dad back from rotterdam. has gin and chocolate. my family, we recognise that these are the important things in life.

My hair is /so bright/. At least i've washed the /purpleness/ of the pink out of it, now, so it's only, y'know, shocking pink. The tub called it 'flamingo pink'. I'm thinking, wow, those must be some scary-ass flamingos. I mean, if eating pink prawn-like shellfish is what makes them pink (which is why you get white flamingos in the wrong kind of habitat: it's like that episode of pokemon, with the pink pikachus, because they ate the fruit from those trees... um, not that i have total recall of certain pokemon episodes. nope, not me). Meeting someone on thurs: am writing email which basically says "you won't have any difficulty recognising me because my hair is SO BRIGHT it is like beacon shining through dark and miserable night." I have a feeling they'd bar me from public examinations because apparently it's hard to concentrate when your eyes are constantly drawn to the Glaring Painful Colour. So say the english class. Heh. And at least I've managed to avoid the Egyptian Mummy Woman who is sure to tell me to tone it down. But, you know, last time she told me to make it darker, and... well, it's definitely /darker/ than before. Just more... vibrant.

...yes, I /am/ obsessed with my hair. Have to be obsessed about /something/, dammit.

I'd talk about the neat little design-related conflict over at Ed's blog that I keep coming back to to see whether anything new has been said, but, well, nothing new for me to say, except, dammit, one of these days I'm going to have to go through all my pages and make it less dependent on the CSS. One of these days. I /like/ css, dammit. I can make it work better than most things. And now you tell me to change? ^_^
And Charmian has a neat viewpoint on it all. Although now I shall sit and contemplate what kind of blog could count as Bauhaus, and what type's Arts-and-Crafts-y...

I once made the grand decision not to /ever/ read Philip Pullman, and I've also made the grand decision to /keep/ to this, at least for now, even though I can't remember my reasons. Just, you know, something about it that didn't appeal, once, and holds an indiscernable power over my psyche even now. That or the fact that My Nemesis (/darling/ girl with whom i disagree on /everything/, from Tolkein to Fitzgerald to Shakespeare (but we agree, oddly enough, on Noon, who i have successfully pimped to her. one more convert for the ranks...), and loudly at that, and, really, never the twain shall meet). Now, Lemony Snicket - /him/ I could imagine myself reading at least a few pages of.

...did i just end a sentence with a preposition? Wait, do I even /know/ what a preposition is? Oh, well.

I have 17-20 of AS. You know all those times that I've said I was confused? I had /no/ comprehension of the term 'confusion'. Only now have I learned what it truly is. But, uh, I now verstehe Sarah's Sandalphon 'ness. Well, go some way towards verstanden, anyway, which is what counts. And, while I've linked Sarah: Uncle Jo, sadly, was branch-free. To attempt to branch out would, anyway, have been essentially Trotskyist. The counterrevolutionary scum (...tree surgeons, groundskeepers) had robbed him of the chance to, had he ever /wanted/ to, and as such he served only as secret rendezvous, smoking-place, shooting-star-watching point and base of operations for the select upper ranks, whose numbers mysteriously dwindled as the years went by. We never let the chibis know about his true form, you see. Best not to be told that your elders have gone out into the night to commune with a tree in whose profile they believe they can see the visage of Our Beloved Leader, Your Friend And Mine, Comrade To The Worker And The Soldier.

In other news, I love Ride. I love Ride so very, very much. They're the only band I won't evangelise for, on account of the fact that no-one likes them at all, only me. Because no-one likes shoegazing and oxford accents and perfect-fourth-based harmony and Sonic Cathedrals (tm) anymore, no-one but me. Because I'm /special/. As in, you know, /special school/. But, oh, /Ride/. And when they split up, Andy Bell formed Hurricane #1, and they were crap, and then he joined Gay Dad, who were uninspiring, and /then/ he joined /Oasis/, who need no comment; and Mark Garderner formed animalhouse, and they were shite, too. And I still love Ride, even after all that.