Americans,
claude le monde no networks, no nukes, not notcakes
how we do: + you are # |
2:58 pm | 14 June 2004 | the stealthy ass-whupper this weekend proved mostly uneventful. friday night i hung out with hbomb & she fed me nachos & we watched a show about forensic evidence on your computer. did you know that even if you delete a file the information remains on your hard drive until it's overwritten? in other words, it's like a chalkboard, kinda. you can decide you don't need the information, and "delete" essentially only means "do not save," but until you write something on top the original thing remains! so if you are sending all these IMs about killing your husband, you should afterwards download a whole bunch of songs or something to cover it up. that's, uh, just what the layperson gleaned from the show. shut up. i got distracted by the nachos. on saturday the dog and i, mid-wrassle, smacked the flats of our heads (me: forehead, her: top of skull) together in a tectonic-plate sort of fashion that gave me like a black eye but only on my forehead (awesome) that is a source of intermittent, accidental screaming pain. woo!
we played that game Taboo at the beach house, a game which involves having your team guess a word you are describing without invoking six prohibited words, which leads to circuitous but awesome descriptives such as jedi's "a stealthy ass-whupper who specializes in kung-fu" for the word "ninja." we laughed quite a lot at this one. ladies dominated, nevertheless. i finally saw
lost in translation, which: wow, but why is sofia coppola the flattest-affected person in the whole world? it's like her entire person has been shot with botox. incapable of emoting, her droidy, mannequin-like drawls of "uh...yeah..." next to bill murray's TOTAL AWESOMENESS in the interview-featurette-thingy were totally lame. laaaaaaame. christ, experience a feeling or something.
finally, i am grooving pretty hard on mellowdrone, this band opening up for the fire theft (ex-sunny day real estate), particularly "fashionably uninvited," the most lovelorn song against television ever (what a grandaddy-esque concept!). check it out. clm. p.s. for some arcane reason diaryland is being alllll crapped up, so sorry if friday's entry shows up like 600 times. i don't know what's with that. unless otherwise noted, all work contained herein is � claudia sherman, 2002-04. |