|Protection from what? "Zee Germans"?
||[Mar. 4th, 2002|04:17 pm]
|[||Somedays I feel a little:
|[||Your mom ain't listening to
|||||Voltaire - Anastasia||]|
first, the obligatory links for the day:
but will it get through the heads of the music industry? doubtful...
"Of course these new bombs are only being used on military targets. Who else can fire them except for the military? har har har..."
what's the deal with all the drama on livejournal these past few months? are people so stir crazy from the winter time that everyone seeks out some sort of trouble to involve themselves in? it seems i can't go a day without seeing some new drama or a continuation of another. i'm sure being on the abuse team doesn't help, but i tend to stumble across more drama outside of abuse than i do inside. i come back from a pleasant quiet weekend and it seems all of support has been caught up in the most retarded drama i've seen in awhile. do i really care that little Timmy stole Mary Sue's answer to someone's question over how to validate their fricken email address? not at all. so why do i have to be subjected to a half-dozen or so angry bitter whiny people who take LJ support much more seriously than any sane person should? jiminey cricket, it's not as though i'm stealing your mother's battery that keeps her on life support to keep my laptop running. slowly it will all become one great big joke, but who will be left to laugh? i pity those like jen and myself who have seen so many different "eras of LJ". the pre-community era; the olden days of support, when supportclose was the only priv available; the directory era; the "it'll be fixed this weekend" era; the pre-deadjournal era; the list goes on and on. i miss the days of community. i miss the brilliance. i'd blame that lack of brilliance for my lack of writing, but i think i'd sooner blame the former glory for the propensity of brilliance i used to show. now it feels like some sort of festering wound, or worse, a car wreck that i'm stuck driving 3 mph past in the midst of rush hour traffic. a dull aching everytime i look at it, with an occasional glimmer of hope now and again.
i'm far too poetic about a fricken website.