So. Got a bit done today. Updated Sunshine Factory. Added those mondegreens I've been meaning to add since JANUARY.
Oh, Jada, if you're reading this, then maybe you should check out this page… he he he… it's not much, but whatever. :)
Watched Monkees Watch Their Feet. It's a bit sad that Mike's not really in it. But I have to say, Davy was absolutely gorgeous in that episode. And this is coming from a totally non-Davy fan! Guh!
I'm sick. Had a sore throat the other day, so I ate Vicks and Campinos all day. It's gone today, but now I'm stuffed up. Bleh. I hate being sick. But it's not really that bad, so no time off school. Boo. At least it's a long weekend soon…
Ha ha. I'm listening to You Can't Judge A Book By Looking At The Cover from The Monkees Live 1967. Peter does the little intro "I don't really wanna stop the show, but I thought you might like to know…" etc. My mom always told me it was really a Beatles song and I'm like "NO! THE BEATLES STOLE IT FROM THE MONKEES! STUPID BEATLES!" Heh heh.
Was watching a clip of a Zeppelin concert the other day where Keith Moon came on in the encore, which was pretty cool. AWFUL quality though. John Bonham and Keith Moon. Whoa. But I have to say, Robert Plant is rather umm… well, let's say I like Roger a lot better than him. I mean, now Roger, when he's on stage and swinging the microphone ("Get outta the way, Marge!") and with his fringes and hair and chest and all, he's totally hot. But Robert Plant, I mean, he's got the hair, the chest, and a similar name… but it's just not the same. I think maybe he shows *too much* of his chest, and Roger shows just enough, you know? Because Robert just comes off as… I don't know… slutty? Heh heh, sorry Robert. But I don't particularly like Robert Plant. Meh.
Well. That's about all I have to say today. I really should be reading my English book. It's gotten a little better. That chick died. So I think Dorian's gonna start being very evil soon. And evil makes for good reading, right? But that Henry dude, he just RAMBLES and RAMBLES for PAGES and PAGES and he probably says a lot of the important stuff but I'm just NOT. GETTING. IT. Guh. Let me tell you, Oscar Wilde is not my favourite author.
Maybe I can dispose of Jada and then I'll be able to read her strange hippie book instead… hmm…