Happy New Year!!

Good news for the new year! The well read Genesee Depot Times Gazette has now linked us to their page! Woohoo!! :)
Speaking of Genesee Depot, the infamous Joseph Thomas and I ventured out to Genesee Depot the other night (quite unintentionally, though we realized that Genesee Depot had been sadly neglected by us this summer)! Somehow, the lovely little town had not changed a bit. And once again, we saw it in the dark. Go figure. Someday, maybe someday, we will venture out to Genesee Depot at an hour that is not dark out! Woohoo for sanity drives! And Noodles...mmm.
As for the near future, Joe & I are getting together again tomorrow so I can hear the stories from New Year. And maybe we'll have heard news on the news we're waiting for...
And someone (namely my boyfriend) comes home from California today! Yay! Finally! And I get to have him around here for a few days or so starting Sunday. At least that's the current plan. Updates later. Maybe. ;) My days might actually be interesting for the next few days.
I spent the day in DePere today, yeah, very exciting. I'm starting to be a bit more worried about my grandparents than I used to be, but hopefully things will all turn out okay in the end.
A few months ago, I posted a poem by the famous poet Robert Frost. This poem, The Road Not Taken, is a fine example of poetic literature. However, now, I shall post a poem that may have been composed by Frost had he lived on Fourth and North in Milwaukee....

Choose sump'n like some stah'

O Stah' (down low, da fairest one in sight),
We grant yo' loftiness da right
T' some kinda' obscurity o' cloud --
It aint gonna do t' say o' night,
Since night be whut brings out yo' light.
Some kinda' mystery becomes da proud,
But t' be whol-like taciturn
In yo' reserve aint allowed.
Say sump'n t'us we kin learn
By heart an' when monk-like repeat. Yo' mama.
Say sump'n! Fuck dat shit. An' it says I burn. Ah be baaad...' But say wit'
whut degree o' heat.
Rap Fahrenheit, rap Centigrade.
'esploit language we kin comprehend.
Tell us whut elements yo' ass blend. What a ripoff.
It gives us strange-like tiny-ass aid,
But duz tell sump'n in da fat-lady.
An' staidfast as Keats' Eremite,
Not even stoopin' from its sphere,
It ax' some tiny-ass o' us in da house. True dat.
It ax' o' us some certain height,
So's when at times da mob be swayed
T' carry praise o' blame too fah',
We may choose sump'n likes some stah'
T' stay our minds on an' be staid.

Okay, so Robert Frost didn't REALLY write this. I got it from Joe two years ago. Maybe he knows who wrote it, or maybe he wrote it himself! Hmm...
P.S. This poem was, at one time, fine literature as well. Read Choose Something Like Some Star (I think that's the name....but I'm not sure. It's written by Frost. Go look it up. And have a nice day!)

- posted by L. @ 7:17 PM