My wriggling masses
I think my entire blogroll is on hiatus. Pretty close. It's worse than summer even and I'd try to poke around to see who else is blogging that I find reading but I don't have the time and am fighting to keep of the hiatus list myself.
My uncle's been talking about branding, about names as brands. It's interested me, especially the question of why some people embrace it and some people shy from it. I haven't been able to talk it out so I'm not sure if I want to go anywhere interesting with it.
At least Marxism admits that people have backgrounds.
The tee shirt reads "It's almost finished" which can be read a number of different ways, more ambiguous than "Kill me now!" though, no less ironic. Hippies, as viewed by punks, were terribly serious and lacking in irony (which, when you think about it, is why they can be so damned annoying).
You can tell a lot from the way a person walks and the walk and the amount you can tell are both greatly exaggerated when the person's 16.
"Something like that" as our very best passive-aggressive phrase.
The basic taxonomy of blogs out there is really cheaply done.
"Wicked cool" the only in phrase where everyone knows and has always known it was a joke, though "bloody" is used that way in American English.
Even if I don't say "Futuristic fears and how the forms of power have changed from the Orwellian conception of Big Brother to the faceless oppression in cyberpunk," even if I just say "Changes in futuristic literature after George Orwell and the Cold War," I still get really funny looks.
Old friends are weird. In a good way and not all in the same way. But weird.
One can fake one's self out of writer's block, or something like that.