Sunday, June 30, 2002

we are 70% water

There are four things here that need be mentioned. But we could ignore those and tell you that my senses are exhausted - that I have pushed myself to the max today and liked the rush of emotional living/being, thinking it may even be something I like.

1.) I just ate a cold slice of pineapple pizza, but picked off all the pineapple pieces because pineapple does not belong on pizza. It just does not. A simple fact of life.

2.) We're free, free, free. Tracey Chapman just told me to say that. But, this too (our freedom), is another fact of life. This is track #3 on Bonnie's copy of Crossroads, and Chapman sings, "Everybody sing: We're free, free, free." Perhaps, being a smartass, you are now thinking: Well, if someone told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that? And we will answer that question in due time, but the answer is irrelevant to this instance because we are free, free, free. It is something I believe, and something I make reality by singing it. You should sing it too, make it your reality. "Let us all be free." With the finite medium of language, create some idea of infinity, of freedom. Say the words. Incant them.

3.) This is slighlty related to the jumping off the bridge thing. Today, I thought a lot about swimming, and staying underwater, and how much I wanted to be underwater. I really love being underwater; there is something liberating and even a little religious about the water and submerging yourself in it, cutting yourself off from the world we live in, holding your breath for as long as possible, trying your damnedest to stay down there. This was sort of provoked by me thinking about how I love underwater pool scenes in movies, and trying to come up with a unified theory about what underwater scenes in movies mean. First off, there is The Graduate, which uses underwater scenes more deftly than any other film. I pictured Dustin Hoffman sitting in that silly scuba suit in the bottom of the backyard pool, suburban isolation made absurd, also dealing with issues of escapism, perhaps even the ability to trascend our perhaps dull existences with water. Next up, there is Being John Malcovich, with the last scene being beyond cool, showing the kid swimming through the pool, showing the birth of all us of, and how weird this process of life is. The other one I thought of wasBoogie Nights, when Dirk Diggler cannonballs into the pool, mirroring his descent into the world of porn that soon follows. Mainly, I just thought of this one because I like picturing Mark Wahlberg half-naked and all wet. Anyways, I came up with no unified theory of the significance of pools in American cinema, but did decide that yes, I might jump off a bridge - that if I had to pick a way to die (other than of natural causes, obviously), I would choose drowning. There is something utterly magical about being underwater.

4.) I have not updated here in a while, this is because I'm conducting a little experiment somewhere else, but I will start updating here again I think. News from the past week that has gone unreported here: still jobless, kissed a really hot boy, Eric, for some reason didn't sleep with him that night, let him give me a grand tour of Madison the next day, where I decided that he was kind of lame, also decided that I am in love with his best friend, Justin, the most beautiful boy ever (seriously), and have been blowing off Eric's attempts to get together. Heard Katherine Dunn speak,sweated a lot in the heat, went to a bad rock concert. Still jobless, but applied to be a waiter at the Best Western two blocks from our house, and it looks promising. And I love America, and want to get its number.

a conversation I just had with Eric, which is probably nowhere near verbatim...

...and probably reconstruced in my mind to make me sound better than I actually am:

Eric: Hey, Charlie

Charlie: Hey Eric, what's up?

E: I'm bored.

C: I'm sorry.

E: Yeah, can we get together and hang out tonight, I'm so bored, I can even come over there if you want, and just out with Bonnie and you. Would that be cool?

C: Um, no, I really don't feel like doing anything. I mean, I'm getting lots of writing done. Bonnie's not here, and so I'm being so good to myself and getting lots done.

E: So, you don't want to hang out tonight?

C: No, I'm really getting so much good stuff out of me right now.

E: Um [slight hesitation and umming], I feel like I already asked this... and I don't want to sound obnoxious... and [more hesitation], I'm not saying it's anything racial, like a black/white thing, but I just sort of get the feeling that you don't like me [more hesitation and then some other half sentances trying to explain himself]

C: Well, no, not really...

E: Is it because of the CIA thing?

C: [I laughed because it actually sort of was] Well, kind of. I mean, it wasn't the reason, but it was one. It just seemed real indicative of how much we didn't click... how much we didn't have in common.

E: Well yeah, I know that we're two opposite types of people but.... I had a really good time talking to you.... and I thought you did too..

C: Yeah, I did, but you know, I mean... [now my turn to hesitate], and I'm sorry for not being more upfront with you, that's a big problem of mine is actually telling people how I feel.... so I'm sorry.... but yeah.

And then, there were awkard good-byes and stuff, before I got off the phone with him. This all just occured and I am sort of glad because I really did not like Eric all that much, but am also sort of sad because [and yes, I know this reason, is going to make me sound like a sick motherfucker, but whatever, it's true] now I have blown the numerous opportunities that I would have had to hang out with Justin, since Eric and him are best friends. But, I'm glad that I was finally honest - I should have told him this earlier, but I just thought he would stop calling after I had blown him off so many times. And if I had been bored, I probably would have hung out with him tonight, but I was telling the truth - I am getting so much thinking done. I finished constructing this journal today, and was pasting things into it and writing in it, my form of meditation ,when he called, and I was so eager to get off the phone and get back to me, to me, to my thoughts, and to my work. And one of the rules I just made for my new journal was to not talk about any details of my day in it, so I had to post this here real quick, and now it is back to my palpable journal.


bonnie, this is so out of control. i cannot even believe that you took my deodoront on your chicago trip. dude, you need to go buy some new deodoront. you cannot just take mine on your little camping trip. dude, it is hot as balls, and i am sweating, and am going to stink big time without my wonderful tom's canlendula deodorant. does anyone else think this is out of control? i am really just flabbergasted that you have absconded to the windy city with my fucking deodorant - you are so outrageous. grrr. i'm going to need to put on something a little more rageful than tracey chapman now.

America, your fields are green, and so am I

It was very difficult to pick a mood for this entry. None of those moods really seemed appropriate for how I have been feeling today. I woke up at first, feeling ish from drinking so much the night before, but that ishy feeling transformed into a serene, drained feeling where everything seemed beautiful and my eyes watered four times today because I almost cried for no reason at all. I wasn't sad or upset or laughing hard. I was just driving in Bonnie's car around town, looking at the sky, listening to Smashing Pumpkins, getting goosebumps all over from the air conditioning, and my eyes kept watering throughout the day. It was that kind of day - just one of those very emotionally intense days - I honestly felt like I was tripping so many times today. I wanted to drive forever in Bonnie's car, things felt so good in there, the sky was mine, America was also, and Wisconsin was the most beautiful place on Earth. I thought about Ginsburg's question, the one that makes me quiver somewhere deep inside each time I hear it, I shouted from the saftey of Bonnie's car today: America, when will you be angelic?

And, I realized that the question looked at things the wrong way, that the question should be: America, why do I not realize how fucking angelic you are each day, each moment - when, America, will I be angelic enough to realize that you are? The sky was something divine, and so was the Beltline I was driving on with mobile people, cars that could probably do 120 if they weren't so fucking in love with driving, with being here on this road, with billboards, and green land, and discount stores, and each other. And I shouted my own America lines, yelling them with such conviction that I got goosebumps and my eyes watered yet again.

So when I got home and got a call from Eric seeing if I still wanted to go with him tonight, I manically told him vague details about why I couldn't: that I had a found a photo of some random woman at the thrift store, and that I was having such a good day, and that I had so much to do, so much, and no, I could not go watch fireworks. Life was calling me to do something else besides sit with a clique of cute gay boys and 300,000 other people watching pyrotechnics in celebration of this land, this country, these streets that I want to spread my seed all over. Eric told me that I should come to the Cardinal Bar later tonight, that him and Justin were going to be there. And yes, Justin did sound appealing, and I was even considering going, but things did not work out so well. But, we'll get to that later.

I got back in the car, listened to the Smashing Pumpkins again, especially to "Today." Over and over. Singing along with Billy, realizing how beautiful and happy a song that this is, how it is my song, our song, and really, Bonnie made some comment when I said how "good" an album this is, saying that she didn't know if she'd use "good" to describe it. But fuck you, and your pretentious musical inclinations that you think will make you a hipster, go on and sing along to Belle and Sebastin, Wilco, the White Stripes and whoever else, just as long as masses of people don't like it, especially masses of American youth, because we all know about them. But we don't, or you don't and I want to. The lyrics to "Today" are so wonderful:
Today is the greatest
Day I've ever known
Can't wait for tomorrow
I might not have that long
I'll tear my heart out
Before I get out
And then at the end, good ol' Billy lets out a stirring lament, a call to our senses, imploring us to see how wonderful today is, repeating, yelling, trying his damnedest to liberate us, "I want to turn you on." And Billy, you did. You needn't worry - today I saw the magic of todays, of getting into staring matches with setting suns, stars, fucking stars, and winning, beating these cosmic objects in staring matches and loving it, the redness that signals its defeat across the horizon again making my eyes water, and yes goosebumps again.

My nerve endings are so sensitive today, I really feel that it may be that I am detoxing, after being drizzityunk every night for the past month - that is the only thing I can think of. Because as soon as the sun had set, and Bonnie had left for the windy city with her fellow PIRGers, I put on some lounge music, and lied down feeling so weird and trippy on the couch, getting a blanket because I was so cold, my exposed skin was getting so many goosebumps even though I was sweating because it's the dog days of summer and we are without air conditioning. I then faded into a weird delirious half-sleep where for five minutes I thought I was chewing gum, but then realized I did not have any gum in my mouth. These cannot be very good signals for my mental health, but hopefully these are freak ocurrences and not symptoms of some bigger condition. I then slept for about two hours on our couch, and even after I woke up, I did not have the strength to sit up, I kept on leaning over until I was lying down sideways. It was a very weird day, and really I don't know what any of it was provoked by. So yeah, that's why I did not meet Eric and hunk a hunk of burning love Justin at the Cardinal Bar. I just started feeling somewhat close to normal (and this goes without saying, but: whatever the hell that means) about an hour ago, and now I am wide awake. I have hand hole-punched seventy-five sheets of card stock paper that I am going to fashion into a journal with a blue astro turf cover made from stuff I bought today at Home Depot. And I feel fucking wonderful, and I wish that it was not 3:30 in the morning, so I could still go out, but yeah. Another exciting consumerist indulgence today: at the pay by the pound thrift store, I bought the Ungame for only twenty something cents. The ungame is such a cool game, it's a product of the 70's that you can occasionally find in thrift stores if you're lucky, where there's no winner, and the purpose of the game is to talk about your feelings. Some sample questions for your thinking pleasure:

What spiritual goal are you reaching for?
What four things are most important in your life?
Describe a happy family.
How would you define love?
If you could hang a motto or saying in every home in the world, what would it be?
How do you feel about growing old?
What do you think it's like after you die?
Share a time you had hurt feelings.

Doesn't this game sound so fun? I have always been so intrigued by the Ungame, and it has a real silly board, it's so great. There's five pieces here, and I am wide awake, but of course by myself, so in my little fantasy world, if I could have four other players here with me now, who would they be? (PS- lately, I really like asking myself silly fantasy questions like this) Bonnie, Rebecca, Justin, and my sister.

And now, I don't know what to do with myself. I really would like to go to bed, so I do not sleep until four in the afternoon tomorrow but I do not see myself falling asleep anytime soon, so maybe I'll read or something. Oh, I have a great idea, maybe I'll read a real boring book that I've meaning to get though, will have gotten a little further into it, and then will konk the fuck out. Oh yeah, where the hell is that copy of Ulysses?

Saturday, June 29, 2002

billy corgan still has the ability to melt my heart, after all these years

Last night, after Bonnie got off of work, I was supposed to call Eric to hang out with us, but Bonnie was going to her PIRG party, and I wanted to hang out with Bonnie, but I thought it would be weird if I brought a friend to the PIRG party since I don't even really work there. So, I told him that I couldn't hang out - but I also told them because I am not sure I like him. There are some things I didn't mention about yesterday, about how Eric is sort of dorky, and not in a good way at all. When we were waiting around the Capital, he started talking about how much he liked the CIA, and I flipped out and went on and on about how horrible the CIA is, and was really pissed that this boy could like the CIA. It's like someone saying they really like fascism or the KKK. And then after I explained numerous atrocities and military coups that the CIA was responsible for, he said that he liked the idea behind it - the idea being "global security." I swear to God, I almost yelled at him, but instead was civil Marxist and talked about the imperialism of American business interests and the exploitation of foreign labor and resources, and asked him if that's what he meant by "global security."

That meant me a lot less interested in him right there, and Bonnie says that I'm a snot for this, but I think that's so indicative of what a person's broader beliefs are - the little things contribute to the big picture. People should think whatever they want, blah blah blah, but I just cannot get around things like this - I am a snot, I admit it. What was the straw that broke the camel's back though was when he told me his favorite movies, and as his first favorite he listed motherfucking Independence Day. You have got to be fucking kidding me, right?

Okay, and there really are other reasons that I am not that attracted to him. He reminds me eerily of Cory Ross, they have the exact same personality, and that's just something I cannot deal with. He's buff. Too buff. There is such a thing. And he's so silly and dorky and nice. I like people with edge that have a wicked streak. I don't know. We'll just go with what Bonnie said, and agree that I am a snob.

So, I thought that after I blew him off last night and told him that I didn't want to go the party with him, and that I'd call him sometime later this weekend, that that would be that and there would be no more Eric. But, he called this morning, and was talking in that stupid motherfucking nice voice. I mean, the actual voice isn't anything nice or special - I mean the way that he talks, he just sounds nice and naive and goddamn it, sound pissy or something! And he invited me to go to Rhythm and Boom with him (Madison's 4th of July fireworks show that is for some reason held on June 29 - I don't get it either.), and since Bonnie is leaving to go to Chicago PrideFest with PIRG tonight, I told him I'd go, because I don't want to have to sit at home all night (actually wait, I kind of like doing that, I lied), but I don't know, I have no fucking idea, I just know that Justin is going to and it sounded good to me.

People, I am beyond obsessed with Justin. I don't even know what to call it - spellbound maybe - because I just find myself randomly picturing him smiling in my head, like last night when I was about to fall asleep, and had to be like "Stop thinking about Justin, you sicko brain." Then today, I was at this Bargain Barnish store, sifting through clothes that were only $1 a pound, and didn't even realize I was thinking about Justin, and then I became conscious again, and laughed out loud, and thought to myself, "What the hell is wrong with me?" People, I don't know about going to this fireworks thing with these people, I feel like I am just going to become mute again, and try to avoid blatantly staring at Justin.

Anyways, that's enough of me sounding like stereotypical gay boy - last night, I made myself a really nice martini, talked to Nora on the phone, who I am again liking and missing, and then went with Bonnie to her work's "luau party," and so Bonnie was wearing this utterly insane Chiquita banana lady dress. I wanted to walk there, which I was soon regretting halfway, when I realized how I totally underestimated how far away this house was. We finally got there though, to what Bonnie has very excitedly told me was luau party - we walk in the door, and there are probably seven people just sitting on these couches, listening to the Beatles' "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," none of them in luau attired, nothing at all to even hint that this was a luau party, other than Bonnie's insane outfit. I was sort of regretting having agreed to come to the party, since it looked like it was going to be real dreary, and since I especiailly hate hate hate the Beatles. Bonnie and I got some beers and then said something about the music, and soon we had dance music on, and Bonnie broke out her ass that she loves to shake and soon the PIRGers were dancing, and the party improved dramatically. And that was the night, and a fairly fun one at that: drinking beer, dancing to bad music, and talking to really cool PIRGers, one of whom is Maggie fucking Ray. Okay, not really. But pretty much. Bonnie had told me there was this girl at her work, Sara, that was just like Maggie Ray. And, you know how people are always saying that about people, and then you meet the person and they don't remind you at all of that person. Well, Bonnie was right. This girl is Maggie Ray. She talks exactly like her in that sort of husky friendly voice, makes the exact same facial expressions, dances like her, and even sort of looks like her. It was so weird to see her, and made me really question what Maggie Ray is, what I am, what you are, what we all are. If there is another person exactly like us out there, what does that mean about us? Are we not distinct individuals like we like to think? What the hell - it was so weird.

Friday, June 28, 2002

pretty's boy name is justin

In my last entry, I went on for quite a while, and would have gone on for even longer if I wasn't constrained by time, about how incredibly beautiful this one boy at the club was last night. This visage, what seemed like a vision of what a beautiful boy was supposed to like, sent from somewhere, maybe even Brian Adams' Heaven, this boy that I was ready to cream my pants about - yeah, him - well, today on our little tour of Madison, when we were walking through the Terrace, guess who stands up and yells over for Eric to come over and sit with him - yeah, him - the most beautiful boy in the world is appearantly Eric's best friend. This dashing young lad's name is Justin. We sat down with Justin and his volleyball playing boyfriend who is nowhere near as beautiful as Justin.

People, I had to sit across from Justin and not drool all over myself, and not seem too predatory, and hoped that he did not remember me staring at him from across the club last night for way too long. He has this wonderful complexion, and one of those really well-defined and manicured gay male faces, gorgeous green eyes, and really short blonde hair, and I really wish I could sneak a picture of him, so you could understand how red hot this boy is. Okay, and the cherry on top on this little cute boy pie is his motherfucking accent: Yes, indeed, he has a Wisconsin accent. People, I said about two words the entire time we were sitting there - when I am around beautiful boys, I really do become mute. I just sat there most of the time, watching the conversation, and watching pretty boy Justin.

But sadly, my little "date" was not with Justin, but was with Eric, who is also a pretty boy sort of, but dresses real silly (gay male tanktops, leather sandels, and tight jeans). He's a little too buff for me, I guess I am not really attracted by muscle, but instead like lanky boys. We walked all around town, him explaining just about every building to me, which was cute to see him so excited about all these buildings. After we left the Terrace, being a big dork, I told him that I had sort of been wanting to go on a tour of the Capitol ever since I've been in town. And surprisingly, he got real excited about this idea, and so we were off down State Street, where every ten feet we ran into some other beautiful person that he knew. I felt so awkward having to talk to all these people who for whatever reasons intimidated me, my preconceptions about what type of people they must be just because they styled their hair.

So we finally made it to the Capital, and went on the 3 o'clock tour with Jen. If anyone ever goes on this tour, you should try to go the hour that Jen is leading the tour. Picture MTV's Daria as a tour guide, and you would have our tour guide. We were definitly the only people between the age of 12 and 35 on the tour, looking somewhat out of place, but I really like doing touristy things. Our little group was probably about thirty people big, filled with little kids, parents, and familys, and the first thing Jen says is how she hates giving tours to fourth graders, how they all ask stupid questions, and how she has to tell them to shut up, and how she hates people that ask stupid questions, and then gave examples that I'm sure were meant to scare our group from asking any questions. Before the actual tour started, some woman's cell phone rang and she went to the side to answer it, but it took a while for her to do this, and it was still ringing, and Jen sighs "Obnoxious!" real loud, even though this woman's family is still in the tour group. And then it went on from there, with occasional other snide remarks from her, one of them a joke about taxidermy and Wisconsin that was so out of control. You should take a tour from her quick, because I have a feeling that she is not going to be employed there for long, all the families in our group kept looking at each other in dismay when ever Jen would say something uncouth. I am sure that she must get so many complaints.

So we walked back down State Street afterwards, where Eric had to call Justin at 4:15 because Justin is obsessed with order and time, and they were supposed to go watch Justin's boyfriend play his volleyball match at this bar. They wanted me to go, but I declined because I felt like I could not handle being around beautiful Justin for so long, especially while drinking, and while his boyfriend was on some volleyball court. So Eric walked me home, and he's supposed to call me tonight after the game, so we can do something.

But, I don't know if I'll be home because I just remembered that Katherine Dunn (Geek Love) is giving a talk at Canterbury books at seven. So, I'm off to that right now. And PS - I did not apply for one job today, but found out that Noodles and Company is no longer hiring, and so now I offically have no prospects, but am thinking about doing in home care for disabled people since there are like a million of those places hiring. I'll feel real bad about quitting those after a month, but you know, I really do need money, I am so broke right now.

"If you smoke like I smoke, you get high like everyday

I am so excited right now, and there is so much that I want to talk about, but I don't know how much time I have to update here. I am very shortly supposed to go on what I guess is sort of a date, with this boy Eric, who I met last night at Rainbow Room. He is going to give me the grand tour of Madison, which I actually am really excited about.

Last night, Bonnie and I went to this concert that I won free tickets to off of WORT, and so, since we were just going to hear some tiny rock bands, I didn't bother to make an effort at looking nice at all, instead wearing this grungy gray t-shirt with a very noticable wine stain on it, and a pair of blue worker pants. The concert was held at the Corral Room, which is this tiny little restaurant thingy with everyone sitting in the booths listening to the band, and a huge open floor in the center where tables probably used to be. The band wasn't that good, and we were sort of uncomfortable since we couldn't sit down like everyone else, but instead had to stand back by the bar. After the first band finished their set, we executed our escape, and made for the door as quickly as possible, deciding that we would go to the Rainbow Room since it was only two blocks away, it was Stripper Night, and a bunch of Bonnie's friends from PIRG were going to be there.

The other couple times we have been to the Rainbow Room, there have not been the most savory people there, and so, I would have felt perfectly attired in my aforementioned scruffy outfit, but last night was like hot, fashionable boy night there or something. There were so many boys that were beyond red hot, that made me even more excited about this little town called Madison, that there were so many hot gay guys here. We got there before the PIRGers and so stood around drinking and watching the same two strippers rotate performing real silly dances. The strip show was real dissapointing, just because I am used to Wet in DC, where there is no actual stripping - there are a bunch of strippers who dance on the bar naked, waving their dicks in your face, and so compared to DC, this strip show was real tame.

But, of even more interest to me than the strippers up on stage, was a certain boy on the other side of the stage. I could pretend to be looking at the stripper, but really stare at this beautiful boy, who really is the prettiest boy my memorey thinks it has even seen. Ask Bonnie, he was just such a pretty boy.

Soon, Bonnie's PIRGers arrived, and Rebecca brought her gay friend was visiting her, Jim. And oh my god, I really did not say one word at all to Jim last night, I was too scared to even make eye contact with him. I just kept stealing glances at his wrists, which were so tiny and beyond beautiful in their delicateness. Hot, fashionable boys always intimidate me so much, especially when I am dressed so so unfashionable. So yeah, Jim=red hot. And because of this, I spent very little time around Bonnie and the PIRGers, if that makes any sense, because Jim made me very insecure. Which meant I ended up talking to so many random people last night. I met two boys, excited about both of them, before I started talking to Eric, who made both of them seem real unexciting. I talked to Eric for so long at the bar last night, and when Modjo's "Lady" came on, I made him dance with me, which was so much fun. Then we went back to the bar and talked still more, sometime during which, Tom came and talked to me, and told me that his cell phone had died or something silly, but he also looked so cute, and so I am again determined to get with Tom sometime this summer.

Bonnie and I were both drizzityunk, and so neither of us were in a very suitable condition to drive when they were closing the bar, and Eric offered to drive Bonnie's car home for us. And so, he did, making him seem even cooler, especially when he talked in French and Italian to Bonnie. He hung out in our room for a while, talking and drinking, before we drove him home. And I walked him up to his building, and we kissed and it was so, so wonderful, and so what I have been wanting forever. He wanted me to stay with him, but I was silly and declined, because I sort of didn't want to and also because I was feeling sort of sick for drinking so much. So, I kissed him some more goodnight. And then after a really nice kiss, I broke away, before he could ask me again to stay with him, before I changed my mind, and ran back to Bonnie's car and said good night again.

Ahh, and he just called and I'm supposed to meet him now for our little tour, so I've gots to go.

Thursday, June 27, 2002


Goddamn it. I just talked to Dave on the phone, who I sort of did not want to talk to. I knew it was him that was calling and so I was just going to let the phone ring, but stupid Grahmbo picked it up and so then I had to talk to Dave. Dave is a nice guy and all, but he's 33. He's the livejournaler that Bonnie and I hung out with a couple nights ago - I was sort of worried that he would try to be more than friends. And my worries proved all too true. At the end of the night, he made out with me, even though I didn't want to at all. God, I should have talked about how grossed out by him I was when it happened in my diary, but I couldn't because motherfucker reads my diary, and would be very offended. I have no problem being friends with him, and when he called the next day, I said that it wouldn't be weird being friends with him, but that it did creep me out when he kissed me. But he still drops all these little innuendos into our phone conversations, that are really just little things, like remarking on how hot he thinks I am or how much I masturbate, but from him, from someone that I want to have a very asexual relationship, it is sort of disturbing and leads me to believe that he still likes me in a way that I am not completely comfortable with. Yesterday, he said that he wanted to go canoeing today, and since I really don't have a job or a life, and he knows that I just basically sit around the house all day, I could not just say no, so I said maybe. And, I was planning on just not answering the phone this afternoon to avoid contact with him, but that stupid Graham had to tell him I was here. I hate that motherfucking phone with a passion.

This was very bad news because I called Noodles and Company today around four, and left a message with someone, someone who told me that the manager would give me a call back in a short while. And half an hour later when the phone rang, I was too scared to answer the phone, too worried that it would be Dave, and that I would have to hang out with him, so I just did not answer it, assuming that it was Dave, since the Noodles and Company woman said that the manager might also have already left for the day. And grr, because of stupid Dave, I didn't get to talk to them. When he just called, he apoligized for not calling earlier, which meant that it was not him that called at 4:30, but probably was most likely indeed Noodles and Company, who I would have been able to set up an interview with and hopefully have started working at soon.

And then the "lecherous" [his own words] Dave wanted to know if we were doing anything tonight and I told him I didn't know if Bonnie would want to go out after she got home from work. But really, we are going to a concert tonight, and I just did not want to go to a concert with some 33 year old guy who would have been hitting on me, so we are just not going to answer the phone tonight when he calls.

I really don't like that I have a LiveJournal. I mean, I do, but I also don't. I feel so out of place here - I'm such a brand whore, and feel like I am switching to a different brand after wearing Converse all my life or something. There are some aspects of livejournal that I really like: the dialogic nature of it, how some entries can be private and others public, the current mood and music function, the stronger community. But, D-land has been home to be for a while now, I feel out of place here - like my roommate's having sex and so I'm sleeping on someone's couch just for a while - not exactly comfortable, feeling out of place. I had been thinking about trying out livejournal for a while, but now Dave has made me really want to try it, so I can talk about him or any other people that read my diary, without having to worry about hurting anyone's feelings because I can simply lock these entries.

In other news, Shannon just came to my door shirtless asking for a mirror, and I gave him one, and asked him what it was for. And he was just looking at it lying flat in his palms, and kept on repeating, "Oh yeah, this is perfect." And, I don't know what is wrong with me, but the only reason I could think he needed a small mirror was to do drugs. And yes, I did in fact, just ask Heartthrob USA, "Is it to snort stuff off of?" But, I don't even think he heard me because he answered me right after I asked it completely unfazed, saying that he was cutting the hair of the back of his neck.

Tuesday, June 25, 2002

too many phone calls while i tried to write this

Option #1: Leave my room door open, which allows for a little more circulation with the effects of cross-ventilation, but not even that much more circulation. But any amount is a godsend. Take it where you can get it, as they say.

Option #2: Keep my door closed, so I can sit around in my room in my underwear and be even cooler.

The heat in our room is so oppresive. I know a couple entries ago, I went on and on about the benefits of heat, but I take it all back, every last word. I am tired of sweating all day. My ass sweats probably just as much as my forehead, which by the way, sweats an insane amount, meaning that my underwear is usually damp with warm sweat, which is not very pleasant, and so, I'd rather keep my door closed so that that way it is just sweat on my skin, instead of sweat soaking my clothes.

However much fun it is to sit around in my room naked, it is also occasionally problematic, since for some reason people have been knocking on my door these past couple days, which has not really happened at all since I've been here. But now that I just want to sit around naked in my room, in our little sweat lodge, people decide that they want to come talk to me, which requires awkward stretches of time while I hurriedly get dressed so I can answer the door or the phone. I have found that it is better to just sit around in underwear, because I don't mind answering the door in underwear and it gets rid of those weird waits they have to do until I answer the door.

Underwear also serves another beneficial purpose. It prevents me from masturbating all day. Yesterday, I was of course just sitting around naked in the heat reading, when I decided to masturbate since I was already naked and I had nothing else to do. And luckily, I got up and bolted the door before I did, because right as I was getting really into masturbating, knock knock knock [noise of the door handle turning but not opening because of the bolt]. I was very embarrased, and thought that it was Bonnie coming back from hanging out with her family, so I quickly tried to look presentable, tossed through all the clothes on our floor, looking desperatly for a pair of shorts, put on a pair and then unlocked and opened the door to see an empty hall. I heard someone call my name and come back down the hall towards my room, and was about to apoligize to Bonnie, and then of course, who is it? None other than the heartthrob of Babcock House, our one sort of friend in the house, Shannon. He asks real hurriedly, "What are you doing?" I stutter trying to think of something that would explain why it took me so long to get the door and why I am just in this little pair of shorts, "Um, um, um - just reading stuff and playing on the internet." He so knew I was jacking off, I could tell, and then he said, "Can you drive me somewhere?" And I told them that I just had to get dressed and he said that he'd meet me in the parking lot. Very very embarrasing, and by the time I finally got down to the parking lot, he told me not to worry about it, that he found someone else to drive him, since they knew the Madison streets better. As soon as I got back to my room, I just gasped with embarrasment and hit my hand against the couch in a sad attempt to somehow physically express my state of shock.

Then today, after I got out of the shower, I just sat around naked for like an hour, drying off, and reading the news on the internet. I thought about masturbating but decided I should start getting dressed so I could go apply for some jobs today. And so, I put on a pair of underwear and then "Rebel, Rebel" came on the Bowie CD that I was listening to, and I got totally distracted from getting dressed, becoming way to into singing along with Bowie the second I heard, "You got your mother in a whirl / She's not sure if you're a boy or a girl." Knock, knock, knock. I open up the door, still in my silly underwear, and yes, it is Heartthrob USA again, Shannon, and this time he is shirtless. And, I felt like such a little boy looking into this mirror of how I wish my chest looked, like I was eleven again in front of the full-length mirrors in my parent's bedroom before they got home from work, shirtless and doing some Hulk Hogan arm thingys to show off the pythons that I had in my daydreams.

[Joel just right now knocked on my door to tell me I had a phone call and Bonnie did to, and I answered the door again in my underwear and Joel gave me a very puzzled look like he couldn't understand that I am just wearing underwear cause it is goddman hot up in this Babcock house. The call for me was Niki and the other one was scary Elton John Boy calling for Bonnie who will be mentioned later in this entry.]

A span of seriously of fifteen seconds occured after I wrote that, before the phone rang again, and it was Nora, who I haven't talked to in forever and it was so nice to talk to her, but while I was on the phone with her, scary Elton John Boy, who from now on will be referred simply as Scary Boy called back twice and hung up. All this phone activity has made me decide to just continue wearing shorts so I don't have to scurry to get dressed everytime that goddamn phone rings.

Okay anyways, there have been far too many interruptions during this thingy, so I am going to just forgo any attempts to make some sort of transition between whatever I was talking about and what I want to talk about now: last night. Always a good topic when you run out of things to talk about, and an even better one when something actually occured during said "last night." Like so many stories, this one will also start out with that modern version of "once upon a time," the ubiquitous "Last night...," showing all too vividly the collapse of historical concerns, how we don't care what happened during some vague time, we need a defined temporal setting, and one that is not too far back, something that happened recently, whatever the hell that means.

Last night, Bonnie and I met up with Dave and went for drinks at Paradise, this bar that played super loud rock n' roll, some of it really good (Rolling Stones and NIN (shut-up, I still like NIN, you snot)) and some of it not so really good (Rage and songs I have no idea who they're sung by). [God, I think this is the worst entry ever, I keep on getting sidetracked by the phone. I actually just talked to Dave on the phone, and I am getting sort of tired of writing this entry, so the rest is going to be brief.] We could hardly hear each other talk because the music was so loud, but we managed to carry on a fun conversation regardless, and drank a couple pitchers of beer, and ate some cheese curds. I talked to some sketchy boy who told me some long story about going down on his girlfriend, and how she'll never let him make her cum, because she has some sort of issues that I never fully grasped. But anyways, he said that he needed to hear girls scream when he had sex with them, and how he's frustrated by her not cumming and screaming. And on and on, except he was a lot more graphic and had the cutest smile on his face the whole while, and I was seriously getting a boner listening to him talk so dirty. I love talking to totally random people about their lifes, bars are so fun in this respect.

We decided to try a different bar, hopefully one where we could talk more. We went next door to the Shamrock, but got turned away because Bonnie's a silly girl and forgot her ID at home. Then we went to the Rainbow Ro [I kid you not, another phone interuption. This time it was Niki babbling drunkenly about something or other.] om, where I met Tommy, who kept on hitting on me, and trying to convince me to come to Club-5 with him. He was pretty cute though, and so I flirted back with him, which was pretty fun. The Rainbow Room was my fantasy bar last night, it was what I always hoped they would be like, you know the "Cheers" vision of bars that everyone has, "where everybody knows your name." Everyone called the bartender by his name, Jeff. And everyone was so friendly and not exclusive at all and talked to everyone, which was really nice to see in a gay bar of all places. The three of us got up to put some tunes on the jukebox and put on the most non-gay music we could find on the jukebox (Johnny Cash, Violent Femmes, and Prince and Fleetwood Mac (who may still be sort of gay music, but compared to the other stuff on the jukebox, it was hetero as it could get)). We put on Elton John's "Benny and the Jets," because that is definitly in my top five favorite songs ever (Bonnie can testify - because of my love and repetition of this song, she hates it so much). While this was playing, Scary Boy, some short, chubby guy, told all of us how he played with Elton John and all these wild lies about himself. We were listening to him, unlike probably anyone else, and he sort of took a liking to Bonnie, so somehow we got him to buy us drinks. He would eventually buy us three rounds of drinks, but we definitly had to pay for it later, listening to his insane lies about how he used to be a stripper and how he had a sheet of acid, and just all sorts of bogus boasting.

A couple songs after Elton John, "Landslide" came on, another one of my choices and Tommy came up to me again and asked again if I'd come to Club-5 with him. I was sort of getting aroused by Tommy, because he is young and thin and Lindsey. Tommy was so Lindsey Montanna in so many respects. He reminded me so much of her, because he talked the same way in that really crude but funny manner, and had the same "Oh my gawd" facial expressions. [Scary Boy just called again and tried me to get him to tell him where this house was located. Scary.] So yeah, I haven't had sex in forever and seriously sort of wanted to go home with Tommy but didn't want to be real trashy, getting with someone I've known for five minutes, so I needed an excues to justify being a slut. I told him if he could tell me who sings this song, then I'll go with you. Now remember this is fucking "Landslide," probably one of the easiest songs in the world do identify, but he kept guessing all these completely wrong people, sort of to my dismay, since I was hoping he knew something about music, but even more so, because I sort of wanted to go with him. Yeah, I know I'm such an idiot about some things. Thanks for the reminder. But, he gave me his number before he left and I told him I'd go out with him tonight, but I forgot to call, and I'll call him after I finish writing this, but I'm sure he'll already be gone by then.

People, I really need to get off the computer, I have been writing this stupid entry forever. Quick wrap-up: We for some reason gave Scary Boy our phone number because we were drizzityunk and really wanted to score some acid from him, which in retrospect now, I realize he probably did not have. He followed us as we walking. We stopped at a corner to say good-bye to him, Bonnie gave him a hug which turned into him making out with her. Dave thoughtfully rescued Bonnie by grabbing her and telling her we had to go, but Scary Boy followed us and kept talking to us and walking with us, all the while saying, "I'm not following you or nothing, I live this way." Even though, we literally kept on turning back and forth down the street trying to get away from him. We finally took off running, but he ran too. But, then real randomly he just stopped following us once we got near State Street. But, this boy is so scary, and if he calls one more time, I'm going to verbally kick his ass through the phone line - I just really hope none of the other Babcock boys pick up the phone and answer his seemingly innocous questions: Is this a rooming house? What type of house is this? So, where is it located? --- Bonnie ofically has a stalker.

We jumped around in the fountain in front of the library. I pushed Bonnie down into the water. Some random girl, jokingly yelled at me, and said she was going to kick my ass. I challenged her to wrestle, egging her on, and she came in the fountain and we had a splashing match. Fun times. God, I've been writing this forever, type to bring it to a close. We walked Dave home, ending up drinking in front of [Bonnie just called and I was less than cordial, cause I am getting goddamn motherfucking tired of talking on that phone. If one more person calls tonight, I am going to kick some motherfucking ass.] his dorm. Till really late and yada yada yada, I am getting the fuck offline.

Sunday, June 23, 2002

the hunt for vagina

So right after I posted my last entry, Bonnie and her sister, Caroline came in from a day of driving around with their parents, and got me to go out dinner with their family at Essen Hause, this Old German style restaurant, with the staff dressed in fun outfits, a super loud polka band, and countless varietes of beer you've never heard of. I had brats and a large quantity of Schwarz beer. Lately, I have become quite a fan of beers, and Schwarz (black) beer may very well be my new favorite type - it's just so damn good. There wasn't too much conversation at dinner because as was already mentioned, but perhaps not fully grasped by you, the reader, is that this polka band was loud. So loud that you could only talk to the person right next to you by yelling into their ear, which was a good thing then, because it meant that I hardly had to converse with Bonnie's family at all, which is nothing against Bonnie's family, but just against having to converse with any friend's parents, it is always so nerve-wracking for some reason to think of something to say after they say some statement. Anyways, the food and beer were so good - it has been so long since I've eaten at a German restaurant, it was real fun. But what was even more fun than the brats, or the schwarz beer, or our cute waiter in his Sound of Musicish green shorts and suspenders, was what happened after we had finished our food. Bonnie and I pressured Caroline into polka dancing with her dad, who was really excited about polka dancing. And then they took the floor in front of the band, and boy oh boy, was that some bad "polka" dancing. There was a couple that was polka dancing a little bit before they went out that were really good, and my mom's family is from Minnesota and they always have polka music at wedding receptions and things, so I know what it is supposed to look like, and I can safely say friends that this was not polka dancing. I'd really like to describe it for you accurately so that you could understand why Bonnie, Teresa, and I were laughing so hard while we were watching them, why I had to occasionally struggle for breath because I was laughing so hard. But, it was real entertaining and they were both far braver than I would have been for even attempting to dance in a restaurant full of people in polka country.

Then Caroline and her dad came back to the table, and to the astonishment of Caroline and I, Bonnie got up to dance with her dad even though she just spent five minutes laughing at Caroline. Bonnie seemed to be doing a bit better than Caroline during the first song but it was still far too hilirious too handle. Then they danced to a second song and this one was far, far worse than Caroline's. A girl couple was doing a little polka parade march around the floor, and Bonnie and her dad tried imitating their dance moves and following them around in the circle, but they weren't doing such a good job with the imitating, and they were doing an even worse job with the following aspect. They kept crashing into the couple ahead of them, much to the amusement of Caroline and I - we were on our way out the door, standing, watching them, but we were laughing so hard, that we had to sit down on some steps just to hold our stomach.

Then we finally made it out of Essen Hause, and were on our way back to Bonnie's family's hotel. We were going to go look at the pool or something, but Bonnie's dad heard good jazz coming out of the hotel bar, and soon we were sitting at a table in this bar, watching this really fun jazz band, amongst a bunch of people that were very obviously some wedding party. The jazz band took a break and two really old men from the wedding party went up to the microphone and said they wanted to sing a song, and we cheered these two, cute old men on who were so slow-talking because they must have been at least seventy. And then they let in a dig at the band, saying that they had wanted some backup, but the band wasn't going to help out, so they were going to have to sing it "a ca-pell-la." Annuciated just like that in a very Wisconsin accent, so we knew we were in for a treat even before they started singing. And then they warned us that the song was "not anti-religous," that it was just a fun song.

I wish I would have had the foresight to remember the lyrics to this crazy song they wrote, because it was seriously the most non-sensical thing ever, I felt like I was on acid or something watching these crazy old men sing about Jesus' brother, "Al." That's right, Al was Jesus' brother's name, just in case you didn't know that. It was the most insane thing ever. Just one more insane incident in what would be a continious string of them last night. We finally left the bar because everyone was getting real tired, and Teresa went upstairs to bed, and Bonnie, Caroline, their dad, and I walked down State Street, which was beeming with loud, drunken packs of college kids. We ran into Heidi and Shane (both from PIRG), who were on their way to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show, talked to them for a while, and then headed further down State Street until Bonnie's dad decided that he was going to go back to the hotel. And I secretly was so relieved, so that now we could get a little crazy, or a little more so.

Random side note: I feel like I am much better about writing entries where nothing happens in my day because in those I tend to not be so detailed about everything I do (because obviously I didn't do anything), but the result of that is that the entries tend to be, at least in my opinion, a little more introspective and meaningful, where I try to put the (non)events in a broader picture, placing it somewhere in this thing called life - but with entries like these, I tend to just relay the events that took place just because it's a fun story I want to tell so that later on when I want to remember this night, I can just read this entry and laugh - so yeah, back to the cataloging of events:

We then went to this gay bar, The Rainbow Room, and spent a decent amount of time before we went in convincing Caroline (who is only 18) that she was Monica Novotny, since she was going to use Monica's old ID that Bonnie had, which looks absoultly nothing like Caroline. So Caroline showed the door guy her ID, and after inspecting it, she was in without question. But then I hand him my ID, which is of me, and is a real ID, and he says something like, "Oh, Florida must have got a new design for the licenses. [Sly chuckling since he thinks he's so clever for spotting a "fake ID"] But you can go in anyways, you look cute." I didn't say anything, just was happy to be in, but was sort of annoyed that I really do like like I am 12 even though I am 21 goddamnit. The place was a lot smaller than Club-5, and was mainly a bar with this tiny little dance floor that no one was really dancing on, but that's okay because there was no cover and they were also playing better music here. "Better music" meaning songs we knew the words to: Modjo's "Lady", Daft Punk's "One More Time," and lots of other songs we for some reason knew the words too. The three of us were dancing real wild and having a blast, shaking our asses, and just having so much goddamn fun. All the fun, though, made me hot and sweaty, and so I sat down on this barstool to cool off, and was approached by a bunch of gross guys that I did my best to blow off, particulary one ishy one who was dancing near Bonnie and Caroline on the stage and kept on doing this weird "come here" thing with his finger. [For those of you that read Bonnie's livejournal, this is also the guy that appearantly told her and Caroline that they smelled like fish]. Anyways, right as this scary guy was trying to get me dance with him, I was luckily rescued by this cute boy and girl who asked why I quit dancing, saying that they had come back from the bar to watch me dance some more. And they were real nice and non-threatening, so I started talking to them, and found out they were both flight attendents who just had a layover in Madison, Ashely and Rod (whose last name I later found out was "Lick" - what a porn star name, eh?- Rod Lick). These two were just beyond cool, and soon Caroline and Bonnie were talking with them too, and we all just bonded so quickly, I guess since they didn't really have any friends or ties here either. I kept on asking Rod all these questions I had about male flight attendents. How many of the male ones are gay? (about 90%) and on and on, him telling me about Amsterdam, which is where they usually have their layovers since they often work on the flights to India. We all talked more, and drank more, and danced more, and had such a good time in this tiny little bar that at first looked like it would not be that much fun.

Then some guy that was hitting on Rod asked him if he wanted to go to an afterparty, and Rod, being the wonderful person he is, said only if his three friends could also come (Bonnie, Caroline, and I). So soon, Rod, Ashley, Bonnie, Caroline, and I were following this insane boy Justin through the streets of Madison towards the Vagina. He said that we had to see this vagina that his friend made, some six foot tall vagina art or something. Justin must have been on speed or something because after explaining where we were all from and which ones of us were flight attendents, he asked about five more times real real hyper, "Okay, so which ones are the flight attendents?" And then "Huh, that's weird, all of you are flight attendents?" Justin is another person beyond words, he was real cute and had this great Wisconsin accent, but he was also so insane, basically circling these streets, saying "Okay, it's right up here." And then continuing with his insane lines of questioning, and annoucing how we were going to find the Vagina, and how we all had to see it, the Vagina. The word "vagina" become so comical last night, especially with Justin's accent and his constant repeition of the word, and how there was the fact that all of us liked cock, yet we were wondering the streets of Madison, on this perhaps metaphoric search for the elusive Vagina. What were we hoping to find? Soon, all of us started walking a little bit behind Justin, and discussing whether this boy was a lunatic, and if there really was an afterparty, or if should just run away before he killed us.

Justin proclaimed that he had found the house and soon we were walking up someone's stairs all of us exclaiming how we wanted to see pussy, how we wanted vagina, and then Justin leads us into some kitchen, asking a girl about The Vagina, and she tells Justin how it's not here. The vagina's not here. Now, how many levels of meanings could I pick out of that if I wanted to be real obnoxious? It's two houses down. The Vagina is two houses down. They moved it. They can appearantly move such things two houses down. So, the pack of us leave this house and go two houses down, looking for The Vagina. And there it is. In this house that reminded me so much of rolling and Brandeton, and every resident of Remington house, and any of Anne's friends. There were two turntables set up, and someone occasioally spinning techno, a bunch of people in the dark living room smoking pot. We went into the dining room to witness The Vagina. The artist that made the vagina was drizzityunk and was giving the most insane explantion of the meaning of his six foot tall, papier-mache Vagina. Something about the Virgin Mary's sexuality, fog machines, and Camaros if that makes any sense to you, because that is all I heard him say. I was letting my eyes do too much work, distracting my ears, and perhaps any thoughts that might have been in any type of mood to listen to drunken explanations of Art. I was too busy checking out Vagina Boy - he was red hot in the true sense of the word. He had bleached blond hair, and was wearing this tight tank top that showed off his gym toned arms and chest. When he started massaging the inside of the vagina, slowly rubbing his tough boy hand along the inner lip of the vagina, up and down, back up and then down again, slowly and methodically, talking about how you have to carress the vagina, with the hugest smile of delight on his face, I was seriously about to cream my motherfucking pants. So, we had found the elusive Vagina. We had found what we were looking for, at least in one sense. Can I start writing my name Hajii Q, for making it to our Mecca? Probably not, since the Vagina was never my Mecca, it was more like the goose in our wild goose hunt, maybe even my Great White Whale, but even that has too much pyschological attachment to the object, so let's stick with the goose theme. I am Person that Found One of his Wild Geese Q.

We drank some vodka, danced to silly techno, talked to random people, and all of a sudden at like 2:45, I decided that I was tired and that I needed to go to bed. I had gotten only two hours sleep the previous night because of Red Bull caffeine that made me so anxy and unable to sleep and then Bonnie woke up at the crack of dawn to get her family, and so yeah I realized all of this, and realized how I just wanted to lie in my bed, so we told the flight attendents that we were going to go home, and Rodney said that he was going to leave with us, and as a result, Ashley decided she would leave too. Ashley's such a wild child from Texas, she's so cool, I love her so much. So, we walked back for a while together before it was time for us to go our seperate ways, them towards the HoJo, and us, towards Babcock House. We exchanged email addresses and agreed that whenever they fly to Tampa we will go out and party with them. It was so weird on the corner where we said our goodbyes, it was like saying good-bye to a friend who was moving and that you would probably never see again.

Saturday, June 22, 2002

not to the scalp

God, some days just make me so happy to be alive, to be here breathing and sweating, releasing fluids from my body - my body, being the smart thing it is, does this to make me cool and comfortable, on wonderfully warm days like this one, when waves of heat ripple in the air making the sky an indisciminate shade of blueblahgray. You can see the hottness, can feel it on your exposed skin, can feel it even more on the nonexposed skin, and it makes you want to melt. But not like the Wicked Witch of [whichever direction it was] that melted in a bubbly, painful scream of not wanting to die. But melting in the sense where you could never die, where your body is no longer a seperate entity; no longer capable of self-aggrandizing thoughts (which really, is any type of thought) that make you an individual - you become the heat, another ripple in the sky, every ripple in the sky. Heat does something to the brain, fries it, burns everything bad about us - none of this purifying with water nonsense, but with the other element: fucking fire. Burn the shit down to the ground, to fucking ashes that we will scatter from rooftops like confetti, celebrating the sun, the flames, ourselves, and our deaths. Just a big rolling mass of energy, flowing and flowing like the sweat under our arms, spreading ourselves, melting into our t-shirts, sometimes even leaving stains that show the process of intergration, that something wonderful happened here. Right here.

Here in this little midwestern town of Madison, but also where you are. You had a fucking wonderful day, too. And you thought that you never wanted your mom to die because then we would all die. Hold the line, don't let anyone pass, or else we're all fucked. When one person we know dies, our death is suddenly eminent. And so, feeling so wonderful out in the beautiful weather, you wanted to feel that heat stupor for eternity, praying for an endless summer - I wanted to cling to each leave I yanked from trees I walked under, to hold them forever.

---Bonnie and her sister have come in, and so it's time to bring this to a close, but in other news: I shaved my head today, let it all go, set my head free, made myself clean to go with the purifying heat. And, the weather and the new haircut, the feeling that I was wearing a wig made me really confident and able, talked to Subway boy and random people sitting on their stoop, and sang out loud to that song that starts out "When the lights go down in the city..."

That song is the motherfucking jam. Buzz is my favorite station of all time, perhaps.

Friday, June 21, 2002


If I could talk in Spanish to you, I might. If I could talk in Arabic to you, I would. I would talk about peace, and bestow it on to you with words and sounds that sound more sincere, which don't sound anything like the ones I use insincerely all the time. The ones you do, too. Maybe we can reclaim them, make them pure. But again, all I'm saying is maybe. Anything is possible, they say. And well, we'll find out if they are liars or not. And in the process, we'll also find out what we are.b

Thursday, June 20, 2002

my own personal "savage love"

From : dan savage
To : "charlie q"
Subject : Re: seeking advice about Madison, please help, naked pics included if you do
Date : Thu, 20 Jun 2002 16:59:28 -0700

madison is mad in the FALL, WINTER, AND SPRING--when the 40K students are in town. it's dead in the summer. get in your car and drive to chicago.



Dear Dan,

I was excited to hear in your last column that you had spent some time in Madison, WI, because for some insane reason my friend and I have decided to spend the summer here, even though we know not one person here. And so, now I am in Mad-Town and wondering where the "madness" is at, or at least where the madness is if you're a fag. Most everything here seems very hetero-oriented; there are lots of hot boys whose sexuality seems questionable that I see on the street, but seeing as how I'm not positive what their sexuality is, and even more importantly, that I am very inept at hitting on people, very much so (the "very" can not be emphasized enough). Anyways, to the question, one which I am sure none of your other readers will care about, but one which will you will hopefully reply to, and help a boy get some play this summer: Where can a fag meet some other ones in Madison?

Save Our Summer

PS - Since you claim to love naked pics of your readers, here's some silly ones of me:

I showed you the pictures of me in Madison, now where are these rumored ones of you in Madison?


MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos:


Dan Savage
c/o The Stranger
1535 11th Ave. Third Floor
Seattle, WA 98122

Wednesday, June 19, 2002

escaped and rotting

I am looking out my window now, listening to Bob Marley's Kaya, and can see the vertical concrete strips that line the exterior of the building right next to ours turn white. They have been ash gray all day, along with the sky above them, in fact, they've been gray because of the grayness of the sky above them. I have been holed up inside my room, inside this silly pseudo frat-house, finishing High Fidelity, listening to the roar of buses down University Avenue, wheels moving over wet streets, making that whoosing splashing noise, and now I just hear the buses - the splashing noise has subsided, has left with the dark clouds and rainy weather, moving like Mary Poppins wherever the wind takes it, bringing that wet street traffic noise to some new town, to a new set of people, maybe even to the farmers that surround this little oasis of dense living in this, the Dairy State, in this month of June, National Dairy Month, but probably not, since the noise is the product of dense living - all these famers I'm dreaming of probably don't have Metro buses running down their street. But, they too probably have fun rain noises that amuse them when they are holed up in their homes on rainy days.


In Bruce Springsteen songs, you can either stay and rot, or you can escape and burn. That's OK; he's a songwriter, after all, and he needs simple choices like that in his songs. But nobody ever writes about how it is possible to escape and rot--how you can leave the suburbs for the city but end up living a limp suburban life anyway. That's what happened to me; that's what happens to most people. (136)

While most of the book was just the sort of easy trash that is meant for bored days to occupy your time (but not neccesarily your attention) there were the occasional glimmers of wisdom in the text, where my attention was caught and I ratified the thought with a yes-yes, that is the stuff, the scooby snack I was looking for. Yumm yumm, where's a pen to star this. If I star it, if I just star it, then it means more, the world does, it is made just a slight bit more sensible, if I just keep on starring these things then eventually the puzzle will come together, it'll all make sense. This star with this star and put that one here, right in the hole that looks a Keith Haring figure, and then there will be an a-ha, and the earth will heave a sigh that shakes everything into place, into peace.

And hell, perhaps, you didn't see that that quote was about Springsteen, that alone makes it starworthy. Perhaps, when I am in a fullfilled mood, where I feel like I am living life to the fullest, that I am doing meaningful things and surrounding myself with shimmering people, then I will think that that quote is a load of hogwash. But right now, it could not hit any closer to home - they are the words I am wishing I had the smarts to write instead of writing about sunshine, buses and the building outside my window. They are the words that express all too clearly why I am writing about such banal things - that I am living a dull, suburban life even though that is what I was running from, it is why I did not want to spend my summer at home in Alexandria, VA. I thought that if I could just move someplace totally random, someplace hip, where I knew no one, then I would have my own version of the expat experience, leaving the culture of the East Coast for something that I hoped would be entirely different, a return to a place that is closer to the land, closer to Earth, people kinder and gentler, happy people even. And they are happy people, they are the nicest looking people I have seen in any city - they just project friendliness in the same way that people in the city I was fleeing beemed something close to the opposite of that. The only caveat is that I don't know any of these people, not one, save for the ag boys, who I have very stinted, awkward conversations with in the kitchen.

Usually, I am a person with no regrets. Honestly. But right now, I am sort of regretting- okay let's get rid off all these modifying terms to make it sound gentler, good-bye to "sort of" and hello to a much more honest "I am regretting" that I quit working at PIRG since now I don't even have Bonnie here to play with during the day. And actually, I don't even have her to play with during this week. She is on a camping trip with PIRG until late Thursday night, and while I am not really that bored, I have been managing to entertain myself by reading, listening to public radio, and masturbating way too much - the thing is I just really am not getting out of the house now that we have internet in our room. Before I would at least leave the house for a couple of hours each day to go use the internet at the library. Yesterday, I left the house for probably ten minutes, and that was to just go to the sub shop.

If I had a job, I would feel far less pathatic, methinks. However, getting a job in Madison is proving to be extremely difficult. My only prospect as of right now is the University Bookstore, which is going to let me know by the end of the week whether I got the job or not. So readers, keep your fingers crossed with me, so that that way you can look forward to at least somewhat more interesting entries. My one back-up plan for cash is no longer an option as I mentioned in my last entry. I was going to become a plasma donor and make a whopping forty bucks a week, but after going through like an hour of tests and peeing in cups and paperwork and hearing how scary the actual process of giving plasma is (they take out like a water bottle's worth of plasma twice a week), I was deemed to be unable to donate because of the acne medication I am on. So my life may get even more boring, since I will soon run out of cash, and there may even less trips out of the house.

After I finish writing this, I am going to go down to Wily St Co-op with the hopes of seeing LoverBoy and apply to volunteer at the co-op since that will at least get me out of the house occasionally and will help alleviate the feeling I now have, where I think that I am wasting my time by doing absolutley nothing. I am eager, able-bodied, and willing - give my hands something to do - they will do it. I want to build houses and monuments and amazing things that will make people marvel and will give me a sense of accomplishment, will make me part of something, instead of some floating body on the second floor of this Babcock house, holed up in my room with the door closed, the radio on, and doing anything to occupy my time - No, I want to be doing something with this time, goddamnit, something with you even.

Tuesday, June 18, 2002

how does one spell "action"?

We have internet in our room now!!! Bonnie finally got her computer up, and so, today I spent lots of time uploading pictures to the web and being just generally silly. And, I'm not going to write a real entry right now, there will be lots of time for that in the next few days when I am sure you will be sick of my constant posting of introspective entries, while I try to entertain myself since Bonnie will be away camping with PIRG for the next few days. I will say my past few days in a few words: rejected from giving plasma, paid my rent, saw Mates of State at the terrace, saw LoverBoy at the co-op, I'm still jobless, Bonnie still smells vomit on everything because she is insane, and I have drank lots of stolen booze with Bonnie.

Here are the pictures I spent far too long today uploading to the web - there's some naked ones of Bonnie and I. They're fun.

Saturday, June 15, 2002

i heart making out with dogs

Whoo!, right now I can hear the sound of agitated bourgeoisie youth outside the library - the sound of individuals trying to make themselves heard - people with energy to expend and a cause to guide them - there are a bunch of activists kids outsidethe library tuning up guitars and stuff in the square, getting ready to blare some good ol' punk rock to coincide with the US Mayor's Conference that is occuring in Madison this weekend. After we leave the library - after Bonnie gets her internet fix, which she hasn't gotten in a week or so because of PIRG - we are going to go join the activists and attend some workshops.

Last night, I had mentioned that Bonnie and I were all excited about going to eighties night. Well, we drove to the motherfucking Cardinal Bar, and could see that it was just that, a bar, and that no one was dancing, and that the clientele was professional thirtysomethings. Our asses, which needed some good shaking, did not like the looks of the place, so we went home, got the address for the gay club, Club 5, and were on our way. We got there, got some drinks at the bar, and then uh-uh-uh, shook our little tooshes to the cheesiest gay house music you could conjur on your computer mixing programs, or if you're old school, on your little technics. We don't even think the place had a real DJ, we think it was just some preprogrammed mix tape they were playing. But, it was fun and we were real wild, and I got to dance like I haven't gotten to dance since I was at New College. There were lots of hot lesbians that were dancing real wild, and one, a miss Stacey, that Bonnie kept on trying to dance near. There were two boys that both Bonnie and I thought were super cute, but hello, I am a wimp and did not talk to them, of course. What happened instead, is that this guy that was booty dancing with Bonnie came and started dancing with me. This person was probably barely five feet and his name was Armando and he was grosser than the grosset person you could dread to encounter at a club. Grosser than gross. But, since I am not very good at turning people down, I danced with him, bootydanced with him for a breif while, and tried to break away, looking desperatly for Bonnie, but Armando kept on pulling me closer to him, and everytime I would try to politely break away, he would just pull me close to him again. I finally told him that I was going to go dance with my friend (Bonnie), but then he came over too. And so, I left the two of them to dance, hoping that I could finally break away from Armando. They danced for a while and then the song ended and I saw Armando making his way towards me again, so I thought that I would sit down on a chair so that that way I wouldn't have to dance with him. Well, bad idea. The little smelly runt came and sat on my lap, and I was far too drunk to be real assertive or even clever enough to get this wretch of a person off of me. And soon, he was making out with me, and again, I kept on trying to close my mouth, to sort of bring the kiss to a close, and to peck him on the lips to let him know that this kiss was over, but he just kept on sucking my face with his gross, satly lips. Ish. I finally somehow managed to get him off my lap and told him my ride was leaving. And then, the yucko asked if he could get a ride. And I was like, no, she doesn't have much gas in her car. And what does he say: he'll pay for gas. What a fucking gentleman. I just sort of ran towards Bonnie, hoping that we could leave quick, but she is at the bar exchanging numbers with Poochie, and yes that is her name, and she is appearantly "a bottom," as she said on the card she gave Bonnie. But this exchaning on digits allowed Armando to find his way back to me, where he was gross and grabbing me and kissing me, and trying to come back with us, and this is when I finally got somewhat assertive and started pushing him away when he tried to touch me. Fucking pig. After Bonnie and Poochie were through, I made Bonnie rush to her car and lock the doors once we were inside so Armando could not come near me anymore. Once we were in motion, I rolled down my window and spit, spit, spit the nastiness of Armando that I was sure was still in my mouth out on to the ground, out of me, my fucking body, the pig was still in me, I wanted to hurl, to cleanse myself, to be clean. I felt so dirty. I would rather have made out with my old dogs than with Armando - and I have, I made out with my dogs when I was a teen, making out with dogs is so fun. Because they just love to kiss you and I love to kiss them. And you know you've made out with a dog at some point in your life. And yes, I would rather have made out with a dog than with salty Armando.

I got home and brushed my teeth right away. Then I ate some cake and ice cream with Bonnie and felt much better. Tonight is the Mates of State free show at the Terrace that we are going to go to. And chances are fairly good that will be drizzityunk like a skittyunk since the grocery stores here sell hard liquor, and today we stold some finlandia, bacardi o, tequila, and wine. Madison, how I love thee, let me count the ways.

Friday, June 14, 2002

10 Things I Like About Madison

My last post was really whiney, and since I am in a good mood now, here are things that are wonderful about Madison:

-the St. Vincent de Paul thrift store that is staffed by hipsters who blare indie rock

-the Wily St Co-op right next door, which is where the oft mentioned LoverBoy works, and where he was working today. I tried to wait in his line to check out, but some stupid boy came out of nowhere and started working at the next register and told me he could ring me up. I wasn't going to say "No, I'm in love with this boy, I must stay in this line, get the fuck away from me you very much unLoverBoy cashier" - and so, I went to the other boys line and missed out on getting to talk to LoverBoy.

-cheese curds

-I think I have already mentioned all the cute boys.

-I think I'm allergic to peaches, and no, this is not a good thing, so I guess I should not be listing it here. But yeah - I was eating a peach on my walk back home from the co-op, and I swear to god, my lip just exploded. Think the Nutty Professor, at the very end, when Eddie Murphy's body just keeps rupturing into fatness in random places. One second my lip was a normal sized lip, and the next second I looked like Angelina fucking Jolie. I was so embarrassed walking home past tons of people, thinking they for sure would be trying not to look at me, but really actually looking at me - the way you do when you see someone physically deformed on the street, and don't want to be rude, but yet cannot suppress the gawking urge. I was sure that everyone was looking at my mondo lips. And, I'm not even sure if it is the peach or if it was just some random craziness my body was doing because I eat peaches occasionally and never encounter any allergic reactions, but I did used to be allergic to peaches when I was a kid and my face would swell, so maybe I still am. If so, that is real sad, because lately, I have become in love with peaches. At least, ones that are really in season. Because the ones that aren't are nastier than licking that stuff stuck between the crevices on the bottom of your sneakers. And the peach I ate today, was so fucking good. Mmm mmm.

-Bonnie's working at PIRG and me being home all day does have its advantages. Mainly, that I can now resume masturbating whenever I feel like it, which was nice indeed.

-Wonderful public radio stations.

-The past three nights I have been walking outside between eight and nine pm, and it is the most beautiful hour of the day. I am going to try to be outside for this hour everyday. It just makes me feel so much better to see the sun set.

-The city is the most walkable one I ever lived in. You can walk everywhere. I love it. I love it. I do.

-Bonnie and I are supposed to go to 80's night tonight, which should be another fun thing about Madison. Hopefully.

i doubt it

I just walked into the library, past what quite possibly may be the hottest boy I have seen so far in Madison, and there are lots of hot boys here, so that is saying a lot, a damn lot. He was just sitting on this ledge of the library, talking on his cell phone, looking h-o-t-t-t as Bonnie has become very fond of saying about a certain roomate of ours. Seeing hot, presumably gay boys always has the effect of making me feel woefully inadequate. I am wearing the same blue pair of worker pants that I think I have worn everyday for probably the last six months with the occasional wearing of a different pair of pants, when I didn't feel like going for the Dickies look, or when I had to do laundry. In addition, I am wearing some ratty old sweater since it is cold today. Fashionable boys always make me feel so so unhip. This is wrong of me to feel this way, yes. I need to not care what I, or anyone else, looks like. But I do. And so, today might involve a trip to the thrift store so I can find some cool old shirts like the hot boy outside the library was wearing. But, I also might need to get a lot more in shape so that I will not look like a twelve year old who borrowed his older brother's clothes.

In other news that probably makes me seem like more of a whiney loser, I am without a job, without friends, and without even Bonnie to amuse myself with during the daytime. So, maybe quitting PIRG was not the best idea since now I spend my time walking to the library, checking my email, and reading books holed up in my room way far away from the ag boys. Bonnie is appearantly the queen of PIRG, making far more money than her quota, so much so, that today she gets to be "the big cheese," and wear this silly cheese hat that you always see people wearing at Packers games. And so, it does not look like Bonnie is going to be fired for failing to make quota like she feared, but rather has a bright summer ahead of her at PIRG. And if it sounds like I'm talking a lot about Bonnie's life, that's because at the moment I do not have one of my own. I am as close to lifeless as you could possibly get. I really just want a fucking job so that I will at least feel like I am doing something, no matter how menial or horrible it may be. Someplace, anyplace, please just fucking hire me. Moving to a college town over the summer is not the best idea because since it is a college town and a large portion of its residents only reside here during the school year, that means that there are not that many jobs available, in fact hardly any, except for PIRG of course, which is no longer an option for me. Maybe I will find some place that is hiring when I walk to the thrift store.

At least tomorrow is the People for Cities day of workshops to protest the Mayor's Conference - that'll give me something to do. And hopefully, Rebecca will still come for this weekend's protests, although she said it looked sort of doubtful.

Thursday, June 13, 2002


Last night, I met Bonnie at The Annex after she got off of PIRG and we went to go see the Blush, the Bangs, and the Makers. Once we got inside the club, things proved to be real weird. The Blush was already playing and no one was dancing. Not one person. No one was even up against the stage. The people at the front kept at least a five foot distance between themselves and the stage, and everyone just stood around like they were in an art museum or something - as if this were not a rock show, where there is supposed to be a visceral reaction to the art, where there is supposed to be an active particiaption by the audience in the energy that is created by the band. These people were so lame; the band was cooler than a motherfucking polar bear's toenail, rocking the free world like there was no tomorrow, and yet no one was dancing. Bonnie explained to me that this is how it is at all of the shows she has gone to, and related some funny story about how she went to some indie show in high school and decided to dance anyways, and got food thrown at her. I imagined some similar thing happening if we decided to dance amonst this crowd of "passives," as the Faint might say. So, we stood against the wall and watched this really fun, danceable band finish their set.

After their set, we went to the bar, since we are now 21 and all, and got some beers, drank them, and went back to the floor when we heard the Bangs getting ready to play. These girls were so rock and roll, and they were none too happy about the Madison crowd keeping their distance from the stage, and ordered everyone to take a million steps forward. People looked around at each other to see if other people were going to move up, realized that they should, that if they all did it at the same time, they wouldn't be weird or whatever it was they were fearing, and they all stepped up to the stage finally, making me feel a lot more comfortable since I have never in my life been to any show where people do not press themselves against the stage. Still no one was dancing though, even though the music was so rock and roll and so damn good. The Blush decided to liven things up, and started dancing up front, across the floor from us. No one was dancing by Bonnie and I, but we decided to buck the line of dopey stares and tense bodies, and started to self-consciously dance under control. A slight movement - our bodies still restrained by some sense of decorum. The Blush was still not very happy to be playing to this Madison crowd, they wanted their little Olympia hipsters that would probably dance and show some sign of being alive. One of the girls asked the other if she should turn up the bass. And the other one, the really bitchy one, said something like, "Oh, I don't think we have to worry about that with this crowd." Then after another song, the bitchy one, was trying to make some joke about Scorpio guys before she played her song about them, and no one responded at all to her asking if there were any Scorpios in the crowd. And so, she said something like, "I was trying to make a joke, but I guess that went right over the heads of Madison." And she said it in such a mean way - I couldn't decide if I liked her for her bitchiness or if I thought she was a pompous meanie.

Anyways, after their set, it was back to the bar until the Makers started to play. We downed some more beer and went back out to the floor, where we pushed our way to the front against the stage, which wasn't even really pushing at all - we basically just walked up to the front. The Makers took the stage and were so rock and roll type rock and roll. They were decked out in leather and cowboy boots, looking very glam hard rock, with the big hair and everything. Now there was no one between us and the stage so we couldn't see that no one around us was dancing, and we just went wild, and danced so crazy, and headbanged, and jumped around, and had a good ol' fashioned rockin time, realizing that Bob Seger was so on the money when he said, "Still like that old time rock n' roll - that kind of music just soothes the soul." The lead singer danced around like Steven Tyler and did all these sexual things with his tight half-way unbuttoned shirt and his tight tight rock star jeans. There were some drunk girls behind us that loved to scream, "Take your clothes off" and make "whoooo" noises, which I all too eageraly echoed. We danced up a storm and didn't really care that only a few other people also were - the show was just too damn cool. Then at the end of his encore, the lead singer came over and started singing and gyrating in front of Bonnie and I, and I yelled along with him and he leaned over so that I could yell into the mike with him, and boy oh boy did I ever, and that was me yelling into the mike with Steven Tyler, with Axl Rose, with Brett Michaels, with all those long haired hard rockers I loved to yell along with. And then the show came to a close, and Bonnie and I walked home from the Annex, thinking of how cool it would be to be a rock star and how much we wished that we still had some pizza left at home to eat.

Wednesday, June 12, 2002

happy birthday to me (and danny)

Today, I am the big two one. And what a great day it is. When I woke up this morning, I decided to give myself a birthday present. Bonnie had left to go to some interview at ten, and so I gave myself a fun handjob since lots of people think you are supposed to get action on your birthday, and well, I sort of don't see any problem with that line of thinking. And then I gave myself a second present, a wonderful present, the best thing anyone could hope to get it. I decided that I was going to say fuck you to PIRG, that I was not going to show up for my second day and just quit the motherfucking humilating process of begging for money. And so, I did, and thank you for the great present, Charlie.

Bonnie did not like this present. She was a little upset by it, I think, since this meant that she was going to have to go to PIRG by herself. PIRG would be so much fun if you didn't actually have to work. The people there were so fun and energetic. Particularly Danny. Danny is the head of the WISPIRG office and was the one who trained Bonnie and I yesterday. Danny is so cool - this, however, is not a statement that would be accepted by most people - he is kind of dorky, but not in the hip Sam Grindstaffish dorky way - he's dorky in a Bob Saget as kingergarden teacher type way. He just makes the most exaggerated facial expressions and is so enthusiastic about everything, but not in a joking sort of way - he is completely serious all the time in his goofiness. There really is no way to even describe Danny, he just has to be experienced. He was definitly Topic A with Bonnie and I last night after we had gotten off of work and devoured beer and pizza. We went canvassing out in this suburb of Milwaukee, which was nice because we got to drive across the state, and got to see more of Wisconsin. We drove through beautiful fields and farms and grain silos and clouds and long stretches of asphalt and small towns and we talked about custard and cheese curds and about what our favorite type of music is to dance to and heard lots of competely nontangential stories from Danny about puppets, Sarasota, Boulder, and MC Hammer pants. Most of the day, we were both sort of trailing Danny around, watching him canvass, which seemed easy enough, and with somewhat kind people usually answering the door. But then we had to canvass by ourselves for an hour, and of course, we don't get to canvass in a similar neighborhood, we get to canvass on the other side of Lake Shore Drive, in the insanely posh houses/plantations that back up to fucking Lake Michigan for godsakes. It is insane how much wealth there is in this country. I see houses in DC and Alexandria and Sarasota that seem logical because they are in nice locations, and obviosuly rich people have to build their houses somewhere. But, I guess I just assumed that maybe there weren't as many mansions in Wisconsin or something. But dear heavens, the driveways themselves took a few minutes to walk down. Two of the houses had tennis courts (yes, plural usage, meaning more than one) in their front yard. And of course, these people, even though they were insanely rich, were the rudest of the day, they were so aggressive and pissed as hell that I dare come ask them to become a member of PIRG. Bonnie got sent into a similar neighborhood with mansions on what is one of the Great Lakes.

Then we regrouped with Danny and trailed him around for another hour of so, from about eight to nine pm, and oh my god, the sunset - it was something amazing. The sky was streaked where the sun was going down with these beautiful chunky pink lines seperated by a dying blue that was already dark blue on the other side of the horizion. The dying blue went out with a bang - in its fading it wanted to show off its feathers one last time, wanted us to remember its glory, how it could shake that moneymaker. And this blue was the same color blue of the sky in the opening scene of Blue Velvet, it seemed oversaturated. I was mesmerized by the sky, by the scent of the evergreen trees. One of the houses we went to had an evergreen tree in the front lawn that smelled so lovely especially when I looked at the fluid sky melting behind the house we were approaching - I ripped off a piece of the tree and held it to my nose, smelt that wonderful evergreen smell, took it into my body, became that tree, realized that I could never die, that I would just melt like the sky, maybe even into the sky, and I was happy, really happy, and threw the piece of evergreen as high as I could throw it and I watched it fall, tried to catch it, and I think I missed it, and then I told Danny I liked gay house music, because he's so weird and wanted to know what our second favorite type of music to dance to was. He loves questions, and so do I, and so do you - they are just as fun as the anwers.

Really, the only part of the day I didn't like was the part where we actually had to go around and canvass by ourselves, which is what the actual job is, and so I think I would really hate the job, seeing parents playing with their kids, and having to go spoil this pretty image of domesticity to go harrass them about helping the environment, when really they'd be helping me, putting funds in my pocket, but I would tell them about how "the Bush admindistration is allowing oil companies and other powerful corporations to rewrite and even ignore our existing enviromental laws. These changes would allow more pollution into our air and water, and would accelerate the the clearcutting of our national forests. If we're going to stop the White House from destroying our environment, we need public support now, and that's why I'm out here tonight. The best way to support our organization is to become a member. We suggest a $60 dollar contribution. As a member you'll recieve newsletters throughout the year and a membership packet tonight. The best way to become a member is with a check." And then I would have to smile at them and hope they said yes, and when they wavered, I would have to guilt trip them by saying, "Well, do you support us on the issues?" (read: What, don't you care about the environment?) And, I don't want to do that - I'll just be jobless for a little while longer until I find a less offensive job.

Today, when I walked to the library after Bonnie had left for PIRG, I realized what a good decision it was. Bonnie and I spend practically every waking moment together - it's good to have some alone time, some time to think to yourself, to not have to engage in conversation, to be able to walk places by yourself. Walking to the library was so nice without Bonnie. It is such a breezy day, so good for the walking, the thinking, and the living, and so I must return to it.