up too early and can't even rap about it
In her ever-present quest to make me read science fiction, Kat purchased me 2 Sheri Tepper (her fave, I guess) for my birthday. I'm reading one of them now. It's not bad. It's certainly not good, however.
I just can't get into science fiction. It always seems to think it's smarter than it is. And not enough irony.
Today was LT's first day of teaching his very own college class. So he's all excited and wiggling around in bed at 4 am, before getting up and showering and putting on a suit and tie and hitting the road, travel mug in hand, at 6 am. Blarg. It's cute, and I'm glad he's enthusiastic and I know he'll be a great professor, but boy howdee was it ever excruciating to see someone running around gleefully at 6 am.
I haven't gone outside at all today, and the strange recycled air is making me have strange recycled thoughts. I'm happily editing along, and then I thought: “How come I can't rap? Why did no one ever bother to teach me to rap?” Actually, screw the rapping, I want to be the person who scratches the records. Or makes those weird sounds. Remember that? In the 80s? The Human Beatbox kind of people? I think that sort of thing went out with breakdancing and Yo MTv Raps. But what the hell do I know, I can't even rap. Not even a tiny bit.
How sad.
—mixmaster mimi smartypants