"Il demandons le droit d'asile..."

I am supposed to be writing an essay on Renaissance artists at the moment, which could explain why I'm here, mucking about. :)

I do not like Michaelangelo. I do not like Fra Angelico. I like Botticelli. I like Raphael mostly. I am neutral as to Leonardo.

This is apparently the body of the essay I am not writing.

It looks rather pretty outside. It's not raining, the trees are coloured white and brown and dead-like, but not, and the sky is evenly light grey. The pine trees are swaying just a little. My Edward Gorey calender is floating ominously just inside the window, stung up with green ribbon to a hook at the ceiling, and Waen says it resembles a hanged corpse.

Gulliver's Travels reads curiously like a somewhat coarser and stranger version of Autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, except that he is not a goldsmith. But he does other teh awesome things and everyone loves him except stupid people who hate him for no reason and tell lies about him to turn the smart, good people against him, and he gets indignant. Yes.

The end of Lear was heartbreaking. I would love to see it performed, but must settle for a film.

We ordered The Bad Seed from Blockbuster Online, and I can't wait to see it--ever since I first saw the trailer on the Auntie Mame film I've wanted to see it. Unfortunately, it is a murder mystery, and the bloody description on the back of the film TELLS WHO DUNNIT. *spaz* I have warned everybody else off the reading the back until we get to see it, because, you know, not happy. But I am still excited to see it at finally last.

Out the other window, the holly trees are quite blowing, and all the wet dead vines and scotch broom are wetly, sloppily wiggling.

My bracelet broke.

I have GSA to-night, but it is debatable that I will want to go. Perhaps--I will talk about it with Mum, and see what she thinks. The thing is that I really can't quit until after cookie sales, since I've taken orders already and it wouldn't be fair; but the Play has rehearsals/classes on Thursdays late, so I won't be able to do GSA February onward anyway.

The performance will be on my birthday.

I suppose this is the part where I go and write my essay. Yes. Adieu.

"Un coeur qui peut pleurer..."

Ho-ho-holy whoa.

We're getting a horse to-morrow.

Now this, actually, I do have to admit was more my own obliviousness than anyone not telling me, because we bought it while I was in the room, washing dishes. But--damn.

His name is Sam.

He's really big and apparently very lovable. And snuggly. And drinks from a hose.

Well.

Things I've learned from pottersues: Weather varies like crazy whoa. Whoa. O_o

A horse to-morrow! A big one! Named Sam! *hops up and down* Oooh, how I hate horses but I cannot waiiiit to see him anyway he's going to be really big and really nice and he's coming to-morrow, whoa, and he's going to be all mine da's.

Mmm.

To-morrow I get more Sherlock Holmes at the library. I can only take so much Gulliver. When Waen finishes Moby Dick, I get to read that. ^________^ Books make me so happy.

"Your Hair is Red, Your Eyes are Blue..."

OMG! Waen's art classes want me to model for them again in two weeks! ^_^

Dorian-hood, here I come agaaiiiin!

As Waen has so kindly pointed out to me, when Frollo sings "Regardez-la!" during Mon maitre mon sauveur, it sounds exactly as though he were shouting "Look out below!". She always shouts it along with him.

I will never be able to listen to that part again.