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June 29, 2004 10:09 PM- wordplay

Things are feeling rather Picasso this evening as in "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon"-- that's to say, fractured, displaced and somewhat alienated.

Below are some words that pretty much sum up where I am right now and what's going on. Maybe YOU could add some syntax and grammar and whatever other words may be missing to create some sentences for me? I seem to be having some synaptic seizures and feel the only profession I could possibly be capable of right now is filling cones with soft-serve ice cream at the Dairy Queen. Thanks in advance for your help!

bricks
ivy
disruptive technologies
white linen table cloths
groups of 8
the Charles River
platform products
case studies
silver vats of coffee everywhere with real cream
chalkboards that slide over walls
Russian man (with heavy Russian accent) who sighs with the weight of his disdain for foolish American women like me
bright red toenails and sexy sandals (despite the "no open-toed shoes policy)
Brattle Street shops especially Colonial Drug which is the most fabulous parfumerie this side of Paris
lonely dorm room designed specifically to make us go out into the communal space and socialize
no butterscotch boys
crawling into narrow bed with binders of reading
alarm set for 5:30 a.m.
drifting off to Cesaria Evora

got 2 cents?



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mihow says:
Wow, this is a tough assignment. Can I have an extension?
posted on: June 29

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Marilyn says:
Cesaria bricks the Russian guy upside the ivy before Brattling into Colonial Drug with bright red toenails to slide her binder of reading over chalkboard walls in her disdain for lonely dorm rooms made from platform products disrupted from the Charles River before hiding under a white linen silver vat to case the studies of butterscotch boys. I feel your pain.
posted on: June 30

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Ms. Paper Chase says:
Mihow, you have until midnight. Marilyn, you got it-- A+.
posted on: June 30

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teahouseblossom says:
Did you just go to a wedding? White tablecloths? Groups of 8?
posted on: June 30

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gimmy says:
Aaah! I hate homework! No, please no! Don't make me!
posted on: June 30

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Zoot says:
Purple. Thats my answer. Purple. Wait. No. Um... Ulna. Thats my final answer. Wait - this is not a one-word answer type assignment is it?
posted on: June 30

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samantha says:
poor sweet bluepoppy needs to come home. That's my answer. Who needs Ivy League yuckiness and mean Russians? She needs puppies and T and White Russians. If that is her thing.
posted on: June 30

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hilldery says:
Well, you're in Cambridge, right? And bricks +ivy + dorms= Harvard. I'm guessing you're at a seminar of some sort.
posted on: June 30

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hilldery says:
ok, just for the record, I did NOT read the post from 6/28 before I made my guess.
posted on: June 30

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leduse says:
bricks building hard ruddy red with ivy strutting the cool face of disruptive technologies rocking white linen table cloths in the windy trees. groups of 8 tiny skeeters riding the Charles River on platform products that silly case studies are apparently studied. by. silver vats of coffee everywhere with real cream, just standing by. and the walls are covered with large men and planes and epithets of muffins i should buy. chalkboards that slide over walls Russian man (with heavy Russian accent) who sighs with the weight of his disdain for foolish American women like me. damn me and my foolish americanism. damn my love for the trees in my backyard, and the birds that hang in them and the cat i love that still trys and trys and trys to catch just one. bright red toenails and sexy sandals (despite the "no open-toed shoes policy) oh dear its good to be a girl. oh dear. Brattle Street shops especially Colonial Drug which is the most fabulous parfumerie this side of Paris. if only i wasnt on the other side of paris. the arc d'whatever is almost always in my eyes. and the blinding lonely dorm room designed specifically to make us go out into the communal space and socialize. oh you dont even know how much i hate them. them boys. with their houses. and their fireplaces. and their bay windows. no butterscotch boys crawling into a narrow bed with binders of reading. good night kiss? por favor? alarm set for 5:30 a.m. drifting off to Cesaria Evora its always so short. the touching. got 2 cents?
posted on: July 01

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leduse says:
i like a good outline. i certainly have no fun ideas of my own :-(
posted on: July 01

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Ms. Paper Chase says:
oooh, leduse, that was slammin'! of course "got 2 cents" wasn't part of the list, but how could you know that? An A+ for you, my dear young thang
posted on: July 01

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Red Baron says:
Er..yeah, Mrs BP, funny story right, I did do the assignment but on the way in I was mugged by a miscreant blogger after material and he stole it! I could do it again but this time could I ammend the 'communal space and socialise' for 'communist space and socialism'?!
posted on: July 01

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Croila says:
Ah. But it wouldn't be THAT simple filling ice-cream cones. There would still be decision-making involved, like whether it's a little cone, a medium one, a big one, is there a 99 to go in it (do you in the US call them "99"s like we do? The chocolate stick thing?), and then you'd actually have to take the money and count out change. Nope. That's not going to help your synaptic seizures, now, is it? ;-) heh heh!
posted on: July 01

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wee says:
Holy crap poodles, Leduse, that was sensational! No...really beautiful. And on the soft-serve ice cream issue...remember back in the day when you could get a marbled cone (half chocolate, half vanilla. Those were the days, man. yep. those were the days. Tell me, Poppers, where have all the marbled ice creams gone?
posted on: July 01

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mihow says:
Along the streets of Paris, she see bricks and ivy come together well, unlike the disruptive technologies making up the inside of houses. While they may not move along like white linen table cloths, sometimes they move in groups of 8, smoothly, like the Charles River. She has written many platform products derived from case studies to figure out a way to remove the silver vats of coffee from everywhere with real cream. And during her days, there is the chattering of chalkboards that slide down over walls which make annoying sounds much like as a Russian man who sighs "veeth the vhait of hees deesdain vor vooleesh American voman" (like me). She is a woman who wears bright red toenails to school and sexy sandals despite the "no open-toed shoes policy". She has no use for the Russian man. No use at all, because at a little place among the Brattle Street shops named Colonial Drug is the most fabulous parfumerie this side of Paris. It's a good thing she is living in lonely dorm room, designed specifically to make us go out into the communal space and social, because she gets to see the butterscotch boys. But she secretly wishes the Russian man was not. Come nighttime, not even a smells wafting in from Brattle street could drag her back from crawling into a narrow bed with binders of reading because the alarm is set for 5:30 a.m. I'm so late. You can give me an F. Truth is, I lost my notebook. Or the cat ate it. Maybe your dog.
posted on: July 01

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Ms.Paper Chase says:
Oh Mihow! You have warmed the cold cockles of my heart! Thanks for playing along (A+-- but of course) and now I am packing my bags and only 3 more classes stand between me and my 2-hour drive home!
posted on: July 02

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sparkmonkey says:
I had the moment of wanting to be a child in Paris, my shoes clacking down the strrets of brick with ivy-bound walls and smells of fresh coffee and bread wafting. No disruptive technologies, not a white headphone in sight. I wanted to pass cafes cool in the shade with white linen tablecloths and groups of eight or so holding water beaded glasses of white wine, laughing and chortling in the gurgling and fast language of the land. Instead I am along the Charles River studying a different kind of Java, platform products and head-bound by case studies. Instead of Vouvray, I see silver vats of coffee everywhere with real cream. If I have another coffee now I will end up in that place where there are chalkboards that slide over walls. Too much jazz in the jingle. Four cups is too much. If I were in Paris, that Russian man over there, the one who sighs with the weight of disdain for foolish American women like me, might just find himself in pantal disfitment, arousal, looking at my bright red toenails and sexy sandals. I find him lothesome. The stench of his attitude overwhelms me and I am going to escape his leer by wandering Brattle Street shops, looking for salvation in Colonial Drug, which is the most fabu parfumerie this side of Paris. I shall adorn myself with the liquor of wild roses and sandalwood. He shall wander back to his lonely dorm room designed to make us go out into the communal space and socialize. He will miss the butterscotch boys as they ramble the streets at night sniffing for wimmin. No, instead he shall go to bed alone, crawling into the narrow bed with binders of reading, alarm set for 5:30 AM. It sucks to be a clumsy Russian Intellectual. But I, smelling of roses am free of all that. It was just a brisk brush with danger.
posted on: July 02

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Ms. Paper Chase says:
Damn! SparkMonkey-- that was most inspired---- A+ for you, too!!!
posted on: July 03

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sparkmonkey says:
Wow, I have not gotten an A+ since my last year in college...um, wey-wey too long ago to remember which of the philosophy classes it was in. Tanky tanky for the grade. I feel so....accomplished now. So go link to me on your site so I get more of a following. I feel like the Castaway looking for Wilson out here.
posted on: July 05

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Louisa Lee says:
no butterscotch boys, what the fuck are you talking about. do you know miss butterscotch?!?!
posted on: January 17

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kazem says:
sex sex sex sex
posted on: November 26

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Sorry, comments are now closed.




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