aka, running about giggling at all the cute little dhtml things jenny puts in and integrating css on every damn page. Do you know how *boring* typing those things is? Made a new section, mind you. should be fun, when i get round to writing something properly for it...

it's too hot. I think i'll go home and try and work out where this synagogue i'm meant to be singing at is...
Hey, you know what? this lyric kept going thru my heid... "daddy started out in san francisco, tootin' on a trumpet, loud and mean..." and i *just* realised it's from something i sung at choir camp way back when when i was a mere babe (read: thirteen. but the older lot called us munchkins.) and before then i'd sung at school only only knowing the chorus since it's a famous many-part round type thing and the verse, like, isnt...

oh, and aphy? i'm sure the mail's in your court... *pleading look* ...need random amusements...

it's too hot... ugh, you know, it's nights like these i start thinking up ice-laden smut. Which could be a good thing.

neeway, just back from doing a scary recording with huge new-york-jewish blokes attempting english accents and failing miserably but finding themselves funny. Which i suppose was the point of the whole exercise. But the cantor was a really disturbing person, with a whiny nasal singing voice, bad ginger hair (that is, the blondish type. dark ginger i can deal with...), and appeared to be wearing a pair of cycling shorts under a pair of swimming trunks. Most odd.

Mind you ,on the way back i started writing poetry on the flyleaves and page-ends of my neatly-polished-with-dry-pumice (ie, not shiny in that sorta tacky way, but smooth and matt and classy-feeling, it's a catullus thing) new little Keats book, which is probably bad. I like Keats, i really do, i just get a tad irritated at the fact that he's such a wuss. Everything's so droopy and half-hearted in his world, and passion is so easily melodrama (i mean, "isabella"... what was the lad on?) and he's at that time when "earnest" is a positive adjective, rather than a mild deprecatory, and he's so eager to rhyme and you know that if he'd been writing once verse had been freed he could be incredible, but he isn't Donne (the best metrical-rhyming-verse-which-makes-sense-poet-ever) and thus he's a tad clumsy, which is endearing but can wear after a while.

the cat is sitting in the in-tray. i think she likes it there. will go restart ffviii again now... i'm just addicted to that duel and seifer's come-hither beckoning, and the sneer, and... *fangirlie sigh*