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10:01 am | 17 May 2004 | coronetcopia

(Tapping sheaf of papers on desk) On Mondays i frequently feel like Conan or some such other talk-show host, doing that preliminary news brief shit. As though in the space of two days so much has happened--so much, yet so thoroughly inconsequential--that i distill them into news bits. Well, so, here we go.

Philosophy major: brief profile

from: not my estilo
Date: May 14, 2004 04:36 PM
"Can I tell you how dumb I think this fucking school is? well it's pretty fucking retarded. I am trying to write a fucking paper that is due next week, and I was under the fucking impression that it was finals week next week, thus, shut the fuck up when you are in the library. Everyone and their fucking bitch mom keeps talking on their fcuking cell phone, and I remember seeing a sign that says no cell phones as you enter the computer lab. Why is everyone so stupid? I think I will write; yes...I will make up a newspaper with a large circulation of say....5 million, then I will report pseudo news. I will instill fear in mankind and take over the world. I hate stupid people that like sports, thus hating [my boyfriend]. but other than that I'm happy. I'm thirsty."

Le Monde verdict?: GENIUS! this is my new friend who hates everything/body. not really a new point of view for me, but one that flies in the face of social nicety is one that gets a standing ovation, if not a standing ovulation. Oh now i'm just free-associating. NEXT!

Great typos

"Pal Mal cigarettes, $2.88."
-convenience store flyer. This is especially genius because the actual spelling (Pall Mall) always conjured up a bevy of associative imagery, including being borne on a pall, etc., and now this new, genius truncation gives pal mal--the bad friend. Indeed.

Keeping track

I was going to bag on a friend who is over-enchanted with Yahoo's nitpicky Calendar function by creating a retroactive calendar of my weekend, but it takes WAAAAAY too long to add a single damn event to it, so i'll just give you a little taste of Saturday right here:

7:45am : Wake up, having no idea what time it is. Take dog out. Come back inside, realize it's still relatively super damn early, and go back to sleep.
9:20am : Wake up (#2). Polish off box of Chips Ahoy!, figuring that cookies are really not so far from chocolate-chip bagels or pancakes or what have you and therefore are acceptable breakfast food.
10:00am : While out back drilling light sockets in new diorama, befriend the handyman from next door, who will semi-condescendingly admire your "nice little Ryobi" (the 7.2v drill you use for pine and balsa projects, the 22v being too much for such light wood), and who will express an interest in seeing your "diogramas" sometime. Right. Right.
10:30am : Do a couple of household tasks, like irritating dishes and floor-mopping. This will constitute the entire weekend's solitary dose of virtue, as the rest of it will be spent in total disarray.
11:30am : Flip through CD collection idly and play random songs for two hours, luxuriating in exquisite pointlessness of activity. Read liner notes. Think about how, of the three original members of Sebadoh, you are much more the Jason Lowenstein than the Lou Barlow. Think about how little this means to anybody anywhere. Wonder what Jarvis Cocker is doing right now.
1:45pm : Still wondering.
2:00pm : Start re-reading old zines, including your own. Laugh at own comedic genius. Feel stupid. Laugh again anyway.
v3:00pm : Start listening to old soul records. PROBLEM. Reflect on themes of loneliness, being lonely, being down, hurtin' so bad, missing [one's] baby, not being the one, and having the blues. Make popcorn. Take a nap.
4:30pm : While walking dog, find pine plank in alley. Spend exactly 22 minutes making genius art out of it. It now says "I wanted to help you find your way BUT I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING" and has sort of a big old sea with a tiny speak-bubbled COME BACK way off in the distance. Also anchors.
5:00pm : Call Pants, who still works at the Buffalo Asschange. When old boss answers telephone, stammer and then give your name as Amalthea, which, yes, is the name of the unicorn in The Last Unicorn when she gets turned into a human and is all, "I can feel this body dying around me!" How totally gay. Pants says "I want to see you on my stoop at 9:30, smoking." Hangs up. Well, okay.
5:15 - 9:15pm : No idea. Was apparently puttering around (?), but time just...disappeared. Wait, no, i word-processed (heh) out back for a half-hour, which (stupid Native American blood) was enough to give me a retarded tan-line where the shorty-shorts stopped. I think i had some garbanzo beans, too. Whatever.
9:15pm : On Pants's porch, smoking, waiting for her to get home. Call Jeremy, who is making flan. "Flan?" i say, to be sure i heard correctly. "Yeah, flan," he says. "You know, crème caramel?" Pronounces "caramel" so as to rhyme with "tar-a-BELL." G-A-Y. Laugh uncontrollably.
9:30pm : Pants arrives home. I have found a giant cardboard cutout of the cowgirl from Toy Story 2 in the dumpsters of 960 E. 1st Street and have brought it along.
10:00pm : We visit a liquor store whose power is out and then head to this "party." The party is grim. The Jim Beam disappears pretty much instantaneously. Some kid tries to hit on me. I am in no mood. "I know who you are!" he exclaims, bad-actingly. "Who am i," i respond, warily. "You're that girl with the exquisite green eyes!" he says. "Yes," i say. "Like the scope on a rifle." He looks confused and turns to Pants. "So, what brought you to Long Beach?" She is stone-faced. "I got married." She leaves. He turns back to me. "How about you?" "I got married, too," i say. "How's that going?" he asks, flailing. I take a drag off Cigarette #188. "He died."
1:30am : Das Party is LAME. Somehow end up at a different house completely, drinking absinthe (which: unfazed) and smoking a hookah. Reflect on how many nights conclude with the phrase "Somehow end up [insert unlikely situation here]." Have brief existential crisis. Go home.

This week

Sort of in the same spirit of excess that had the Surrealists drinking 40 cups of coffee a day, I'm on this crazy juice cleansy-thing this week. I've been bored and I figure anything new'll be different this week. I'll let you know how it goes. One thing's for sure, though: Drinking only like 80 ounces of liquid a day--and not smoking--will make those two hours spent commuting really, really delightful. Yesterday I cut all my hair off! clm.


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