I might agree with Broadsheet’s observation that society is rapidly going to hell in a handbasket, but I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when I was a kid, and loved the Brickshelf gallery I came across today. Turtle Power!

Dear M. Snay,

This memo is to remind you that springtime has arrived and that you are not in a sexual relationship (unless you count your left hand, I wouldn’t). You will kindly note that this memo is occasioned by your failure to admit your lack of mastery of your own domain Thursday morning after waking, a situation which forced you to think of Dr. A naked every time you had to stand — after all, with all of those hot, sexy, often scantily-clad Towson undergrad girls walking around, it was expecting a lot for your mind not to turn to sex.

Please, self-satisfy before school. It will save you a lot of embarassment. Thank you.

-M. Snay

PS - Kindly note the memo specifies Dr. A. As you’ve noticed, Dr. B is quite sexy.

Tuesday, I wrote about my HEL class holding session outside on that beautiful spring day. What I didn’t mention is that a dude in an orange shirt with a big camera came around and took photos of us lounging about on that grassy knoll which, thankfully, did not leave grassy mud stains on our ass. The photograph was on the front page of today’s Towerlight. The title is a lie - I am not actually in this photo (I got cropped out or wasn’t in frame) but I’m about five feet behind the dude in the cowboy hat.

When I need a new sofa, I know what I’m going to get!

Lego style has apparently been appropriated by the sofa-making industry, whose product called Bekky lets you construct your favorite configuration out of its interlocking pieces, rubberized for your comfort and ready for your speedy modifications.

The commodious components work just like Lego, and drain your wallet in a similar fashion, to the tune of $466 for the four-piece set. Now you can live a nearly-complete Lego life

HT: Gizmodo

Of all the ways to wake up …

So my toilet has been running at odd times. I don’t know much about toilet mechanics except “push down the lever and it flushes.” Anyway, I guess the plunger isn’t properly engaging or whatever, because every few hours, it starts running water like I’d just flushed it. My piss-poor explanation of how a toilet works aside, apparently the older of my two cats, Guy, didn’t quite figure out that the toilet was cycling in this manner.

Anyway, so I’m lying in bed waiting for the alarm to go off (the radio has already begun playing) before I even bother trying to roll, exhausted, off my mattress and getting my feet on the carpet. I hear a low lapping from the bathroom — it’s a cat, drinking from the toilet water. They both, apparently, think they’re dogs (because I’ve caught them both doing it), but as I found out in about five seconds which cat in particular it is. It’s important to note, here, that from my bed, I can see a section of the hallway — immediately to the left, and out of sight, is the doorway to the bathroom. Directly across from the bathroom door is the cross-hall which leads to the spare bedroom.

So the toilet cycles. Immediately, there’s a loud scrambling noise from inside the bathroom, and a second later, a big black and white form literally flies out of the bathroom, soars across the width of the hallway, through the bead curtain that marks the entry to the cross-hall. There’s a new noise: hissing, growling, then Tippy comes flying out — from the best of what I can gather, Tippy was sleeping in the hall until her older — and bigger — brother (they aren’t really brother and sister) came flying out of the air and rudely awoke her. Anyway, Tippy darts out, ear flattened, looks at me with her eyes wide, then bolts for the living room. Guy is right behind her, his eyes are much wider, his ears completely black, tail flat back. He manuevers swiftly through the bead curtain and delivers a long and deliberate hiss at the bathroom (I swear to christ this cat better not be too scared to use the litter box). At this point, I make a noise, and he suddenly turns to face me, adopting a look which I can only describe as “um, no, I didn’t just hiss at the toilet, honest.”

Well, it sure was an interesting way to wake up, at any rate.