sigh

My review was okay. Mr. British douche bag was confused about my blown-up model and i got nervous and blah blah blah. Anyway, design is over until 2006, so now all i have to do is scan/take pics of all my work and clean all my shit out of the studio. I hope my studio next year is one of the cooler ones in Goldsmith. The attic is not a nice place to be. I'm reminded of Hanniibal Lecter telling Clarice how he wanted a room w/ a view of some trees or maybe water. mmmmm, chianti....
Lessee, next thursday i will be on an ERJ-145 flying north really fast. Have i already mentioned that I'm excited? Continental Express is not my favorite, but whatever gets me to Canada in one piece is good enough.
Chuck Palahniuk's books never fail to amaze, i highly recommend them.
I only bought christmas presents for 3 of my friends. I suppose i could've gotten more, but that would interfere w/ my buying shit for myself. I still have to buy presents for the family, etc.
I bought a great wool sweater the other day.
I must get an apartment next year. I honestly don't think I can handle another year in a dorm. I'm amazed at how quickly i can fly off the handle into a blind rage that keeps me from going to sleep; it usually happens when i am awakened by my roommate coming in after a long night in the studio, turning the light on, brushing his teeth, washing his face, taking his sweet time. I'm not a jerk; i don't say anything. After all, he's only doing what most people would do, but still, i don't think it's good for my nerves to have this happen all the time. Oh well, his review is tommorrow, so tonight should be the last night this happens. This semester.
Roy told me a story about how a maid found a brick of cocaine while cleaing. She took possession of it, and hired two hitmen to knock off the owners of the house; w/ the coke proceeds, she planned to pay the hitmen, and pay her modelling school tuition. BUT, she forgot to try it first; turns out, the two hitmen were cops, and the brick was cheese. hahahahaha.
My dad had a landscaper pull out the two gorgeous spiraea bushes in our side yard and replace them with a sago palm. A SAGO PALM! as if we don't already have 3 of them. i was slightly disappointed, but i suppose it doesn't matter. He decided not to trim the crepe myrtles, which I decided long ago to let grow tall to shade the side of the house from the morning sun. And of course, my lovely japanese magnolia is still there.
Holy shit, i am a dork. and i LOVE it.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

I am just a poor boy and my story’s seldom told
I’ve squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises
All lies and jest, still the man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest, hmmmm

When I left my home and my family, I was no more than a boy
In the company of strangers
In the quiet of the railway station, runnin’ scared
Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters, where the ragged people go
Looking for the places only they would know

Li la li...

Asking only workman’s wages, I come lookin’ for a job, but I get no offers
Just a comeon from the whores on 7th avenue
I do declare, there were times when I was so lonesome
I took some comfort there

Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin’ even me
I am older than I once was, and younger than I’ll be, that’s not unusual
No it isn’t strange, after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same
After changes we are more or less the same

Li la li...

And I’m laying out my winter clothes, wishing I was gone, goin’ home
Where the new york city winters aren’t bleedin’ me, leadin’ me to go home

In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down or cut him
’til he cried out in his anger and his shame
I am leaving, I am leaving, but the fighter still remains
Yes he still remains

Li la li...

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN
absoultely brilliant