(no subject)

However screwed up this will sound, the turns American politics - no scratch that, Bush's politics - are taking, interest me, very much. I envy the ones studying it this fall, there is so much going on! Now, having to consider whether or not the System of Checks and Balances have effect would be exceedingly simple, and the essay begging for a 6. Bush is effectively overruling one of the checks on the executive. Not only does Congress no longer enforce their right to declare war (the President simply obtains the right to use necessary force, and if he does not, he prances on to use his veto. However week his support in Congress is, two thirds are not against him.), they do nothing when Bush increases Executive power. Impeachment, someone?

And my inner lepidopterist is poking his head out, though not doing much but studying the butterflies speeding around in my stomach, at present. Knowing him, he will proceed sometime on Sunday, when I am safely in Oxford, squealing of delight in my hotel-room, to capture and name them. I shall make him dub one Vladimir, and another Oscar, if not Ernest. The rest he can do with as he pleases.

Two nights in Oxford, one in Stratford-upon-Avon, one in Bath and the final three (or however many it is, I was never any good at maths) in London. With luck, I can be found somewhere having Afternoon Tea next week, smelling of "Lolita Lempicka" and grinning foolishly.

Harry Potter ends tomorrow, it'll be fun. Or so I hope. I have to make up for leaving doggie behind in Norway. I always feel miserable when we leave him at the kennel, he looks so utterly forlorn.

I think my writing is doing a half-hearted jig beyond the grave (imagine Geoffrey Rush, if you will, in Shawn of the Dead, as a zombie-version of the Marquis, screaming "My writing lives!"), and has given me this: We burn the end of our lives. It might be "the ends", but that is, crudely, it. Any grand ideas, anyone? Other than a boring, married, couple, resigning themselves to something or other? I think they might be burning, or tearing, sheet music - some piece by a Russian, that is somehow their lives, or life.

Apropos, I've made a discovery: I think the reason I can't RP for the life of me, is that my characters are no good for continued plots or story-lines that branch in all sort of peculiar directions, they're made for scenes. They do entrances, and they do exits, but they are not there to prance around in settings they were not created for. They are awkward there, and they do not wish to fit in. They fit into their own stories, plots and exits, and they will not participate in those of others, whomever they are. (Not that they are particularly noteworthy. To have exits and prance around, they really need nothing but a name and something to do. Be that stand in the room across from someone entirely insignificant, or say something so relevant it reeks of cliché.)

Lastly, I apologize for the length and the double post.

(no subject)

However screwed up this will sound, the turns American politics - no scratch that, Bush's politics - are taking, interest me, very much. I envy the ones studying it this fall, there is so much going on! Now, having to consider whether or not the System of Checks and Balances have effect would be exceedingly simple, and the essay begging for a 6. Bush is effectively overruling one of the checks on the executive. Not only does Congress no longer enforce their right to declare war (the President simply obtains the right to use necessary force, and if he does not, he prances on to use his veto. However week his support in Congress is, two thirds are not against him.), they do nothing when Bush increases Executive power. Impeachment, someone?

And my inner lepidopterist is poking his head out, though not doing much but studying the butterflies speeding around in my stomach, at present. Knowing him, he will proceed sometime on Sunday, when I am safely in Oxford, squealing of delight in my hotel-room, to capture and name them. I shall make him dub one Vladimir, and another Oscar, if not Ernest. The rest he can do with as he pleases.

Two nights in Oxford, one in Stratford-upon-Avon, one in Bath and the final three (or however many it is, I was never any good at maths) in London. With luck, I can be found somewhere having Afternoon Tea next week, smelling of "Lolita Lempicka" and grinning foolishly.

Harry Potter ends tomorrow, it'll be fun. Or so I hope. I have to make up for leaving doggie behind in Norway. I always feel miserable when we leave him at the kennel, he looks so utterly forlorn.

I think my writing is doing a half-hearted jig beyond the grave (imagine Geoffrey Rush, if you will, in Shawn of the Dead, as a zombie-version of the Marquis, screaming "My writing lives!"), and has given me this: We burn the end of our lives. It might be "the ends", but that is, crudely, it. Any grand ideas, anyone? Other than a boring, married, couple, resigning themselves to something or other? I think they might be burning, or tearing, sheet music - some piece by a Russian, that is somehow their lives, or life.

Apropos, I've made a discovery: I think the reason I can't RP for the life of me, is that my characters are no good for continued plots or story-lines that branch in all sort of peculiar directions, they're made for scenes. They do entrances, and they do exits, but they are not there to prance around in settings they were not created for. They are awkward there, and they do not wish to fit in. They fit into their own stories, plots and exits, and they will not participate in those of others, whomever they are. (Not that they are particularly noteworthy. To have exits and prance around, they really need nothing but a name and something to do. Be that stand in the room across from someone entirely insignificant, or say something so relevant it reeks of cliché.)

Lastly, I apologize for the length and the double post.