I Have Not Absquatulated. Yet.

A, H. A.

I wrote a Lymmerick during the wait for the final debate at this year's Dawson Debating Union's Annual April Fool's Day Tourney. The catch? L didn't take it with me when I left. Yes, a lost Lymmerick (though I will write what I recall of it for to-day's Closing Lymmerick.).

"But how was did the Tourney?" you might enquire.

The first round saw me judging the top speaker at the Tourney, if not in the province. Well done. He had an excellent speech. The second round saw me judging the same team. Another goodly speech. more interesting for both of these rounds was my total in-ability to compose my thoughts and elucidate them to my comrades and the debators. I blame lack of sleep (see below). Luncheon (during which time I ate many potatoes) brought illness. So I went to the "Executive Bath-Room" and I defecated. This didn't do much to alleviate my symptoms, so I returned to the tweiter floor and ate some more. The third round saw me judging alone. I was back to my normal self and demolished the debators. they seemed to be appreciative of my no-non-sense aproach to commentary. I felt better. The final round had me again judging alone, but with an audience member. I was rather worried that my harshness would offend her. In stead, she asked me to coach her fledgeling team at the Study (apparently, the debating team there is only for the senior levels: she wished me to coach the juniors.). I promptly refused, informing her that I am not a not worthy of coaching (I really shouldn't even be judging, but my comrades seem to believe that I actually know what I'm doing. I don't and I tell them so at every opportunity.). I cited my having come dead last in my last foray in to debating, the infamous Marianopolis annual tourney. Why infamous? The first round's resoluting was THW ban the letters C, Q and X owing to their being barbaric and communist. The second: We proposed the abolishion of homeopathy. I gave the examples of hemlock juice and trepanning and said hell's bells. In a POI, I was told to go home. The last round is the most famous. My partner wasn't having the best of days. When she delivered her PM (or was it MO?) speech, I realised that I was going to have to cover her points as well as my own. Knowing that the round was irrelevant, I went all-out. The results: The room was in laughter so severe that both the judge and my partner were in tears. I think I got a sixty. Obviously, I am in no position to coach.

In lappy-news, I have begun to tweak. I spent most of the week-end fiddling with hdparm and xfs as well as a bit of the bootup sequence. For my troubles: The hard-drive has faster read, write and delete times seemingly at the cost of simultenaity, though I could be making this up. i don't care. I am not going back. My hard-drive can make all of the strange and evil-sounding noises it likes.

I think that's enough for now.

To close, a Lymmerick:

fool
got to do with a shoe

on which you now drool.

I told you I don't remember it. Let's give you an other.

To close, a Lymmerick:

Flying way up there is space,
Almost as if in a race —
Its luminescence
Is due, in a sense,
To all of the heat at the base.

Cheers.

Caliph?

I'm not sure that I really have any thing to say.

Saturday brings the annual Dawson High School Debating tourney. Unlike last year's fiasco, other than in a judging capacity, I shall have nothing to do with it.

For last year's fiasco, see Debating at Dawson With Out Any Cheese.

My caluclus teacher, a lazy chap, gave my class a re-test, owing to the miserable results of the first one. The catch: He gave us the same test. O yes. I will say nothing save this:

Blood and bloody ashes!

I have yet to come to any conclusions regarding Benjammin Britten's War Requiem. Any comments on that?

I have not written a single word on the writing project's front. I'll get around to it. Soon.

If I think of some thing else, I'll let you know.

To close, to-day's Lymmerick:

There once was a bull named huck
Whom sped off, one day, in a truck.
He started to moo;
For he had to poo,
But didn't know how to. Tough luck!

Cheers.

Spanglechaff.

Why spanglechaff, you might ask? Why not, I reply.

Let's get one thing straight. I am absolutely, beyond a doubt, daft.

YAY!

All I can think about, now that I have finished reading it, is Thomas Pynchon.

"Hunter, the woman is jealous of oatmeal."
"You just wait." the princess looking coldly at the porridge. "Soon you'll be cold and congealed and not too appetizing." Holding her ear close to the bowl so that the contents can make their reply as her breakfast companion waits calmy with milk and spoon.
"That is surely a breakfast past-time.", replies Hunter.

WOW! I typed that from memory, so it isn't verbatim. Close, but READ THE BOOK to find out the proper glorious quotation.

In E. N. O. news, I have no news. I have not progressed an adjective since last I mentioned it. No problem, I've time.

Backgammon: Things go... less than desireably. Pfui! I'll get up there soon enough.

Enough? That doesn't look right. I suspect that it isn't. But, whom can tell?

If the desire exists, I MAY give an excerpt of E. N. O. at some point. But, as it is being written by hand, I'm not sure that I will. I could take a photo of it and post that, but I doubt highly that any one but I (and maybe not even I) could possibly read my famous writing. We'll see.

MINDLESS REPITITION! I was in the room with my father as I played backgammon and listened to Philip Glass' Einstein on the Beach. "How can you listen to that?!" "To quote a violinist, There is change, but it happens so slowly, so infrequently, that any change, no mater how small, is hugely cataclismic." Well said.

This post isn't very good. I'm stopping.

To close, a Lymmerick.

The Lymmerick above this is crap,
Just like what is playing now: Rap.
But unlike the noise,
My poem has poise:
And that is one hell of a gap.

I wrote that as during the half-time of a basketball game, in my position as member of the Game Staff at Dawson. One of my better ones, I think.

Cheers.

Fine. Be That Way.

Did I say every day? Well, I lied. I suppose that, reasitically, this blog will be updated when it is updated, a bit like George R. R. Martin's Not a Blog.

In other news,

I FINALLY finished Thomas Pynchon's newest year old novel, Against the Day. Heck of an adventure. As some one else put it so well (I'd quote, but I don't recall where I read this, other than Amazon.*), the novel is like Gravity's Rainbow, but with a huge difference: Where Pynchon, with Gravity's Rainbow is very excited and eager to say what ever it is that he wishes to communicate, much of that enthused energy, with Against the Day, has matured in to an older author's looking back and reflecting. The tone, then, is more pensive, I suppose. Pehaps that's why it is his longest so far and, I fear, his last.

I have also begun to write the idea that I've been, to quote the late and great Robert Jordan, "noodling around" in my head for some time now. As no one is reading this blog, I have little qualm in imparting that the premise is one often gone over — though not as I am doing it. I hope, at any rate. I'm fairly sure. I wrote five pages (by hand, of course) yester-eve and I intend to work on it a bit daily. Well... as daily as this blog, maybe. Yes, I am writing with out a plan, for now. I hope that, as I investigate the concept further on paper, a "plot" will come to me. Right now, the most important thing is getting the ideas out of my head and on to paper. So, I'm going all out, knowing that, at a later stage, I shall need to edit the hell out of the manuscript. No problem. I love editing. Writing is some thing that I have always wanted to do semi-professionally [sic.], so I am eager both to see if I can finish the project — as well as how my writing style will change. having spent the last few months reading Pynchon, it will come as no surprise that what I wrote last night sounded a lot like him. Again, that's where edititng, at some point, will help. I love reading what I have written, but this also makes me NOT want to write, oddly enough. I am determined, therefore, not to go over what I have written until I must.
Right. That's enough for now. To close, I Lymmerick.
The math in this room is quite boring.
I think I can hear some one snoring.
If I hear once more
That x = 4 —
You know what's more groovy? The flooring.

Cheers.

P. S.: The working title of the project is Exploration Number One.

That Took a Long Time....

Firstly, let's get this straight: I (I!) am going to attempt to maintain a blog. Why? What could possibly possess me to do such a stupid thing? Well, the world has a right to revel in my glorious Lymmericks. And maybe a thought or two.

But only just.

To close, shockingly enough, a Lymmerick. (I think I'll post one per day, save when they are cycles.)

The user is needing his fix.
The pusher-man carries his mix.
He passes his dough,
The other his blow —
But Cheese-Food is this user's pix!

The exchange right outside was quite clear.
The witness did not even leer.
Phone: "Allo! Police?
"J'ai vu l'accomplice!"
He opens a new can of beer.

The cops do come loaded with plugs.
They are not now drinking from mugs.
The druggies set sail,
Police on their tail,
Who scream at them: "Get down, ye thugs!"

Cheers.