to conspire against me. First, my DSL goes down so I can’t use Outlook. Then, my webmail goes down, so I can’t use my ninemuses address. Then the school email server decides that it doesn’t like attachments. If I’d known it was being stupid about attachments, I could have gotten my friends to put their paragraphs for the notebook on disks or print them out, but noooo, the school email system belied its inadequacy quite effectively. This stupid notebook is due in 15 hours and everything my friends and I did this morning–all 10 hours–is absolutely, completely in vain. I want to curl up into a fetal position and cry.
See Woodrow Wilson anywhere, Rebecca? Well? Do you? Punk?
(thanks to the lady Ann for the link)
The author of this article deserves massive plaudits. Hilarious.
Wow, I haven’t posted in two days. In case you were curious, indeed, I am still alive. Stressed, but alive. The JETS notebook is due Saturday morning, which is slightly horrifying, but I get to spend the entirety of tomorrow at school on the notebook (we have a day off), so all is good. I’ll have to upload some of the pages after we turn the notebook in — I’m very proud of the design.
On one hand, I want us to win. Every fiber of my being longs for our success: I poured hours of blood and sweat into this binder, and I think its absolutely awesome. If we lose to Highland Park’s glitter-and-construction-paper creation, I personally will cut off all my appendages with a chainsaw. On the other hand, the State Competition is the weekend of “Dark of the Moon”, the Jesuit fall play, which is *not* double-cast. I’d have to miss State, which would absolutely stink. There’s always the possibility that I could fly over after the Friday performance, then leave Saturday afternoon in time for our 5:00 call, but there would always be the chance of a flight getting cancelled or delayed, stranding me in Austin. Bad idea.
So alas, woe is me in general. Can’t win ’em all. ::sighs and shugs::
Matt’s friend’s reaction upon seeing the pictures I posted here: “Congratulations, Matt. You found yourself a nerdy girl who looks like a model, and a Sluggite to boot.”
::warm fuzzies::
Yay, the return of the much-feared “Priscilla the Poet”. We had to write Mill on the Floss-inspired Shakespearean sonnets, and my group close to write about Maggie’s encounter withe the gypsies. Apparently, the combination of successes with my LotR poem and the previous “Charade” I wrote for Emma gave the class the impression that I was actually talented at writing poetry (HA!). I probably made the situation worse when I asked Dr. Moreland if it had to be in iambic pentameter. Snide glances abound! Grr, iambic pentameter. Give me Anapest (–/) or Dactyl (/–) any day.
You probably won’t understand it unless you’ve had the misfortune of reading Mill on the Floss, but I’m posting it anyway. Bah. Collaborators: Shari Barnett, Elizabeth Block, and Emily Banta.
Maggie and the Gypsies
With family, she felt left out at home.
They called her “gypsy” when she cut her hair.
The longely outcasts, fated ‘er to roam,
She longed for love and people who would care.
Rejoicing in salvation, first it seemed
A life Bohemian, easy and free,
But then she found it wasn’t as she dreamed.
They lacked in manners, treacle, bread, and tea.
Pockets breached by fingers quick and nimble,
Her confidence soon waned and she grew wary.
She saw with frightened eyes the pilfered thimble,
Former friends now treacherous and scary.
Returning home with her adventure done,
Her dream of gypsies faded with the sun.