Friday, April 30, 2004


Something Greg Said

We were talking about blogs, and I said that it felt weird sometimes reading Chris's blog, because I feel like I have no idea who he is, he's leading this completely different and crazy life. Greg said, "That's Chris's blog--that's not Chris." "Are you sure? I feel like my blog is what I'm thinking. [short pause] Well, not so much, actually. I think I edit myself a lot. There are things that I don't write because I'm not sure who's reading."


Mom's 55th Birthday

I once asked Jeremy, after we had broken up, if he thought I looked better clothed or naked. "Naked," he said, "except maybe in that dress." Marian has that dress now.

I mention this because my sister's house is full of mirrors: mirrors in the bathroom, mirrors in my bedroom (their workout room), walls of mirrors. I've been looking at myself a lot. I feel like Claire in a car, with the visor always down, the mirror aimed so that she can see her own face. It's an understandable fascination. Who is this person saying these things? Who is this person desired by some and not by others? Can I see my family in my face, in my breasts, in the curve of my nose, in the color of my skin? And the reflection goes deeper than that. Watching my sister and her husband interact--which means flirt or fight, pretty much--watching my sister at the restaurant, watching my mom talk about her job interview, watching us make off-color jokes about the homeless, it's all funhouse mirrors, warped and exaggerated but maybe a bit too familiar.

Marc, the brother in-law, or rather my sister's husband, constantly interrogates me in the most aggravating way. I am not sure if he's intentionally pushing my buttons, but he's consistent. In fact, almost everything he says to me makes me angry. I take a lot of deep breaths. He said that I was being naive at work, trusting that my co-workers are tipping me out the full ten percent. I said, "Marc, we're all dishwashers sometimes."
"But how can you be sure?"
"Because I trust them, that's why. I tip out ten percent, and even more if they're super helpful or if I make a lot. And besides, what could I possibly do about it? Do you think I should count out their tips for them?"
"There's a solution."
"I don't think that you'd want to hear it."
"Oh, should I be a pharmacy technician, right?" I got really angry, but I started talking to my sister instead. And I kicked ass at Scrabble. Boy did I kick some ass.

I could spend an hour transcribing the things he said to me today. But I won't.

Mom had a job interview today. Why? Because she's moving to Philadelphia. Thank gawd she's leaving Salt Lake.

The people are cute here. It could be that they're just new and different people.

I'm excited about getting back home and collaborating with people. I am also nervous. What if, what if I make something really truly great? What if I don't?



Please, I'm stuck in suburban Pennsylvania, with no out in sight. And worst of all, with a married couple.

Thursday, April 29, 2004


Burning up in Phoenixville, PA

Ruth and Marc and I had dinner at Chilli's. My sister is no fun at restaurants, no fun to the staff, no fun for the other customers. I was just so grumpy in the car, so hungry. Now I feel better. Tomorrow is Mom's 55th Birthday, and Tina Fey is on Conan. More updates later.


Rough Hands

It's almost one am and I have yet to pack for my impending trip. Fortunately I had a delicious brioche mid-shift, which makes up for the scratchy hand texture. My camping key-hole wound seems to have taken well to the hours it spent in soap and bleach water. My body is tingling from exertion, from labor, from sleepiness. But I will persevere, and I shall pack my bags. Joe came into work tonight and spent a good fifteen minutes watching me wash dishes. It must have been thrilling for him. I am quite a site to behold in front of those industrial sinks, sporting the vinyl apron, wielding my spray gun of steel. The parting was a bit awkward, as I was dripping wet and not in the mood for affection.

I am a sleepy monkey who does not want to pack. I am a very sleepy monkey.

The Olsen twins were on Oprah today. That was pretty exciting. I of course thought of Chris. I wondered, does he know about this? You know and I know very well that I am going to see their new movie.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004



So now there's a pattern. Now I'm back in the game, I'm going the distance, etc. Another song today, inspired by my new mic stand. It's an old song I write last summer about a word I had to look up a lot: "Axiomatic." I live in the attic, but you live in the past. My bedroom gets warm sometimes but at least I don't live in the past. I drive a Toyota, you take the bus. When we're alone together it's just the two of us.

I convinced Sis to pick me up at the airport. Come on, people, what's the big deal about picking someone up at the airport? I like it, in fact. I think I'm going to bring the puter so that I can study up on MIDI and Cubase. I don't know how I'm going to take five days with the fam, but I'm glad to be getting out of town again.

Claire seems to have figured some shit out. I'm jealous. I find that little things help me through the day. Funny looking dogs always help. I have so much to do before jetting off to see the fam. I don't have a Birthday gift for mom yet. Golly this is incoherent. Finished Switch Bitch last night. Katy was right, I liked the second story best, "Switcheroo." I need to get some coffee stat.

Tuesday, April 27, 2004


Camp Monday

Camp Monday was seven of us, not-sleeping on the wet ground, drinking three fifths of liquor (Rum, Scotch, Tequila), smoking in the Russian owned hot springs, watching Steve play with his fly rod, aiding the regurgitation of others, marshmallows, campfire quesidillas, inflaming jealousy, a renewed appreciation of Shauna, a re-invigorated adoration of Steve, an increasing affection for Matthew, and of course a debriefing breakfast at Carver Cafe. Since I couldn't sleep all night, I was a bit grumperella in the morning. I ended up putting on every item of clothing I had with me and curling up in the backseat of my car just to get some wee early morning shut-eye. Then I stumbled back to the hot springs, and Shauna was already there. I wasn't grumperella any more, not after that good long soak. I haven't felt this relaxed (even without sleep) in I can't remember how long.

I really have to take a poo!

Sunday, April 25, 2004


Mostly, it was a good day.

I can't remember my moods ever swinging so much in such short periods of time. It's starting to get a bit scary. Right now: bad mood. I don't even want to be around myself. The idea of going camping makes me really upset for some reason. I'm thinking: maybe I'll just flake out and not go. And do what, then? Hide. Madu today said that he wanted to get me a big pile of linens to curl up under. He's pretty intuitive, that guy.



My life, my world-view, completely altered by Rocky. I always thought that when he yells "Adrian" at the end, it's because she'd left him. Not so! Does he win? No. But wait, he went the distance, and now he has love. So, he does win, after all. And I thought I was the only one who talked to my pets.

On the radio: "I'm the one who wants to be with you. Deep inside I hope you feel it too. Waited on a line (waited on a line) just to be the next to be with you."

Ooh, and Music for Dozens has a streaming radio service now, so you can hear the music for free. Some of it is really awesome.

  • Listen to me!

  • Saturday, April 24, 2004

    It was totally the vocoder insert screwing up Cubase. Chris was so right. Lindsay's tidying up the living room as I type this. She woke me up twice this morning: once to ask me what kind of groceries we needed, then again to drop off a latte. How can you be angry when somebody brings you coffee in bed?

    I'm reading Italo Calvino's Mr Palomar whenever I get a chance. Last night I read a chapter about his visit to ancient Mexican ruins, "Serpents and Skulls." While Mr Palomar has a verbacious close friend and tour guide who knows the history behind each fragment, he's entranced by a group of young school boys and their young teacher. The school teacher's refrain throughout is "We don't know what it means. (No se sabe lo que quiere decir.)" But this is why I bring this story up: Mr. Palomar's friend encounters and intercedes with the little boys, insisting that he knows the meaning of a certain ruin. And I quote:

    The boys listen, mouths agape, black eyes dazed. Mr. Palomar thinks that every translation requires another translation, and so on. He asks himself: "What did death, life, continuity, passage mean for the ancient Toltecs? And what can they mean today for these boys? And for me?" Yet he knows he could never suppress in himself the need to translate, to move from one language to another, from concrete figures to abstract words, to weave and reweave a network of analogies. Not to interpret is impossible, as refraining from thinking is impossible.

    Once the school group has disappeared around a corner, the stubborn voice of the little teacher resumes: "No es verdad, it is not true, what that senor said. We don't know what they mean."

    Once again the specter of my thesis haunts me.

    Friday, April 23, 2004


    Hot Sandwiches

    I just ate the best meat sandwich of my life, although it appears now that I've significantly shortened my life by eating the sandwich. It had beef and sausage, and everybody knows that two types of meat are better than one. This was one of those post binge drinking mornings where all I could think about was greasy food. Monologue: "Where can I get something greasy to eat? Why are there no greasy spoons in my neighborhood? Why don't I just move back to Long Island? Why did I decide that a third bottle of sparkling rose was a good idea after 60 ounces of beer? Why is there no food in my house? Where can I get something like a hamburger but not a hamburger. [pause] Argh! I know! Michael's hot sandwich place. I've always wanted to try it! Let's go there now!"

    The shop itself was populated mainly by manly professional men, button-down shirts and beer bellies, cell-phone clips on their belts. At least I wore my Otto's Sausage Kitchen sweatshirt. It says "This lady likes meat."

    Dingo's didn't hire Shauna back, so we've decided to pull a Legend of Billie Jean and protest during Ladies' Night screaming "Fair is Fair!" We should fly Claire up for that.

    The camping trip is still on for Monday. It sounds like it will be warmish out there. I don't see why it wouldn't be a good idea for me to go.

    Thursday, April 22, 2004


    Fuck Retro-Clash

    I made a song last night between one and one thirty a.m. I made it after Cubase refused to export a mix-down of the new and improved "White Wedding" cover. I think maybe my water broke. I feel like I did a few months ago, right before I wrote most of (leave me alone). Light-headed, nervous, and serene. I think that there are two approaches to song-writing, and both are exemplified by Strength and Natural Bridges. The first is the tedious, work really hard on an idea until it works, employed by Strength. The second is the let-it-come-as-it-will, then work on it after method, embraced by Natural Bridges. They have really different outcomes. Whereas Strength sounds incredibly polished, calculated, and danceable, Natural Bridges sounds organic (even with the synths) and dynamic. What I really and truly wonder about, though, is how Missy Elliott makes her beats. What about the people who wrote and produced "Toxic"?

    What I'd like to do, aside from my "make pretty music" manifesto, is make awesome dance beats and riffs. Not electroclash, not Tracy and the Plastics or Peaches (I prefer Tracy, though), certainly not Cameltoe, not Le Tigre, not Cody Chestnut. I like listening to these groups, they matter to me, but if I have the ability (sort of) to go beyond them technically, to make things sound less like they come from the eighties, then I want to do that.

    Avant-Garde! Fuck retro-clash.

    Wednesday, April 21, 2004


    Just between the two of us

    Apt, eh? Shauna's back and while we thought it would be weird integrating her back into the lifestyle, it turns out to be not an issue. There are issues, though, issues aplenty. I've been doing something radical: talking to others about my life instead of writing and posting things on the internet. Enough of that! Basta!

    Things are resolved in my head as per Joe. The attention was so nice, everything about him is nice (except one crucial thing), that's the word: nice. But when he touched my knee I didn't feel my heart fluttering. "If you can't get what you want/ Do you have to take what you get?" I probably shouldn't have kissed him, but Lindsay says that sometimes that's the only way to find out. Yeah, like that song in Mermaids. But the words should be altered to fit the occasion: "If you want to know if you love him so, it's in his kiss--that's where it is--oh, yeah." (As I'm typing this I hear the song, the high pitched back up vocalists.)

    Speaking of "Oh, Yeah," I've been doing the Kool-Aid man impression pretty much non-stop today. I must have said it ten times around Matt.

    Natural Bridges, Matt's project, I listened to it tonight. It was pretty. And sublime and terribly sad and romanti-tragically hopeful. It fit the mood. Romanti-tragically hopeful. Oh, yeah!

    Monday, April 19, 2004



    There's a new kitten in the house. I have a continuing persistent urge to clean. There's a list of things I need to do today. Lindsay forgot to take out the trash, and I was too trashed to remember to take it out. I can't decide if I want to cook dinner today or if I want to go to Burgerville.


    Dead Guy

    Tonight was good, all around. I was in such a chipper mood. I think it was the combo pack of not drinking the night before, working with John, eating mac and cheese, and the Naked Lady Party. I scored a ton of awesome stuff. I love awesome stuff. Amac and I took a nice long walk afterwards, and I got the best hot dog--no, Bosnian Smoked Sausage--from the European Market on Hawthorne. Customers? Not annoying. Beer? Plentiful and good.

    Saturday, April 17, 2004

    I don't like this anymore.


    My first date

    What can I say about my date with Joe? It was nice to go on a date--though we didn't really use that term, but we sort of did. It was like, "this is a date, but not really, because if we called it that that would be weird." He paid for everything, he insisted on it, which was nice. He opened doors for me. We talked about first date things, like where we're from and what we've done in our lives and what we're doing. There were a lot of moments where we didn't know how much to say about certain things. For example, I didn't say that I'm tired of playing around with people and am looking to start thinking about maybe settling down and having kids. That's not something you say to someone right away. I also didn't say that I'm not planning on doing it with him for a while. Not because all of a sudden I have rules about that, but because I just don't feel like doing that again. Looking back on the past I've decided that I'm too quick to jump into bed.

    I ran into John this afternoon at Tiny's. I had just woken up. It was 4 pm. The heart churning crush is fading away. Relief. Grief.

    Work was like pulling teeth. I got chastised for not taking pastries out of the right case. I didn't have the energy to be nice and to take lots of tables. I felt like crying for the first four hours of my shift. I played the ignore your customers game most of the night, making sure that they were content but not talking to them more than was absolutely necessary. I saw a report on the news before work that made me cry for ten minutes. This Vietnam vet brings milkshakes to recent amputees. He lost his legs in Vietnam, walking over a landmine. War makes me cry. Actually, almost everything makes me cry now. What happened to stoic Amy? She was so tough and so cool.

    Thursday, April 15, 2004


    I wish

    I just saw The Prince and Me. Um . . . yeah. It gave me hope for the world's royalty. I was getting kind of upset about their lot in life.


    Bread Pudding

    The titles of this things are usually whatever I'm eating at the moment. I have to work in ten minutes. I just hope that there's time for me to make a soy latte before delivery.


    And you know what?

    I really miss Marian's old blog. I feel like she's been stifled by something. Grar.


    Drinking Yeti

    I am completely wiped out. I made more in tips tonight--probably--dishwashing than I did last night closing. I waited more tables tonight, though. It all comes out in the wash. I guess. I still enjoy washing dishes. It's surprising that I do. Yes, I'm physically exhausted. Yes, my hands are like sandpaper. Yes, I worked up a sweat. But . . . there's something about cleaning all of the glassware we have in half an hour that satisfies me. I think that one of our new regulars was going to ask me out tonight, but Jobie intervened. That's OK with me. He's a cute guy, though, and he lent me Mark Twain's uncensored writings. We'll see. I met a guy who's into electronic music and he may want to collaborate with me. I've been upstairs in my room working all alone, and though it's fun, I feel like I'm getting too into my own head.

    I got an email from my old advisor today telling me about why I didn't get into grad school. Apparently the competition was extremely tough this year. I chalk it up to my super-focused personal statement. If I apply again, I'll know what not to do: sound malleable yet intelligent. I really don't think that I want to be a professor. The only problem with that is that I don't know what I want to do. Small business? That sounds good to me, but do I have the ability to do it? I'm considering starting a family instead. There's this strong urge to settle down. Could I really make it as a musician? The dream seems less and less achievable. And then there's the old adage: Do what you love, etc. What do I love? And why should I, of all people on this earth, be so blessed to do what I love? Shouldn't I be helping people? I was an excellent social worker. I enjoyed it despite the emotional toll it took on me. Is that what I should do?

    It's raining, and it's beautiful.

    Wednesday, April 14, 2004


    "Zero times any other number always equals Fag"

    So says drunken father on "Kids in the Hall." I think I fixed some problems. I have to work, again. I made spaghetti and a salad for dinner. Wow. Wow.


    poo face

    well, not really. Closed early tonight. Went to AAlto lounge. Drank. Same old, same old.

    There are some conversations that I need to have, even if I'm sure of the outcome. It doesn't matter at all. But saying things, saying things that I think about, that always helps. Is it that I can't keep a secret? I think that growing up in an environment where people refrained from saying things just to be polite, to avoid conflict, has made me so much more enthusiastic about speaking my mind. It makes me feel better, anyways.

    Tuesday, April 13, 2004


    White Wedding

    Well, I finished version one of "White Wedding." Problems so far: bass is too loud in some parts, I'm not quite happy with orchestra sound, don't know the words to the second verse--Billy is unintelligible. Other problems: general bad mood, tummy ache, have to work.

    A lot of these problems can be solved. But I need Chris for most of them.


    The Last Rejection

    At an appropriate time of year. Even though I didn't want to go, did I really not want to go? It's hard to tell how much of this is just me fooling myself. But I've found that you can fool yourself into thinking a lot of things. At least my taxes are done.

    Is there a lesson to be learned here? Try harder next time? Fortune is a harsh mistress? Every Rose Has Its Thorn? I think that the real lesson can be found on Kanye West's College Dropout: "And when everybody says, hey, you're not working, you're not making any money, you say, hey, look at my degrees and look at my life. Yeah, I'm 52, but so what. Hate all you want, but I'm smart." Or: "Sure, I don't know what sexy is, but I bet I can add up all the change in your purse real fast."


    And then I watched Nine to Five

    At least I have bread pudding left-overs for breakfast today, and two million sliced strawberries. Last night's menu:
    Baked mac n cheese with Blue, Emmental, Wisconsin Cheddar
    Fennel and Pears poached in Muscat
    Green and White Asparagus with cumin and toasted almonds
    Braised Rabbit Hind-Quarters cooked in a vanilla bean, clove, fennel leaf infusion with sherry and dessert wine
    Bread Pudding

    I almost started crying when Lindsay came home. "Amy, what's wrong?" "Nothing [sniffle sniffle]." "Amy, what is it?" "I said nothing, Lindsay, just let it go." But then Elly and Katy came over, so I was cheered up by their presence and the whiskey. I am not lying when I say that I love cooking, but it's stressful when you don't know if anyone's going to show up and eat the food. Maybe I should think twice about starting a restaurant if I get this upset over a dinner party.

    Monday, April 12, 2004


    there's no good way to say this, but . . .

    It does get scary closing at night. Hearing strange noises and the like, as a woman, alone, with money, makes me a little anxious. It was slow tonight, which was nice, so I closed early and finished early. This was an entirely pleasant Easter, Jesus is Risen, etc, Day. Brunch and adult egg hunt at Tin Shed, then lazing about in the sunshine at Laurelhurst with Amanda and Andrea and Cynthia, ritualistic burning of Andrea's ex's artifacts, talking to Chris, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: those things were nice. Joe asked for my number today so that we could get a drink sometime. Medium. I think that it would be good for me to go out on a date. I can't tell because I'm still a bit hung up despite my best intentions.

    Why does it have to feel like this? It's not the worst thing in the world, it's a low-grade ache, just like the ankle. I walk along and everything's fine, but then I slip on the mopped floor and--yup, there it is again. There it always is. Is it love? I firmly believe that it is not. How could it be, when it's one-sided? Besides, I know better than that. And I've had crushes before, and they go away, once the person is out of the picture. This is better than high school, though. That was rough, the series of crushes I had: Wayne Jin, Jeremy Robbins, Tom (I forget his last name), Teddy Bailey (who turned out to be, surprise surprise, gay). There were more, I forget.

    Tomorrow I'll make a delicious dinner for some friends. That's something to look forward to. Right?

    Sunday, April 11, 2004


    Easter Fun Day

    The Tin Shed in pastels for an egg hunt and brunch is the supposed order of the day. But I have a one track mind and today it's not concerned with egg hunts.



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    So Tired

    I can feel the tired in my bones. Spent the afternoon pushing mini pastries with Greg, trying to barter truffles for beer. Spilled a pitcher of Young's Double Chocolate Stout on my new dress. Typical. Dinner at The Farm Cafe with Lindsay and Greg and Cary. Our wine bottle had braille on the label. Easter is supposed to be 80 degrees. I'm reading a book about nuns. Sleepy monkey.

    Friday, April 09, 2004



    Last night I enjoyed the snuggling much more than ever before, maybe because of the sheer number of people involved. But it had to end, and I ended up sleeping alone--well not exactly alone, because Athena was there, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't five people in a bed. I know that it couldn't have lasted the night, but it was wonderful to pretend that it might have.

    We ended up at the Reel M Inn last night, then the Spaceroom, then finaly Katy and Emily's house. I drank a lot. I woke up late.

    Dear Lord this is a shitty entry. I'm distracted by all the things I have to do but don't want to do. Like showering and taxes.

    Thursday, April 08, 2004


    whiskey and soda

    Turns out that I'm scheduled for 40 hours this week, which "is like 100 hours at any other job," according to Jobie. I'm winding down after work with whiskey and soda--I broke open the wee dram of Bell's that I got in London. I need to get a Jean Claude Van-Dram of that shit, it's so good and smooth. I know that I'm a single malt snob, but I do adore the blends. I've resolved my distracting breasts issue by wearing a conservative, plain black bra from Gap Body. I hate that it's from the Gap, but it's so conservative and, darn it, comfortable. I have to work at 9:30 am tomorrow morning. I had one of those "senior moments" at work today--not a memory thing, but the realization that we're all getting older and there's no stopping it. Claire's going to be a teacher! That's a real job.

    I think that working, especially washing dishes, helps my mood. Oh, and there's a new left-wing radio station in Portland, 620 AM. I heart it.

    Wednesday, April 07, 2004


    Let's Never Leave the House

    This happens eventually to most every person with a weblog, so why should I be surprised that it happened to me? Why should I be embarrassed or ashamed or timid--because that's exactly what I am right now, timid--just because he found my blog? And a long while ago, too. Must get back on the horse.

    Honestly, though, I'm pretty upset about this. I can try to act all cool and nonchalant, but inside I feel like a washing machine on spin cycle.

    Tuesday, April 06, 2004



    So, I used the shopping-record cover songs-do laundry-play drums cure today, and it worked! The cover song, you ask? "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." Although I meant to work on "Here I Go Again," I got distracted and bored of messing with midi. Midi is very satisfying in some ways, because it's mathematical and magical and repetitive. But I lose sight of the forest for the trees, you know. So, as I was setting up to record some guitar into "Here I go Again" I used "ERHIT" as a sound check, and I felt it, so I recorded that instead. Is it any good? Oh, I don't know.

    Another thought: I'm really tired of having breasts. They keep distracting me.


    Memories Fade but the Scar Still Lingers

    This is my reaction to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. The point of the film, the resolution, the philosophical viewpoint, is that a relationship cannot be measured by its end, by how it all works out in the end, or doesn't; rather, the moments that become memories, hardwired into the brain, our little mini works of art (because aren't memories the most organic of all human creations?) are beautiful, poignant, whatever, in and of themselves. Certainly, the screenwriter acknowledges that humans are patterned, that if we are not allowed to learn from our mistakes we are destined to repeat them--actually, we are destined to repeat them no matter what. The question the film poses is this: are they really mistakes? Romance that ends bitterly is not a failed romance. That's the point. In other words, it's not the destination, man, it's the journey.

    Of course, I saw the movie alone in the afternoon, and had to drink afterwards. But the night turned out alright--we went to the Silver Dollar Saloon for Stein Night (I kept thinking about Shauna), 32 fluid ounces of Black Butte Porter. Then the Alibi for some cherry-oke popping: John, Matt, and Patrick's first time. They were all excellent, and they did some winners: Genesis' "That's All," "Arthur's Theme," and "Don't You Want Me." Some guy with orange hair took a Polaroid of me doing my pump the legs in the air routine to "Flashdance (What a Feelin')"--I think that the chair is possibly the best Karaoke prop.

    I woke up super hungry and decided that today was the day for breakfast at Genie's. My waitress comes into Pix all the time, she's really nice, but I was non-communicative, being low in blood-sugar and dehydrated. I really like the potatoes there.

    I think maybe I'm not concerned enough with the end-point, with goals.

    Monday, April 05, 2004


    How do you spell "Obliques"?

    The malaise continues, but now it's cloudy outside, so the atmosphere matches the mood--always a fortuitous event. I can't stop wearing the Value Village blazer, even though I feel restricted in it. I went to the gym this morning, I lifted weights, I enjoyed the soothing repetitions. I lost count during my obliques, so now I'm destined to have uneven obliques. I should go see a movie.

    I did take a bike ride, rode over to Amac's, sat in the parlour with her and Andrea. It was shaky, at first, back on the bike, but it came back and it came back strong, and I felt very free. But then I had to go to work, and that was mixed. Slow, super busy, steady, wash dishes. I didn't pee for over seven hours. I didn't feel like hanging around to wait for John to finish closing--I've been too negatron lately for that. I'm sleepy and I miss:

    I'd forgotten just how rough my job can be. And I spilled mop water on my left foot. It burns now.

    Sunday, April 04, 2004


    Up North

    Seattle was pretty much the same, and I made pancakes from scratch this morning at Amanda's apartment on Capitol Hill. Now we're back and it's sunny but I'm feeling a bit sad. That's an improvement from yesterday when I felt like an enormous bitch. It amazes me sometimes that I have friends at all. Monster is creeping around the house. I think I need to do something physical. Maybe take a bike ride or get on the skateboard, but my ankle scares me still.

    I need some ideas for more sexist 80s songs to cover in a sensitive way. This mood, I think, is what the French would call malaise. Like mayonaise, but different.

    Thursday, April 01, 2004


    "You don't occupy a country that doesn't need occupying"

    I had a tuna sandwich for breakfast today. The employee talent show went well, everybody loved my cover of "Hey Ya." That's to be expected. Sarah said that I can perform if I want. I'm not sure.

    It's so nice out today, the weather is much much better here than NY or London. I like my new wake up early lifestyle, my enjoy the morning lifestyle.

    I love it here, but I miss all those people that I love so on the other side.


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