tired, tired, even after sleeping
The bacon explosion. (Tell me if any of you are insane enough to do this.)
Phil Foglio chimes in. With some damned good points, too.
I've finished watching the Chobits anime, episode by episode, and I have only a few things to say:
1. I like Motosuwa Hideki much more in the manga; in the anime he's a big dumb hick with a fetish for otaku girly-books and zero clue about anything that isn't fueled by grass.
2. For what it was--essentially, a fluff piece, which it isn't so much in the manga--it tackles some really hard topics, and does it pretty well: what's the dividing line between liking computers and using them as replacements for real human relationships? You can expand this without a single twinge of protest, too--do we still have active, vital, social lives if everyone we socialize with is on the other side of the pane of monitor glass? Does friendship still mean the same things if you're friends with your neighbor, and someone in Tokyo, in Australia, in Venice? These aren't easy questions, and they don't give us easy answers, which is fine.
3. Chii's creator was a sick, sick man to put her on-off switch there. Especially on the pretense of building daughters for your infertile wife? Wiring them so you have to click them on between their legs? The man needed therapy.
So, we have this big inspection happening on the twentieth. zebragrrl is convinced it's the step before formal eviction; that they'll come in and see the damage to the doors upstairs (apparently all three bedroom doors now, have punch marks, and Middle Child's and Middle Child's parents' door bottoms have still been kicked in), and the utter devastation in the garage, and tell us to get out. The thing I'm not thinking about: she may be right.
But, in preparation for this, we've been keeping an eye on the kitchen, keeping it moderately clean; the living room just needs sweeping and some reorganization; the bathroom (at least the one downstairs) is cluttered but easily cleaned; and I muscled the nearly-as-tall-as-me, solid-hard-maple, built-in-1932, four-drawer chest of drawers from the wall near the door into the closet, and moved my little plywood and paperboard rainbow chest of drawers over to the wall, and we're now figuring if there's a way to make the cable box, DVD player, and TV fit more stably on the much smaller top of that chest of drawers.
I am believing we get through this. I can't not believe that, or I'll totally collapse, sleep even more than my current stress level is pulling me to sleep, and be utterly useless on cleaning. And we still have things to do around the room to clean.
(The latest wish-I-had--solid. Brass. Bathtubs. OOOH.)
Phil Foglio chimes in. With some damned good points, too.
I've finished watching the Chobits anime, episode by episode, and I have only a few things to say:
1. I like Motosuwa Hideki much more in the manga; in the anime he's a big dumb hick with a fetish for otaku girly-books and zero clue about anything that isn't fueled by grass.
2. For what it was--essentially, a fluff piece, which it isn't so much in the manga--it tackles some really hard topics, and does it pretty well: what's the dividing line between liking computers and using them as replacements for real human relationships? You can expand this without a single twinge of protest, too--do we still have active, vital, social lives if everyone we socialize with is on the other side of the pane of monitor glass? Does friendship still mean the same things if you're friends with your neighbor, and someone in Tokyo, in Australia, in Venice? These aren't easy questions, and they don't give us easy answers, which is fine.
3. Chii's creator was a sick, sick man to put her on-off switch there. Especially on the pretense of building daughters for your infertile wife? Wiring them so you have to click them on between their legs? The man needed therapy.
So, we have this big inspection happening on the twentieth. zebragrrl is convinced it's the step before formal eviction; that they'll come in and see the damage to the doors upstairs (apparently all three bedroom doors now, have punch marks, and Middle Child's and Middle Child's parents' door bottoms have still been kicked in), and the utter devastation in the garage, and tell us to get out. The thing I'm not thinking about: she may be right.
But, in preparation for this, we've been keeping an eye on the kitchen, keeping it moderately clean; the living room just needs sweeping and some reorganization; the bathroom (at least the one downstairs) is cluttered but easily cleaned; and I muscled the nearly-as-tall-as-me, solid-hard-maple, built-in-1932, four-drawer chest of drawers from the wall near the door into the closet, and moved my little plywood and paperboard rainbow chest of drawers over to the wall, and we're now figuring if there's a way to make the cable box, DVD player, and TV fit more stably on the much smaller top of that chest of drawers.
I am believing we get through this. I can't not believe that, or I'll totally collapse, sleep even more than my current stress level is pulling me to sleep, and be utterly useless on cleaning. And we still have things to do around the room to clean.
(The latest wish-I-had--solid. Brass. Bathtubs. OOOH.)