Remember, remember...

Dear Deutsch,

Please stop being a horrible, bitch of a language to learn.

kthx,
MrMuller

There's a woman at work whos little girl has declared me her boyfriend. She was apparently quite upset the other day when I was late for work and demanded to know where I was. I guess that'll teach me! She's an impetuous little girl, but she's sweet, and very smart for a three year old. I don't know what she sees in me!

Yeah, I own a lot of rhythm games and rhythm game shit. So what of it?

Let's hear it for greatly defered action. I'm in to frittering.

Do you suppose one must major in his or her native tongue to be a writer of any consequence? Is the forced and autocratic instruction in some haughty institution where creative writing is truly born? Sure it's a terribly tragedy to have an outstanding voice in your heart while your brain lacks the means to convey it in prose, but is it easier for one's unique literary style to break through once buried in technicality? A great number of illustrious authors have come from modest education, I'm sure; self taught, efficacious writers. Or am I deceiving myself? What's your take?

Have you heard about the lonesome loser?

It's my grandfather's birthday today. He passed away less than a year ago and everyones still taking it pretty hard. I know I miss him more than I've ever missed someone in my life. Definitely the closest person to me that's ever passed away. Happy birthday Popaw.

But aside from the sadness of today, yesterday I discovered that all four seasons of My Name Is Earl are available in HD instantly on my TV, which is pretty nice. I watched 10 episodes last night. Someone want to explain to me why they cancel the only good shows on TV and the rest of this garbage runs forever?

How does one go about rewriting a manuscript when one can't even stand to read it it's so bad?

Why must all books on novel writing be total gloom, doom, and nay saying? I understand, really. I know all too well how much life sucks and that I will never be published. Why on earth must they club me about the head and eyes with it? I read them for advice and encouragement, not endless pages of depression; I can get that from my own mind, and I wouldn't have to pay twenty bucks for it.