Matthew Hart and I drank beers immediately upon waking. That's okay, it was afternoon already. We also ate a little free food from the magic refrigerator.
But we couldn't stay long. Leah's father was expected to return imminently from a vacation at the beach. Monster Boy, Matthew and I piled into the Dart and tore off down those lonely country roads and then onto I-64 heading west. We disposed of all of our beer bottles in the most juvenile manner available to us. Highway littering is the least of this nation's crises.
We went to Bodo's Bagels on Preston Avenue and had cheap bagels. Well...mine was overpriced because it was rung up as a "cheese sandwich" and not as its component pieces. The girl ringing me up had come to Space Party II. You'd think she'd owe me.
UVA's Cocke Hall is reassuringly non-threatening and indifferent to my presence. It's a good place to work on the musings. I wanted Jessika to respond to some email I'd sent her about recent events, but she never responds to my email. She only responds to my musings. Respond, okay?
On the other hand, the Amy who lives in Memphis, TN, and who worked at the Tokyo Rose, sent some very supportive email.
I talked with the local artist Luke in front of Follette's on my way to take my pre-work nap. He was moulding clay, making his ideal woman with perky little breasts. I thought he should find a model; it was looking real stiff. I joined in playing with the clay, making a little three-legged ash tray.
The pre-work nap took place in 22 Elliewood, the old Comet headquarters. I slept very nicely there once I actually drifted off.
Then there's a Ring of Her Own for those of us who lack penises.
Finally, there's Often, for people such as me who update our journals with a compulsiveness that borders on insanity.
Strangely enough, I always like it when journal-keepers mention other journals in the way that I am sort of doing now. The subject of online journals has become fascinating to me, though there really isn't much written about them online. Perhaps a ring of journal keepers who write lots about online journals would be a nightmare of self-reference, but I'd be sure to go through it regularly.
Or, alternatively, Javina and I could form a little ring of homeless web journal keepers.
Over at Nova Notes, Al Schroeder says he's the anti-goth. It's really strange reading someone in their suburban middle age writing about goths. Not that I would defend for a moment the uninteresting and unoriginal complaining that goths do in their stupid journals. Interestingly, Al somehow managed to tie in a discussion of the existential void with a mention of Frank Drake (that's Rippy's father, remember). I'm reminded of my particularly gothic page about the Future.
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