Monday, January 19, 2004

Now that the mystery and intrigue has died down a bit, I can get back to mundane things like my life and my rants. Although this little Jones issue raises the eternal internet dilemma: Do I really want the whole world to read my life? I'm still posting, so I guess I do. Call me a shameless exhibitionist. Or at least a show-off.

In other news, I'm considering a template shift. Altering the format of this blog experiment. It would give me something to do, and it can't hurt to be a little more net savvy. To that end, if anyone knows whether or not Movable Type is any good, give me a shout.

Shit-o-lux. The heater, a relic from the 50's, is making the weirdest noises ever produced by any member of the HVAC family. It was like a flatulent motorcycle gearing up a sheer cliff face. That was...frightening.

And for your edification and education: a rant.


It's quite simple. I don't want to have anything to do with the Carolinas. Granted that Bailey, one of my best friends from forever ago, was born in the Southern one, but I still would rather avoid the rest of that mess. Personally, I think Bailey and that whole Kitty Hawk thing are the ONLY worthwhile parts of the Carolina region. And now Bailey's in Florida, so really, they don't have anything but a broken down old biplane. Don't sell the bike shop, Orville.

Why, you may ask, do I so vehemently avoid both NC and SC? If you look in my closet back in Anchorage, you will see a politely folded, powder blue North Carolina sweatshirt. This shirt, as well as the nice-but-not-my-style-or-my-size sweater below it, are courtesy of my aunt and uncle who live in NC. In Podunksville Flats. Boonie County. Noth Caruhlyyyynuh. My uncle is the reason I can't stand the Carolinas. My aunt is cool, as is my current Carolinan cousin (as cool as a surly 14 year old girl can be...), but I cannot stand my uncle. He's loud, obnoxious, and grating. He's pigheaded and bullying. And now his team -- HIS team -- is going to the super bowl. So I say with all my lung-power and typing-power, "GO PATRIOTS!"

If Philly had won, then I'd've tossed a coin, or gone for the underdog, or figured out some vague system of loyalty. Gauging, for instance, the number of people I know or know of in Philly versus the number of people in New England. The college exodus sort of tilts that toward New England. Just to be contrary, though, I coulg pick up the Eagles banner. Doesn't matter. The Bears aren't in there, so I don't have too much loyalty in any camp. And the Cowboys or the Raiders aren't playing, so I can't root for whoever's up against them. I tend to be pretty arbitrary when Super Bowl Sunday rolls around.

But the Panthers had to show up, so I am no longer bipartisan. Go Patriots, and good night.

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