You know how people in cartoons slip on banana peels, and fall on their backs, feet straight up in the air? I did that today, except it was on a square fried fish patty (covered in mayonnaise) that someone had managed to drop in the middle of the tile floor at school. How they dropped it is a mystery, but how I didn't see it is even more so. Had it not been for that small strip of lettuce to slow the slide, I'd probably have flown down the steps to my untimely, and pathetic, demise.

I'd have made some sort of last meal joke about that, but it wouldn't have been funny.

In another stroke of brilliance (not on my part, this time), my too quick to speak teacher proclaimed loudly today that our computer lab had "the click of death" and it was "spreading through the computers like AIDS!" To go along with it, she made a swooshing hand-motion like that of a tidal wave (or, indeed as intense as she sounded, a tsunami). One of these days she's going to say that in a class where a person does have such an illness and they are going to punch her in the eye. That time draws quickly near too, as she seems to say it daily. She needs a better analogy (or new material, as it were). Or to go mute.

Not much to say of all that, really, I just needed to vent. I don't know if I can take it another semester.

I found an electronic organizer in my desk drawer a few days ago that my mother had given me as a present a long time ago. I managed to lose it the same day. When I stumbled upon it (and my wealth of phone numbers that I had put in it), I was quite over-joyed, as I recalled that it had a memo function where I could leave myself notes and the like. Now, rather than writing on my hand, I just whip this baby out, type in "teacher made AIDS comment" (or "teacher fucked up again") and set the alarm to go off on an hour when I'll be on the computer (so anywhere from 8AM to 12PM, I guess) so I can quickly and efficiently inform all of you out there of the daily strife I must endure.

On the topic of the Harry Potter movie (which I knew would somehow come and bite me in the bum, far removed from anything to do with it as I am), my grandmother said, with eyes squinty, "that movie teaches children WITCHCRAFT!" as she saw the commercial for it on television. To which my non-squinty eyes began to roll in a circular motion from her, to the ceiling, and away from her. It's "just a movie" I said and, after much convincing, she agreed.

"I guess that's right...my children grew up with that sort of stuff...and you did too. Children don't take that sort of stuff with them when they grow up."* In my foolishness, I decided to correct her and inform her that that was indeed so, unless the children became Pagans or something of that nature. She peered at me and said "well you didn't, now did you?" to which I replied "no", because that is so. If I was Pagan, I'd have said it, but since I'm not, I (as you might imagine) said so. She peered even more and said "you didn't say that very convincingly!" (at which point my eyes turned to those of serpents, I transformed into a bat, and flew away with a high-pitched screech) Sitting in the corner without comment until now, my grandfather (the greatest man alive), who is also religious (as am I...or spiritual at least, but there is a difference between that and being close-minded or just plain silly), started laughing, because even he knew she was being crazy. At that point I just left it alone since the conversation had long ago gone south of retarded.

If I could have broken out with some convincing Latin, you better believe I would have. Of course, since I was afraid she was about to call the preacher over to tie me down and perform an exorcism, I'd have done it out of the window as I was peeling away in my car.

*I can imagine her denying her children seeing the "Wizard of Oz" and other such "satanic" films.

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