My computer is broken. It decided to turn off one day and never come back on. I hope that's how I die someday, like, when I'm 95. Just go to sleep and not wake up...... Yeah, so, I should have a new hard drive this week and then my life will go back to normal. It's amazing how immobilized I feel without my lappy.
I was in the Wilk this weekend and decided to use their facilities to relieve myself. I walked in, took a seat, and noticed they had put in new t.p. dispensers. All I had to do was wave my hand and it spit out the perfect amount of t.p. What service! Then I got up off of the porcelain throne and it flushed for me! I didn't have to touch a thing, except my own clothing. [Note: I DID have to touch the stall door to open it. I hope they fix that oversight soon. What gall.] I walked to the sink and was not surprised to see the automatic soap dispenser and faucet. Wow. The paper towel dispenser was NOT automatic, so I opted not to trouble myself with that inconvenience. Instead, I walked over to the gray box bolted to the wall. It had two round cut-out openings on the top with clear hieroglyphic instructions explaining how to use it. I stuck my hands in the openings and a super-sonic burst of luke-warm air blasted my hands. I jerked them out, startled by the power of the hand dryers and also embarrassed by the noise it made. Perhaps it is helping keep trees firmly planted in the ground, but it is surely adding to the huge problem of noise pollution. Yet another glitch they'll have to look into fixing. ("They" being the scientists, inventors, and of course, government people that are behind all problems but hardly ever behind the solutions. Am I right? Or am I right? Right. Righ-righ-right.) If you're ever on the second floor of the Wilk, I highly recommend visiting this bathroom of the future. Because, in case you haven't heard and by evidence of this public lavatory, the future--is now.
I wore socks the other day. They didn't match. One of black and the other was white with polka-dots. Luckily, they were ankle socks. I don't know why I didn't think of this before, but because all my mismatched socks are invisible when I'm wearing shoes, I don't have to throw them away or frantically search for the lost foot cover. (That's another term for sock. I just made it up to avoid saying "sock" again. Do you think it works?) In fact, to prove my fearless nature concerning mismatched socks, I even rolled up my pants a titch (strange, strange word) so as to say, "HA! I am wearing two different socks, but I bet you didn't know that!"
There's this band from Provo that I've heard perform a couple times and they're ok. I wasn't a HUGE fan, but they are better than a lot of local bands. I guess they are doing some recording and getting noticed, and things are looking good for them. I read about them in The Daily Universe and suddenly felt inclined to become their fan. To claim I had heard them when they were playing at BYU Battle of the Bands. At The Velour. That I had talked to the guitarist before. It was pathetic. After going through all the ways I could prove I knew about them "before they were famous" I realized I didn't have to because I DON'T LIKE THEM. Silly Elizabeth. What is it with common folk and fame? It is built into us, like the need for food and water, like the instinct to fight when being attacked, to have connections with fame. We are ridiculous. Well, at least, I am.