As a (trying to be a) practicing Daoist, I'm loathe to pick a best and worst moment of last year ... but since I hate so many things so actively you can tell that the Daoism is shaky. The real reason I'm loathe to pick best and worst is because I can't remember what happened this year and what happened last year and how it works into this great tapestry we will call life.
Although I remember that visual journalism class sucked. And then I failed the grammar test (after being a complete egomaniac about the Info Hell project -- me not know grammar? that's unpossible!). Then I turned 40 and spent the day in the California desert driving home from Vegas and having dinner at Wiernerschnitzel when we got back to mom's house. Then the car got hit again and residual damage from the previous accident (hello, Geico? yeah, if the body shop finds damage from the accident last year and ... oh, the case is closed? can you reopen? yeah, i know she was uninsured and ... oh never mind) cost me $1200. And two people at work left (one voluntarily; one not so much) at the busiest time of the year, which has lead to much overtime and stress.
Oh and the cat's tumor. It apparently is a tumor based on the tests -- her left side does not have the same sensitivity as the right, but she's not walking in circles or hissing, so they put it down to an on-going issue and not the results of a stroke. Now she's on steroids like Barry Bonds to see if that takes down the swelling, and she's still mobile and relatively happy and just walks a little funny and drinks and pees too much, so she's not a goner yet.
And the visual class did allow me to make a Formula 1 magazine that I was quite proud of, no matter what the grade was. And I passed the second grammar test, which was the last time they gave it, so I was saved from sitting in the boring grammar class. And my big birthdays have always been disasters (no alcohol on my 21st; food poisoning on my 30th), so the absence of flash-flooding means that the 40th was actually a great success, because I loves the Wiernerschnitzel corndogs, which are in absence here in Oregon. And my car drives better now that it's fixed and the brake light doesn't stay on anymore. And I got the cousin/roommate a job in one of the positions that needed filling and he's doing great even when he's sitting in the fire of customer craziness.
So, in the spirit of attempting to practice Daoism, overall it looks like the major events of the year are actually quite balanced and nature is still in control of the situation.
All hail 2008!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Christmas with My Special Needs Cat
New Year's Countdown coming soon, but wanted to pop in quickly to explain the absence.
It's mostly because of work being what it is, although I'm really trying to not go in at 7 and leave at 5. I'm really, really trying. But then nothing gets done. La. But it's also because my cat, Cat, who has this weird dilated-eye thing going on, which I thought was just a weird dilated-eye thing, and she's drinking a lot of water, which may be because she's big and black and when you're that furry and dark and sit in front of the heater vent all day you're going to get dehydrated, but then I call the animal hospital and the vet freaks me out with "Well, I'd be worried if it was my kitty" -- and, if you know me, then you know I'm a sucker for that line. I'm the schmo that buys junk at Buffalo Exchange because the nose-pierced sales girl says "Oh, I'd totally get that if it was me" even though it's a size too small and yellow. But I digress. Tell me you'd do anything if you were me and I'll usually end up doing it, like worrying in a panic about the cat.
So I take in kitty-kitty, which she hates and causes much noxious emissions as she's forced into the cage and then the car and then the vet, and they draw blood and she conveniently pees on the table so they get a urine sample, and they do tests and call me and it's not Cat AIDS and it's not diabetes and it's not leukemia -- so what the f..k is it, man?
She's going back in for behavioral tests today because they think it may be a brain tumor. Dude. First of all, I don't know what they hope to accomplish on these tests because she's going to be freaked out by the cage/car/vet for the second time in a week and is not going to willingly participate in any thing, but I can't imagine what they have set up for a test. Does she have to touch her nose with her paw and recite the alphabet backwards? Not that she can't, I'm just sayin' ...
But if it does turn out to be a tumor ... well, so she'll have special needs, I guess, and we'll truck her around in a wagon with a crash helmet if we have to. As long as she's happy.
The good news is she purred this morning for the first time in days, so I think she's getting better -- if that can be said about a brain tumor ... if it is a brain tumor. And, honestly, not to be cheap, but having just shelled out $1200 on the car and my entire Oregon tax kicker check (+ $10) on her first visit, I'm running out of funds for kitty behavioral tests. That and apparently my student loan is roughly $300 short of what I need for fees this term. Mother. Scrubber. That's what I get for being an official major at the J-school, yo.
"Gubmint do take a bite, don't she?"
It's mostly because of work being what it is, although I'm really trying to not go in at 7 and leave at 5. I'm really, really trying. But then nothing gets done. La. But it's also because my cat, Cat, who has this weird dilated-eye thing going on, which I thought was just a weird dilated-eye thing, and she's drinking a lot of water, which may be because she's big and black and when you're that furry and dark and sit in front of the heater vent all day you're going to get dehydrated, but then I call the animal hospital and the vet freaks me out with "Well, I'd be worried if it was my kitty" -- and, if you know me, then you know I'm a sucker for that line. I'm the schmo that buys junk at Buffalo Exchange because the nose-pierced sales girl says "Oh, I'd totally get that if it was me" even though it's a size too small and yellow. But I digress. Tell me you'd do anything if you were me and I'll usually end up doing it, like worrying in a panic about the cat.
So I take in kitty-kitty, which she hates and causes much noxious emissions as she's forced into the cage and then the car and then the vet, and they draw blood and she conveniently pees on the table so they get a urine sample, and they do tests and call me and it's not Cat AIDS and it's not diabetes and it's not leukemia -- so what the f..k is it, man?
She's going back in for behavioral tests today because they think it may be a brain tumor. Dude. First of all, I don't know what they hope to accomplish on these tests because she's going to be freaked out by the cage/car/vet for the second time in a week and is not going to willingly participate in any thing, but I can't imagine what they have set up for a test. Does she have to touch her nose with her paw and recite the alphabet backwards? Not that she can't, I'm just sayin' ...
But if it does turn out to be a tumor ... well, so she'll have special needs, I guess, and we'll truck her around in a wagon with a crash helmet if we have to. As long as she's happy.
The good news is she purred this morning for the first time in days, so I think she's getting better -- if that can be said about a brain tumor ... if it is a brain tumor. And, honestly, not to be cheap, but having just shelled out $1200 on the car and my entire Oregon tax kicker check (+ $10) on her first visit, I'm running out of funds for kitty behavioral tests. That and apparently my student loan is roughly $300 short of what I need for fees this term. Mother. Scrubber. That's what I get for being an official major at the J-school, yo.
"Gubmint do take a bite, don't she?"
Monday, December 24, 2007
then I got even MORE sleep
You know how people who have lived through the Depression are really weird about spending money, even if they have it to spend? They could have thousands in the bank, but they're not going to touch it, because they know that within a second it could all disappear.
I feel the same way about time off. I always suspect that when there's nothing to do I'm actually just forgetting that there's something to do. I can't trust the wealth of time and I have no idea how to spend it when I have excess hanging around.
I kept thinking yesterday that I had to get out and do something. We have to go to the market, we have to put gas in the car, we have to go into work and make the coffee so people don't freak out when there isn't any on Monday and and and... and I didn't really have to do any of that junk.
It wasn't until about 3 o'clock yesterday that I realized I could relax without penalty. I actually read a book and watched silly television. Long live leisure.
Oh feck -- have to go to work.
I feel the same way about time off. I always suspect that when there's nothing to do I'm actually just forgetting that there's something to do. I can't trust the wealth of time and I have no idea how to spend it when I have excess hanging around.
I kept thinking yesterday that I had to get out and do something. We have to go to the market, we have to put gas in the car, we have to go into work and make the coffee so people don't freak out when there isn't any on Monday and and and... and I didn't really have to do any of that junk.
It wasn't until about 3 o'clock yesterday that I realized I could relax without penalty. I actually read a book and watched silly television. Long live leisure.
Oh feck -- have to go to work.
Friday, December 21, 2007
and then I got some sleep
Okay, so the brothers are speaking to each other.
And it's getting a little quieter at work, although the mornings are still pretty horrendous (phone calls ring/are ya listenin').
And we rented another installment of Taggart, although it turns out it's an episode I already have on a Pal-converted video, but it was still fun to watch it without listening to the sound go wonky (yes I knorwr the city liawke a lowvah).
And I promised myself as a Christmas present that I would not work this weekend.
So maybe things will even out.
I was just a little over-yanged there. Yin is coming back at last.
And it's getting a little quieter at work, although the mornings are still pretty horrendous (phone calls ring/are ya listenin').
And we rented another installment of Taggart, although it turns out it's an episode I already have on a Pal-converted video, but it was still fun to watch it without listening to the sound go wonky (yes I knorwr the city liawke a lowvah).
And I promised myself as a Christmas present that I would not work this weekend.
So maybe things will even out.
I was just a little over-yanged there. Yin is coming back at last.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
I'm Mrs. Black Christmas. I'm Mrs. Grrrrrr.
I'm going to start a crusade against Christmas. Not against religion or holidays or any kind of spiritual celebration. You keep your religion and your feast days. But I don't get this kind of hassle during Passover or Ramadan.
Why do people yell at me on the phone because the stapler they ordered won't be there in time for Christmas morning? Will it honestly ruin Christmas if it gets delivered on December 26th?? And why aren't my brothers speaking to one another? Why isn't my little brother speaking to me? (Although, having not spoken to him in some time there's a good chance that he did not recognize my email address when it came through, but I seem to remember getting along with the brother and wife quite well the last time we met up.) Why is Christmas a monster instead of just a day off?
This is one day out of the year. One day. It's not the most important day -- and, if you're Daoist, there is no most important day ... except maybe Halloween -- and stuff that you can get on this day, you can usually get any other day. You can be nice to people any day you want and see family any day you want. Why the f**k is it so important that we all drop everything to get on planes, spend money we don't have and generally freak out if things don't go as planned on Christmas? Since I'm not yet the Papal See I don't have definite information on this, but I'm willing to bet that even the Christian God is irritated by the hypocrisy that gets thrown around in His name.
I declare the following truths to be self-evident: if you need to buy jewelry to make for a special Christmas, you have other issues you're not dealing with; if you can call you friends, brothers/sisters, mother on Christmas, you can call them on January 8, May 3, September 20, etc...; cards are nice to get any time of the year; and if things aren't going to work out as planned on December 25th, reschedule them for December 29th or January 8 or May 3 or September 20, etc...
And, before you get in my dish, yes, I realize that I've been suckered into the panic. I sent out cards, we put up a string of lights in the window, I made presents for my family and shipped them out to be delivered in time for Christmas. It's because I keep falling for the holiday freak fest that I'm taking this stance. It's turning my hair white and making me fear for humanity when I hear about families not speaking and people losing control over rubberbands.
If this plan fails and next year is bad again, I'm moving to Vanuatu and letting the ocean swallow me up.
Why do people yell at me on the phone because the stapler they ordered won't be there in time for Christmas morning? Will it honestly ruin Christmas if it gets delivered on December 26th?? And why aren't my brothers speaking to one another? Why isn't my little brother speaking to me? (Although, having not spoken to him in some time there's a good chance that he did not recognize my email address when it came through, but I seem to remember getting along with the brother and wife quite well the last time we met up.) Why is Christmas a monster instead of just a day off?
This is one day out of the year. One day. It's not the most important day -- and, if you're Daoist, there is no most important day ... except maybe Halloween -- and stuff that you can get on this day, you can usually get any other day. You can be nice to people any day you want and see family any day you want. Why the f**k is it so important that we all drop everything to get on planes, spend money we don't have and generally freak out if things don't go as planned on Christmas? Since I'm not yet the Papal See I don't have definite information on this, but I'm willing to bet that even the Christian God is irritated by the hypocrisy that gets thrown around in His name.
I declare the following truths to be self-evident: if you need to buy jewelry to make for a special Christmas, you have other issues you're not dealing with; if you can call you friends, brothers/sisters, mother on Christmas, you can call them on January 8, May 3, September 20, etc...; cards are nice to get any time of the year; and if things aren't going to work out as planned on December 25th, reschedule them for December 29th or January 8 or May 3 or September 20, etc...
And, before you get in my dish, yes, I realize that I've been suckered into the panic. I sent out cards, we put up a string of lights in the window, I made presents for my family and shipped them out to be delivered in time for Christmas. It's because I keep falling for the holiday freak fest that I'm taking this stance. It's turning my hair white and making me fear for humanity when I hear about families not speaking and people losing control over rubberbands.
If this plan fails and next year is bad again, I'm moving to Vanuatu and letting the ocean swallow me up.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
In Praise of Older Postings
I loves the Site Meter. Not only because it shows me how many people are interested in potica, but also because I can see what pages people were looking at when they hit the blog. Today it linked back to an older post where I referenced this great band call The Miss Alans. On the link I found a comment from a blogger named Neon Desert telling me that The Miss Alans are NOT from Bakersfield, as once assumed, but are actually from Fresno. Now, I'm sure this comes as no surprise to anyone else and you probably couldn't care less, but it reminded me of the "everything is Los Angeles" theory in that I figured Bakersfield and Fresno were interchangeable locations.
Fresno is 110 miles from Bakersfield.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I've officially become one of those people.
So, from now on, all of California -- with the possible exception of those splitters in San Francisco, Berkeley and Davis -- is Los Angeles.
It's just easier that way.
Fresno is 110 miles from Bakersfield.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I've officially become one of those people.
So, from now on, all of California -- with the possible exception of those splitters in San Francisco, Berkeley and Davis -- is Los Angeles.
It's just easier that way.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
The 12 Hates of Christmas
12. Holiday jewelry commercials
11. Parties that require a date (or where you're singled out when you don't have one)
10. Cards and the stress over whether or not to hand them out at work
9. Getting called "ma'am" at stores
8. Stress at work then stress at home because there's no time to do a f-ing thing to relax
7. Holiday television specials (except Rudolph, but only because Yukon Cornelius licks his pick axe)
6. Malls and people throwing things at your from kiosks or wanting to put lotion on your hands or "Clean your holiday jewelry, ma'am?"
5. Traffic and people who can't drive in it
4. Not finding the right gift for family members who hate you and are looking for an excuse to justify that hate by pointing to the fact that you bought a Costco gift basket instead of looking for that special something you thought they'd like, knowing they wouldn't like it
3. Airports and why I have to sit next to the stinky, sleepy guy on the plane every time
2. Not being in an airport because yet again I can't afford or have time to visit the family that I can't buy things for because they won't like it because they're looking for an excuse yah yah yah
1. Christmas music, and co-workers who think that changing to the other radio station that plays 24-hours of that fake happy sing-along shite is going to make a difference. "Oh, there's a better variety on this one." Let's call the emperor naked, okay? They all play "Jingle Bell Rock" on the hour, every hour.
Exception -- The Carpenters singing "Merry Christmas Darling" ... when I hear her sing about how the logs on the fire fill her with desire it cracks me up every time.
11. Parties that require a date (or where you're singled out when you don't have one)
10. Cards and the stress over whether or not to hand them out at work
9. Getting called "ma'am" at stores
8. Stress at work then stress at home because there's no time to do a f-ing thing to relax
7. Holiday television specials (except Rudolph, but only because Yukon Cornelius licks his pick axe)
6. Malls and people throwing things at your from kiosks or wanting to put lotion on your hands or "Clean your holiday jewelry, ma'am?"
5. Traffic and people who can't drive in it
4. Not finding the right gift for family members who hate you and are looking for an excuse to justify that hate by pointing to the fact that you bought a Costco gift basket instead of looking for that special something you thought they'd like, knowing they wouldn't like it
3. Airports and why I have to sit next to the stinky, sleepy guy on the plane every time
2. Not being in an airport because yet again I can't afford or have time to visit the family that I can't buy things for because they won't like it because they're looking for an excuse yah yah yah
1. Christmas music, and co-workers who think that changing to the other radio station that plays 24-hours of that fake happy sing-along shite is going to make a difference. "Oh, there's a better variety on this one." Let's call the emperor naked, okay? They all play "Jingle Bell Rock" on the hour, every hour.
Exception -- The Carpenters singing "Merry Christmas Darling" ... when I hear her sing about how the logs on the fire fill her with desire it cracks me up every time.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
fa la la
The holidays have this habit of making non-internet people go online and harass internet people. At my office we have to be both the Walmart Greeter and head clerk at the Nordstrom Ladies Shoe Department. You have to put on that shiny face and pretend that the 1000th phone call you're receiving is your first of the day and then you have to scan the catalog for product after product after product after product only for them to say "Can I get this cheaper somewhere else?"
Why doesn't Santa make everything? That would be so much easier. I'd be out of a job, but screw it. Let the elves sort it out, man. This blows.
If the other kids in the department weren't playing that effing Christmas music all day I might be able to hang on to my wits better. Sometimes (usually in the middle of a Kenny G carol or one of the American Idol finalists belting out "O Holy Night" oh night ... deVINE) I just want to put a brick through something ... like my head.
Other brick breaking stories:
I've turned in the Honda for fixin' and I'm driving a Mitsubishi something for the next 4 days. Dude, it's so rental. I'm so close to the road I might as well put my feet through the floor to start it up like Fred and Barney. But it has a CD player and really nice heat. I just have to keep from stomping the brake while looking for the absent clutch ... fah ... automatics ...
I'm a genius at school with an A+ in sociology (kids, society is unequal, let me tell you) and a P for pass in Astronomy. The verdict is still out on journalism, but I got an A on the final project and an A- on my feature story so that's got to rate for something, right? whatever. school's for swabs.
And Hatton lost to "Money" Mayweather, so Santa is a welcher ... which is fine because Mayweather's better n' stuff, but, jaysis, he sure can mouth off.
Why doesn't Santa make everything? That would be so much easier. I'd be out of a job, but screw it. Let the elves sort it out, man. This blows.
If the other kids in the department weren't playing that effing Christmas music all day I might be able to hang on to my wits better. Sometimes (usually in the middle of a Kenny G carol or one of the American Idol finalists belting out "O Holy Night" oh night ... deVINE) I just want to put a brick through something ... like my head.
Other brick breaking stories:
I've turned in the Honda for fixin' and I'm driving a Mitsubishi something for the next 4 days. Dude, it's so rental. I'm so close to the road I might as well put my feet through the floor to start it up like Fred and Barney. But it has a CD player and really nice heat. I just have to keep from stomping the brake while looking for the absent clutch ... fah ... automatics ...
I'm a genius at school with an A+ in sociology (kids, society is unequal, let me tell you) and a P for pass in Astronomy. The verdict is still out on journalism, but I got an A on the final project and an A- on my feature story so that's got to rate for something, right? whatever. school's for swabs.
And Hatton lost to "Money" Mayweather, so Santa is a welcher ... which is fine because Mayweather's better n' stuff, but, jaysis, he sure can mouth off.
Friday, December 07, 2007
A-I-D-A Attention, Interest, Decision, Action
So the marketing side of me -- the dark side, the evil side, the Vader side -- says I should mention potica (or patiza) in every blog entry so I can drive more visitors into my page. The decent side of me -- the light side, the good side, the Mother Theresa Skywalker side -- reminds me that I really don't know the first flippin' thing about making a potica (although I know plenty about eating it), and it's dishonest to keep up the charade just to get strangers to stop in.
But now that I have your attention ...
It's so tempting to throw out some Communist ideology, anecdotal stories from my knowledge of the life of Robert Louis Stevenson, or my theory on why "The Little Drummer Boy" is the worst Christmas song ever and how that's increased infinitely by the version done by Bob Seger.
But really ... how important is all that compared to making really good cheesy pastry bread?
But, to all of you coming through on Google, I really don't know how to make it. Sorry.
And in case I don't get a chance later -- Santa, all I want for Christmas is for Hatton to defeat Mayweather. Thank you.
But now that I have your attention ...
It's so tempting to throw out some Communist ideology, anecdotal stories from my knowledge of the life of Robert Louis Stevenson, or my theory on why "The Little Drummer Boy" is the worst Christmas song ever and how that's increased infinitely by the version done by Bob Seger.
But really ... how important is all that compared to making really good cheesy pastry bread?
But, to all of you coming through on Google, I really don't know how to make it. Sorry.
And in case I don't get a chance later -- Santa, all I want for Christmas is for Hatton to defeat Mayweather. Thank you.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
oh yeah, one more thing ... Every day for the past week Yahoo weather's highs and lows for Eugene are either currently lower than the low or higher than the high. The high/low today? 54 high, 44 low. It's 7 am now and it's already 55. How's a girl to dress for that? It's like that game on Price is Right where you have to guess whether it'll go HIGHER! HIGHER! or LOWER! LOWER!
Monday, December 03, 2007
The name is Lane. Lois Lane.
Term's over! Jaysis, having 2 finals on the same day kind of blows ... and is kind of good because now I'm done and can let the pet use the astronomy notes as a cat toy. Not only that, but today is the first day of the rest of my life. I signed my name to a form that states I'd like to officially major in Journalism -- I know, I know ... I don't really like the department and the experiences in the classrooms are hit and miss, and, sure, yeah, the English Department really is better, but I've only got 5 terms left to play with my education, so I guess I've got to go with the original plan. The government loans are going to cripple me as it is. I can't really push it another year by changing over.
I did make one important change, tho' ... I've ditched Magazine for Newspaper/Editorial.
I add it up this way: the next year and a half I'm going to have to slug through 16 credits per term if I'm going to graduate within a reasonable amount of time. This means stress (or more so) because I'm also pushing for the film certificate, and the idea of having to deal with that and design classes again in the magazine group ... good God, I just couldn't do it. I'm a writer not a draw'rer -- as if it was drawing, anyway, when we all know that it's really just pushing a mouse around and developing carpel tunnel and tendonitis. But I digress. I don't want to design a magazine, I just want to write for one, and that wasn't working out, so rather than be seduced by the dark side and bow down to the power of Flux (that's the name of our campus magazine ... it's a 17th century disease, ain't it?), I ditched it. It's just not my thing, man.
I still don't see myself as the ambulance chaser or the one that pretends to be married to Jean-Claude Van Damme so I can get the exclusive story on the horrors of the Canadian prison system, and maybe I still want to work for Star or People, but the reality is that maybe it's time the Register-Guard stopped reprinting Roger Ebert's film reviews and started letting some local knowledgeable film type tell you what to spend your 8 bucks on. Am I right people?
yeah...
I did make one important change, tho' ... I've ditched Magazine for Newspaper/Editorial.
I add it up this way: the next year and a half I'm going to have to slug through 16 credits per term if I'm going to graduate within a reasonable amount of time. This means stress (or more so) because I'm also pushing for the film certificate, and the idea of having to deal with that and design classes again in the magazine group ... good God, I just couldn't do it. I'm a writer not a draw'rer -- as if it was drawing, anyway, when we all know that it's really just pushing a mouse around and developing carpel tunnel and tendonitis. But I digress. I don't want to design a magazine, I just want to write for one, and that wasn't working out, so rather than be seduced by the dark side and bow down to the power of Flux (that's the name of our campus magazine ... it's a 17th century disease, ain't it?), I ditched it. It's just not my thing, man.
I still don't see myself as the ambulance chaser or the one that pretends to be married to Jean-Claude Van Damme so I can get the exclusive story on the horrors of the Canadian prison system, and maybe I still want to work for Star or People, but the reality is that maybe it's time the Register-Guard stopped reprinting Roger Ebert's film reviews and started letting some local knowledgeable film type tell you what to spend your 8 bucks on. Am I right people?
yeah...
Saturday, December 01, 2007
I Who Know Nothing
La Lars talked me into the Site Meter for the blog and at first it was really depressing because every day it had 0 visits.
Total 0
Average per day 0
Average visit length 0:00
And then Deepfry left a message on the post and I figured out that I hadn't figured it out because I didn't link it because I'm estoopid. doh!
And speaking of dough, I get all kinds of referrals from people looking into how to make a potica, but they spell it just like I did: patitza. I feel a kinship growing with these strangers. I wish I had more to offer than the somewhat shallow creation documentation and link to the video (click here), but I really have no idea how it's made, my friends, and I like to keep it that way. Potica is magic at the hands of my cousin, and if I want to believe it's made of fairy dust and cheese and pastry and some harmful addictive substance, well ... that's all I have to offer.
I have to study for finals now. Keppler's laws and how they explain the worker's control of the means of production on the high-pressure atmosphere of Venus where they make Walmart shirts at 3 cents an hour.
Total 0
Average per day 0
Average visit length 0:00
And then Deepfry left a message on the post and I figured out that I hadn't figured it out because I didn't link it because I'm estoopid. doh!
And speaking of dough, I get all kinds of referrals from people looking into how to make a potica, but they spell it just like I did: patitza. I feel a kinship growing with these strangers. I wish I had more to offer than the somewhat shallow creation documentation and link to the video (click here), but I really have no idea how it's made, my friends, and I like to keep it that way. Potica is magic at the hands of my cousin, and if I want to believe it's made of fairy dust and cheese and pastry and some harmful addictive substance, well ... that's all I have to offer.
I have to study for finals now. Keppler's laws and how they explain the worker's control of the means of production on the high-pressure atmosphere of Venus where they make Walmart shirts at 3 cents an hour.
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