February 10, 1999.

Uh oh.

Today I received a rather puzzling addition to my inbox: a letter from Upright Animal with the subject line about being mad...and no letter. A document with no data. I'm pretty sure it's fallout from yesterday's little rant, but I'm not sure if I have the courage to ask him to re-send it. I don't like it when people pay attention to my bratty words and actually hold me accountable for them...especially when they're not the focus of them.

Hey...if he's mad at me for attacking Alexi, it would be exactly analogous to me getting mad at Alexi for insulting Little Spider...wow. This karma lesson has been brought to you by the letter omega and the number infinity. Argh.

This picture has been making the rounds lately. Not only is it an amusing set-up, the guy was very nearly the Boy's brother-in-law. I can't help thinking of Pixie Stix...it must be awfully funny/jarring to see a naked picture of one's ex-fiancé in carnal embrace with his new fiancée cleverly disguised as an ad for tantric sex. Even if it's a product of photoshop and not an actual naked shot (I think).

Have I offended anybody else with my musings about Paul? I've decided to revel in this...it's the all-offensive week! Get on board while you still can! Just send me your tender spot, your moral lines in the sand, or simply the names of your loved ones, and I guarantee to shock and appall your finer feelings. Money back guarantee.

Listening to a really good hippie album right now: "Running Jumping Standing Still." It was recommended to me by Spider Robinson (in fact, he puts several commercials for it into his latest work, Callahan's Legacy), and it's almost as good as the hyperbole, a sample of which follows:

"The day that album was released, I was just moving into a hippie crashpad; I picked up a copy on the way. You know what it's like when you move into a place full of strangers? How you all smile a lot and become elaborately, distancingly polite while you feel each other out and size each other up? The first thing I unpacked was the stereo, of course, and the first thing I put on was that album; naturally I cranked it all the way up so I could make sure I hadn't wired the speakers out of phase. Two minutes into "The Red Palace," everyone in the building-thirteen total strangers-had all crowded into my room, torn off all their clothes, and begun to dance."

Like I said, almost as good as that. But then again, I don't live in a hippie crashpad, now do I? Actually, you'll just have to take my word that I don't, won't you?