An entry in which I leapfrog from one random pointless thing to another, and then I try to draw it all together at the end, but really it's a joke, because there's nothing to draw together. Seriously.
Tuesday, Jun. 24, 2003 - 10:08

Dave Barry = funny.

But it was too late: The barn door of trust had been left open, and the horse of newspaper credibility had run off, leaving behind the doots of reader doubt.

I looked up "doots" on m-w.com and it ain't there.

The whole story had me laughing and laughing, and I wanted to share with you the joy it brought to me.

I was going to go running this morning, but I washed my shoes last night in the washing machine, and, while they are sparkly white now, they are still wet. They are, at the moment, sitting out in the sun with their tongues hanging out, and I'm hoping they'll get dry soon.

I might go swimming today, since it's pretty nice, or I'll at least go to the beach.

I wonder what doots are.

I don't really wonder what doots are.

I turned off my diaryland email because I was getting spammed the hell out. I just typed 'smapped' instead of 'spammed'. I was also getting smapped, and it was pretty ugly, so I turned it off.

And you know what? I really like how the buddy list turns salmony now. It's just so helpful. However, I've been getting false positives, like when I go to like some other thing, like to edit an entry, or some other, whatever, I can't think now, but I've been getting false salmony buddy lists. Right as I type this, as a matter of fact, my buddy list is highlighted, and I bet if I click on it (which I will not do right now, because then this exciting, intelligent entry will fall down the drain) there'll be nothing new for me to read. But still, I like it.

I had a scary dream this morning about, let's see, someone wanted an address to something, and I had the piece of paper with the address on it, but then someone else decided to open up this coffin that was in my room, because the dead boy inside had gone to this address, and for whatever reason this person thought it would help us to open up the coffin. And so then of course the boy inside started flopping around--apparently dead people do this when their coffins are opened--and trying to grab at stuff and then he started making noises and I started dreamscreaming, and then he looked at me, and then I woke up whispering "sweet holy Jesus". As I'm typing this I'm laughing, but I was actually quite scared this morning when I woke up. So then I had to think about something else, and then, well, I fell asleep again.

A cat with no name cannot be as nice as it wants to be. That's why you shouldn't call a cat Kitty and expect it to be nice.

Anyway, my point today is this (that's supposed to be a joke): It's a nice day. Go outside.