Monday, January 26, 2004

According to some book about the significance of your birthday on your personality, I, being born on May 12, fall under:

"The Mischievious Maverick

Those born on this day have a naughty allure. Their michieviousness may not be extreme enough to get them into trouble with the authorities, but they are known for their teasing and the lighthearted pranks which they play with a twinkle in their eyes. They seem to have a knack for getting into hot water (or at least very warm)

They are never so happy as when they are refuting questionable claims, wielding irony, even derision with devastating effect. On the other hand, they do not claim to have all the answers and indeed it may be difficult to nail down what they actually believe in.

Likeable, but not all easy to get close to, they maintain their aloof status while making us laugh at the absurdity of life's passing comedy. "

I don't see "sleeps like a sloth" anywhere in there...

* * * * *

I am not used to having all these "things" to "do." I have a paper due, a quiz to study for, an article to write, a comic strip to write (with the help of my friend Jake,) a self-evaluation for work, and the last two sessions of Cowboy Bebop to watch.

It's kinda nice.

I'm going to go on record as saying I'm enjoying being busy now, so that when mid-terms roll around I'll be able to look back and wonder what the hell I was on.

The sad thing is, nothing.

Although I have been contemplating taking up smoking again. I forgot how enjoyable it is to smoke while you type. It makes you look like you're actually doing something when you're really just staring blankly at the screen.

For any of you affilliated with any smoking watch-dog groups, it's all Hunter S. Thompson's fault.

Where can you find those little cigarette stem holder things anyway?

* * * * *

Quick Short Story (was that redundant?)

A great samurai warrior was charged with the task of seeking vengeance on the man who had killed his lord. He traveled very far and braved many dangers to find him. Finally he found him. The samurai approached him with his sword drawn. The man, cowering in fear, grew bold enough for one moment to spit in the face of the samurai, then shrank back down to the floor to await his fate.

The samurai sheathed his sword and slowly walked out of the house.

Why did the samurai not kill the man?

The man had made the samurai angry by spitting in his face. That made the matter personal, and it was not a personal task that the samurai had been sent to do.

The moral of the story is?

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