So, last night I went into the darkroom with a purpose: finish all of my Christmas presents by 11p or die trying!

And I did it, neatly running out of paper at the exact end. I made Peter's present, which I can't talk about in case he hits this page, and Greg's present, which I can't talk about in case he hits this page, and Rita and Simon's present, which I can't talk about in case they hit this page, and John's present, which I can't talk about in case he hits this page...

Aha! Melanie doesn't have web access, so I can say what I made her. Which is a nice picture of her son Donald and one of her daughter Katherine, both sucking on lollipops. I was going to do a different one of Katherine, but I glanced at the proof sheet and saw one that I had never seen before, and it's a wow shot as well.

Also, I FINALLY blew up the pictures from the Billy Bragg concert and made copies to send to all my concert-mates. I was just going to make one, but I made two B/Ws and two colours.

What the heck, it's Christmas!

I've been reading this utterly revolting on-line diary that is so hideous that I'm desperately devouring every word. It is written by this absolute twerp who appears to believe with all his heart that the sun rises and sets up his ass.

Now, of course, he's 19 years old, and all 19 year olds are pretty twerpy and self-centred, it comes with the territory, and Lord knows I was one myself, but Diary Boy really does raise it to an art form. He seems to think that his on-line diary is holy writ, and if a syllable deviates from the "truth" (no matter whom said truth might hurt) it is blasphemy.

He quotes other people's e-mail with impunity and without permission, and when one clever fellow wrote "copywrite" at the bottom of his letter, ol' Diary Boy got very huffy and said that he could have nothing to do with such a secretive person.

Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I must say that I myself include other people's e-mail in my entries, but only with permission, and the one time that someone gave permission and then retroactively rescinded it, I was upset, but only because his letter was so well-written, not because it compromised the "truth" of my journal, and I removed it from the Archives.

You see, there are different kinds of truth. Let's say that you are asked "Honey, do I look fat?" you can say "No, not at all", or you can say "Well, maybe a little bit", and both would, in fact, be the truth, but what this guy says is "No, not at all", and then goes home and writes in his on-line diary:

"Fred asked me, with butter dripping down his big fat ugly chin, if he looked fat, and I told him no, of course not, but I could barely keep a straight face. He is such a big fat pig."

in FULL KNOWLEDGE that ol' Fred would read it. And when Fred gets upset, Diary Boy expresses shock and surprise that Fred doesn't understand that
The Truth Must Be Told.

More full disclosure:
Obviously, I say mean things in here sometimes (alright, OFTEN), but only when I know that the people I'm being mean about won't see it. I can't stand That Bitch, but I have no wish to hurt her feelings.

The one consolation is that once Diary Boy hits 30, he will spend the rest of his life squirming in an agony of embarrassment over what an asshole he was when he was 19 in front of the wide wide world.

Remember those pictures I have on my desk? The ones of the people I don't know, and people kept asking whether they were my parents or grandparents? Well, now suddenly everyone's asking me whether the woman is ME!

Now, these pictures are CLEARLY sixty years old, so I cannot figure that one out. I guess at my job, they think that I am so utterly self-involved that any picture on my desk or my computer MUST be me!

Bizarre...

I am realizing for the first time in my life that a job where you have to type in Medicare numbers and phone numbers and insurance numbers and number numbers is about the crappiest job that a dyslexic can possibly have.

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Thanks to Amber's Free Art for the background and graphics.

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Last Updated Fri 21 August 23:26:09 1998