Funny how certain events don't serve up matching memories for those involved. For example, the story of how I got a small scar on my forehead. When my sister visited this past week, we talked about the scar. We both agreed that it happened mostly because of the swingset we had in our backyard. And we agreed that at the time, I was probably too young to know what I was doing when I got injured. However, here's where our stories change:

Brandi remembers that she was swinging on the swing (the one sort of like a seesaw swing) when I sort of toddled over and got whacked in the head with the other end of the swing. (I asked just why I walked over there, and she shrugged. Guess I wanted to see what getting hit would be like.)

I remember that it was a sunny day after church. We had somehow gotten out of changing out of our Sunday best before going to play, and Brandi was gleefully swinging on the swing when she called out for me to come to her. Young as I was, I didn't know any better to move before she came swinging back at me, and her pointed sunday school shoe met my forehead just before I hit the ground.
Of course, I could be wrong. I mean, I have awfully vivid memories of a time when I was that young and had just suffered a small head injury. But I'm sure I'm right.

So far I love my History of Photography class. Right now we're studying the photographs taken between the first and second world wars. I made it through my midterm quite pleasantly (it's so strange to have a midterm during a six-week course). I have a choice between four photography exhibits that I can go see to write a six page paper on, and it looks like the one at the Getty will be the winner. So if you happen to be at that museum Saturday and see a girl scribbling notes madly around the photography exhibit and a guy looking all bored and probably reading a book, that'll be us.

We woke at 4 am this morning to drive my mom and sister to the airport. It was really nice to see them, and we had a lot of fun together. We did the touristy stuff and saw as much of southern California as you can during their stay.

But now it's time to go back to work, school, and life as usual. I don't wanna.

So I haven't seen my mom and sister since early January, but tomorrow it's going to be all good because they're flying here to see me. It's going to be their first time in California. Yep, we'll just have to impress them with the searing heat, freeways, graffiti where you least expect it and that feeling that you need to lock the door when driving through Hollywood. Eh, they'll love it. Even if it's just cuz I'm here. ;)

When I think of how cool I am, I begin to feel sorry for those who aren't as cool as me.

I think it's time to do some updates around here. Half of the links listed on the left are either out of order or I haven't visited them in a while and end up typing in the names of sites I visit. Lord Byron is now Sean's pet, and Q went to that great fishbowl in the clouds. Not to mention that we've seen quite a few movies since Pirates of the Carribean and whatever else is listed. And The Dane is back to blogging, so that green ribbon at the top must stand our approval of frogs or envy. Hmm, that's not so bad. I might just like them better than Mr. the Dane. Especially since he said I don't blog about anything interesting. Since I know he finds himself quite intriguing, I'll talk about him. He really needs a spittoon. There are sunflower seed shells everywhere near his desk. He just spent the afternoon forging signatures and probably harrassing poor caution-boy a good bit. Charming, no? Boo towards you, the Dane.

I spent a few dollars on some books and now Wendy's been calling me "Bling-Bling." Oh well. It's the price I'm willing to pay for my hobby. What books you ask? See a list here.

When we went home for lunch today, our doorbell was buzzing really loudly. The button had gotten stuck, and apparently it had gotten hot enough to brown the inside of the speaker case inside the house. I'm glad we caught it before it caused a fire or something. I wonder who stopped by and rang the doorbell. We've gotten several notes on our door addressed to "The Cummings Family" from the mormons, and they even stopped by while I was home, but since I was in my jammies and Brandon wasn't around, I pretended not to be home - even though the microwave went off and music was playing probably loud enough to hear. Those persistent mormons. They'll smoke us out of our place if they have to.

Everyone brushes their hand across the top of Morris's pointed leaves when they walk by my desk. I really should put something sticky on him.

Brandon and I finished our Anthropology class together, and if you remember, we were competing to see who would get the best grade. Unfortunately, the teacher graded all of our papers in code, so we don't know what we made on each, and we both made an A in the class. So that'll teach us not to compete... I guess. I don't know if there's any lesson in that.

I begin my Introduction to Photography class tomorrow, while Brandon begins his Revolutions and Revolts class. I just hope this will be a class in which the professor is unable to veer off into other discussions where the result is that most of the class is spent hearing the professor's opinions and philosophies about the world. For now, I just want to be taught the subject. Maybe later I'll care about more. Just maybe.

It's not looking good for Morris. He has the funk. So I decided to do some detective work and check out the plants at the place that I got him from. Sure enough, they have the same little white stuff between the leaves close to the branches that seems to be causing Morris such grief. At least I'm not so much to blame since the plant had caught the funk in the first place.

Welp, have a nice 4th of July weekend. Hopefully you have Monday off... and don't have the funk.

I decided to try my hand at gardening one more time. Hmm, let me clarify that. Know how I explained how experienced and instructed I am at cooking in the post below? Let's apply that to caring for plantlife. Therefore, all the plants I've cared for have promptly returned to dust after oh, say four weeks in my care. Maybe more or less. So when I say I'm trying my hand at gardening, I mean I got a plant for my desk at work. It's been christened "Morris" by a coworker, and I'm only calling it that because I named all of the past plants that died so quickly. So now it's time to see how long the plant lasts.