Min mei, Harris-ment and Dido

As I sit in my lab, listening to the chords of Evanescence emanating form Christie's computer (finally got him to skip the Dido), I look up at Min Mei - the 4-inch brown-haired doll I got as a consolation gift at Wimpy after a particularly rough night in Cape Town. I repainted her clothing to suit my colour taste - brown pants, black top and black shoes.

Next to me on a shelf is a shoe-box containing wood-shavings, sunflower seeds and Harris. Harris is about as deep in the doo-doo as something that small and cute can be for any length of time. She has been attacking Ed more visciously, to the point of causing her topical injuries on her tummy, shoulder and paws. They can't be left alone for one moment. Queery has started making references to "Harris-ment". So the verdict is... Harris has to go. Right now she's in the box looking up at me so sweetly and innocently that I am very much in two minds. But it has to be.

I really really really don't like Dido. Really. She can't actually sing, but she seems to be able to sound and look sad enough to appeal to pillow-hugging, wrist-chewing alcoholics or low-energy non-music lovers with no sense of humour or lust for life whatsoever! Ok, friends, sorry if any of you like Dido - I didn't mean to seem opiniated or step on any toes. Dido just doesn't do it for me. If you're angry or depressed, listen to one of Foamy the Squirrel's rants, or his music dedicated to miserable humanity. It's much more effective.