2002-11-05 at 11:19 p.m.
Some of you may remember an occasion a while back when I right royally pissed off one of my lecturers by playing P.D.Q. Bach in Concert Practice.
Well, I can kiss goodbye my chances of winning back her favour right now.
I, and a few of my friends, had our last concert practice ever this afternoon. So, we decided to go out with a bang- or, at least, a public display of stupidity and off-key singing.
My friend Jordan and I swapped shirts (Jordan is 6'7", an entire foot taller than me. My shirt became an attractive midriff top when he wore it), my friend Peter wore a bra, and only a bra on his top half, and my friend George was boring and sensible and wore her own clothes.
Suitably attired, we then performed a song about our dearest and fondest memories of concert practice.
It named names.
It insulted pretty much everyone.
The verse that George and I performed alone went thusly-
Oh, concert practise,
We'll miss you oh so dearly
We just love being insulted every week.
What will we do
Without you every Tuesday
Just the thought of it makes us feel weak.
The thrill of performing in front of peers and teachers
Makes us feel so incredibly inept
Fall on your knees
Oh hear half-assed applause
Oh concert practice time
It is the time we're properly dressed
Oh concert practice time
It is the time we love the best.
As soon as we'd finished, we raced back into the changerooms, put on our normal clothing, and fled, giggling like 12 year old schoolgirls.
Teeheeheeheeheehee!
I had a reply to yesterday's 'Time Travel' email!
if you are serious on doing business please provide a phone # I may reach you at and the best time to call
Uh... was this guy reading the same email I thought I was writing? I mean, I wrote about cantalopes. I wrote about deckchairs. I even wrote about a time when we're all enslaved by giant robotic chihuahuas, for chrissake! How can he believe for even a nanosecond that I'm serious? (Unless there is actually a time when the human race is enslaved by giant robotic chihuahuas... hmmmmm...)
I really, really want to talk to this guy.
I need to. I have to.
But how to do it?
Here are my options-
1. Give him my phone number and tell him to call me sometime in the mid-seventies.
2. Give him a public or general access phone number, and get him to call me there.
3. Conduct further negotiations by email.
4. Give up on this kooky scheme and get on with my life. Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen.
So, what should I do, folks? Suggestions? Comments? Anyone? Bueller?
