fall back

It's really bizarre how annual time bids a hasty retreat. I am sure that those who conceived of this plan and its perpetuators find the ritual rather laughable, that people dutiful greet the sunrise an hour earlier one Monday a year--afterwards, the novelty wears off. It's just a brighter shade of grey in the mornings and depressingly dark too early, even on days when one can escape from work a bit sooner. There's even apparently a different change date for the States. On Sunday morning, there was a time warp happening at home, with computers and cell phones smart enough to adjust themselves and most other gadets transposed somewhere in the future. It's not nice to fool Father Time

infringement

Good old Diploma Mill University is presenting an unending challenge. Mostly I manage to reap descent marks, however, I would have better overall grades if I just managed to follow directions and not take off running with a flash of colourful prose and a witty twist of phrase that I cannot bring myself it edit out. Sometimes it is hard to read expectations, especially in an on-line environment with a class full of beauty-school drop-outs (go back to high school) and the temptation just to phone it in. It is hard to find a posting or email that is anything but terse and rushed, as if these were telegrams and one was paying by the letter. Even plagiarism, though not a real temptation for me, is like this strange sort of monolith that no one speaks of, save beating up on Wikipedia for lack of academic rigour--universities universally condemn Wikipedia, I think, out of jealousy and a sense of self-preservation. If one searches for any permutation of the rubric of the assignment, one will quickly uncover those completed assignments for sale or complete crib notes with abstracts and references that one can cut and paste and submit.

lumberjack orgy

Though having committed to the delivery way back at the end of August through a popular auction website, our supply of firewood was not brought by until later Saturday evening. I guess that H and I will not be hearing Torch Bunny transform very much this winter, or the next, since we've been rained on with an embarrassment of kindling. The whole process, delayed as it was, was sort of strange and suspect. And most deliveries in Germany stop at one's threshhold or at the bottom of the stairwell, but I was a bit miffed that the guy dumped his trailer full of wood in front of ours and neighbour's garages. To his credit, he spent a good half hour tossing logs into the big pyramid that now occupies H's parking spot. Unceremoniously dumping the timber onto the driveway and street did not exactly strike me as unprofessional, but I just had the thought in my head that it would come shirnk-wrapped on pallets that were four neat and stowable cubic meters. We're still sorting through it all. Some is a bit rough-hewn and young but certainly conbustable enough. In the run-up to the arrival of the wood, the Wood--it's an entity, real-estate in its own right, we stoked a fire a frantic pace, letting our supplies dwindle and had the house an obscenely toasty 23° Celcius, and now it's like some Elemental Smack-Down in our house. Fire versus Wood, Heat versus Cold. Before, the only time it seemed like I hosted such a battle royale was in my old place, when the water pipes had frozen after being away one bitterly cold weekend and the faucets refused to cooperate until a coaxed thaw.

torch song trilogy

This will be the third time I have commented our rather fancy and complicated home heating system. The corporate logo for the manufacturer is a silver rabbit, which I have called Torch Bunny for the whooshing, flame-on sound that comes from the compartment when a hot water tap is turned on anywhere in the building. I am a bit morose over Torch Bunny lately, however, as I understand that in Stockholm, the carcasses of culled urban rabbits are being incinerated to heat the city. With the cold weather coming, Torch Bunny is making a new sound, when the pipes are activated by remote-control or on the hopeless complex automatic timer, almost like the sound-effect that accompanies a Transformer's transformation.

writers' bloc

I have felt rather uninspired lately, but I have been banging out papers and essays for school like no one's business. I wonder if one is only apportioned a certain amount of creativity per diem. That seems like a gift that should not be squandered on sophistry. Perhaps deadlines have a way of stealing away what you would rather hold in trust.