October 2, 1997, Thursday

If only we had a rut like the reindeer do, we'd also have a vacation from this nonsense.

S


taying out of my house or staying in my room, to avoid unpleasant sights, is again becoming a way of life for me. I wish I beheld examples of chivalrous love and immortal commitment of souls, one to another, as examples dangling before my eyes, to instruct and enlighten me. Jaded me. But I don't. I see cynical uses being made across the gender barrier, and it leaves me cynical about the human condition. Sex as a goal, sex as a reason for going on, that's what I always thought anyway, and here it is proved true again. Vodkatea is in my mug and I am in Olssen Hall at the University of Virginia. We can be heroes. We can be heroes. If we have sex with lots of people, we can be heroes. If we continue to not have sex with anyone, we are losers. This is what the commercials tell me. This is the example set by friends. If only we had a rut like the reindeer do, we'd also have a vacation from this nonsense. In Heaven, they say, there is no sex. Everything is fine. Also, there's no eating, and everyone is equal upon streets paved with 24 karat gold. Hmmm... that sounds like my idea of Hell. I'd hate to be an equal frog in such a big smarmy pond.

The pilot light was like an obstinate clitoris back in the metallic inner-folds of the furnace.

T


oday was the coldest yet of the infant new Fall and at Kappa Mutha Fucka, Deya and I tried to start up the house's heating system, to no avail. The pilot light was like an obstinate clitoris back in the metallic inner-folds of the furnace: I couldn't find it, or if I did find it, I couldn't make it catch fire. I finally gave up in disgust and went off to wash my hands, which were covered in soot. What? You thought I'd walk around with that on my hands all evening?

At Farmer Jack, I again contributed to the delinquencies of my underage friends. We were on what had originally been a beer run, but I convinced Matthew Hart to get vino instead. I pointed out that we hardly ever drink vino anymore. I went on to reminisce about the days of Big Fun, when all we ever drank was vino.

So Deya, Matthew, Angela and I sat around in our cold house, sipping on vino and listening to the Pixies. It even smelled like Big Fun. Nicholas the kitten was being awfully cute as a vicious microscopic predator.

When I awoke from my pre-work nap, I found Theresa and a redneck-goth couple hanging out with Monster Boy.

Man, was that ever a cold bike ride to work.

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Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago and one year ago today. (This idea isn't mine, by the way, Mighty Mighty Magnificent Kymm did it first). And if you don't like it, you can bite me. Hard. This is my gauge and I'll shine it with a shrike.

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