I am feeling quite pathetic and useless at the moment. How am I going to pack all this? And once it's packed, how am I going to get it downstairs? Feeling very sorry for myself and so so missing having an organizing supergenius like, say, vw.

Oh, Emily, I hate packing, so I feel your pain. Do one area at a time and you'll work your way through it. Now, the getting it downstairs thing? Friends to help you load your car?

Well, I'm leaving on Wednesday. Not ideal timing for getting friends to help!

And once it's packed, how am I going to get it downstairs?

If I'm not temping that day, I'll help.

Even on my own, I've moved way more than the contents of your apartment.

You are very sweet, David, thank you.

Tomorrow I'm borrowing a car and taking boxes to the post office. I think while I'm there I'll buy some smaller boxes, then come home and pack up a bunch of books and papers and things and see how that goes. I just keep tripping over more paper, and in fact there's really no space to put things that I take out of boxes, so that's a dilemma.

I'm also feeling downhearted about the things that I may end up moving to Virginia just because I can't figure out how to get rid of them -- a talking Gollum figurine, four big-ass Nene Thomas prints, an old typewriter... Argh. Good thing I'm getting a massage tomorrow morning.

Gah! Gah! Gah!

You know, I realized just this morning that I actually like Skeletor in spite of myself, and in spite of years of thinking he's just too scary to look at. And my reasons for it were all about watching him, before our eyes, since getting the yellow, pull out all kinds of skills that he hadn't been drawing on in all of his time as a specialist, because the Tour is ultimately about how winning the GC is about scraping every last resource and talent and skill, no matter which discipline is naturally your strongest.

And then I decided that I had to take a break from finals week and go have a life and, you know, pimp the shit out of paperdol's book and inspire a whole batch of new crushes on ita's killing-with-pinky-ness in doing so and while I'm out, stuff happens. That would've also distracted me from schoolwork, as it happens.

I never really think any of 'em are clean (it's like they say in NASCAR -- if you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin') but he's not one I would've pegged for being really wormy about it either. I'm not sure what it is, but it's leaving me with a mental ewww face, whereas Vino was more "you magnificent motherfucking idiot!" I'm also not sure why I'm so attached to reading character notes in their downfalls; I'm really uncomfortable with overidentifying when it comes to sports fandom, and yet here I am, all "wormy" and "magnificent idiot".

I also don't think that blood doping should be considered doping (although if it's cheating, it's cheating, as ita says). But that's a whole long bodies and boundaries thing and, again, finals week.

You know, I realized just this morning that I actually like Skeletor in spite of myself, and in spite of years of thinking he's just too scary to look at.

Me too. Skeletor's had it rough. I mean, look at him. His head is a skull with no skin on it. How the hell does he live?

Oh, somewhere out there there's a YouTube video of "Bohemian Rhapsody" done with clips of Skeletor, He-Man and the rest....

eta: Here's the video: [link]

Me too. Skeletor's had it rough. I mean, look at him. His head is a skull with no skin on it. How the hell does he live?

It's a bare-bones existence.

This is from 1899:

"The Air Ship," a new and original spectacular musical farce comedy, written by J.M. Gaites, possesses some novel and realistic scenic features, and it will probably draw a big audience at the Masonic Temple ton-night. One of the most realistic stage scenes ever presented will be the flight of a real air ship with fifteen passengers on a Klondike expedition, and a view of Dawson City in winter. While the author does not claim a plot, "The Air Ship" has a central idea or theme, with which it is infested by amusing dialogue, new songs, dances and specialties. Careful attention will be given to staging "The Air Ship," and the company of artists engaged will give a lively presentation of the farce. The principal members are Marie Stuart, the clever vaudeville artiste; Lattie Burke, Marlaud Tyson, Raymond Finley, Ben Welsh, James T. Kelly, Max Millian and Shields, and Nana Bancom. The management of the company announce that the scenic features and the performance of the piece will be both new, novel and worthy of cordial support.

The posters for the show are awesome: [link]

The airship cop seems to be up to no good, but the airship lady doesn't seem to mind. Or am I reading her expression wrong?

why you should proofread

[link]