I dreamt that I was trying to communicate in three languages, all of which I don't really know well enough. The problem is that I am actively learning one, and when I try to speak in either French or Hebrew, it comes out in Spanish. I guess this is positive, because it means my Spanish is improving.

It took me a while to realise that it was a dream. I kept trying to remember whom I was speaking to, who knew both French and Hebrew, and English of course.

The last time I spoke French was when I had a French acquaintance staying at my house. He found it rather "charming", which was my cue to shut up, or "callarse", as they say in Spanish.

Anyway, my French is okay if we stay in the present tense, and the conversation revolves around simple topics, like sleeping, eating, walking, or being able (can-ing). Knit ad nauseum -- this was a note I found at the bottom of a knitting pattern.

Anyway, I used to live on a little island that was devoid of culture and mostly devoid of normal people. That, or maybe it was just me, which I will not rule out. I spent my time there eating pastizi, which are delicious peas-filled pastries, and getting stupid. Then there was the whole trip to the "satan worshipping" peninsula, but that's a story for a different time.

I met (independently of each other) two Canadians who were cool. Through one of them, I met some interesting people, although by that time I had probably gotten stupid enough to be completely uninteresting myself.

There was the time we went to Jay's house. Everyone was slightly insane but Seamic was the worst of them. Someone had just exposed him to Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit". He put it on and after it was over, he listened to it again. Then again, again, again. He really liked it. He played it on repeat for ages.

We sat around and smoked a tobacco hookah... a doctor talked about writing prescriptions for his friends...

Maybe if I didn't become stupid, the island wouldn't have been so bad. My week has been a sacrifice to work. Every day, after I finally leave the office in the late hours of the night, I go home and drill a variety of surfaces. Metal? Particle board? Wood? Check, all three. When my hands aren't covered in paint, they are covered in bicycle grease.

Obviously, the antidote is "culture weekend".

Let the fun, I mean "culture", begin. It should be enough that my Spanish is bad, but when I try to put it through google translate to check for errors, it becomes laughably bad... English.

This is not the sort of encouragement I desire. It takes me a damn long time to write this shit!

For example:

"I feel that my life, my house, everything is a mess... But I think that all will be well soon. Well, I hope :) At least, the weather improves."

here is another:

"My colleagues and I, fun and we ate a lot barbeque (tequilla much... and we both very much!)."

I think the sense is not lost, at least. Although MY translation of what I said about the tequilla would be: "and drank a lot of tequila... too much!"

Have mercy, google. Have freaking mercy. Today I put an earring into my other ear and looked in the mirror. I looked into the mirror for a long time because I've never had both ears pierced until recently, and never had the same earrings in both of them until today.

I think they're off balance and if they are, that makes me sad.

When I feel like this, I turn to facebook. Either that, or youtube. Right now, Mel C is cheering me up.

Hopefully they'll even out when my ear gets used to carrying the weight.

Necessity.
Idiocy and other virtues.

ennui without order

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• ultraclay
• a tam in australia
• new york hack
• mikebot
• eurotrash
• this fish needs a bicycle
• on the face
• spicy children
• myasorubka
• massive red-eye
• jewschool
• malapoesia
• patently silly
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