November 15, 1998.

"I called you so many times today..."

I'm listening to Galadrial's Police compilation. Happy, fast-paced, brilliant wallowing music. Every serious musician I know worships the Police. I was mightily impressed when Trevor began playing Police basslines appropos of nothing one night, especially when he remarked casually that he knew almost every Police song. Swoooon.

It reminds me of this utterly ridiculous Tradition some friends & I have. One night in first year we were sitting around Brigit's room, listening to a similar compilation, when Preacher (3/4 in the bag already) began to incorporate his then-favourite word into "Message in a Bottle." Palaver, Poet, Brigit & I began to laugh & sing along. The resultant song became affectionately known as "Message to my Crackwhore," and contained the lines "I'll send a bag of crack to the world." Every once in awhile, we'll program the song into the juke at ein.stein's and recreate that magical moment. Ok...we don't impress many with our brilliant wit, but that's why it's ridiculous...and still quite amusing.

I'm in a bit of a better mood today. Palaver invited me out to brunch & a matinee of Small Soldiers, and it seems to have worked. I can't believe that movie, it was so textured. Tiny little throwaway things that only adults would get, like in the best Muppet movies. A hunchbacked toy ringing a bell & crying "sanctuary!" for 2 seconds before the lightning-fast cut-away. The C.O. toy giving a speech that started out straight from Patton and mashed together every war movie speech cliché in Hollywood history, glibly delivered by a toy with no real idea what he was talking about. The cast of The Dirty Dozen as the voices of the squadron. A swarm of insane Barbie dolls chattering "if you can't accessorize, pulverize!" as they attack. Kirsten Dunst was fucking radiant...she's just perfection in a 16-year-old. According to his own unsubstantiated claim, my friend Ian made out with her this summer (he works as a movie extra). I'm almost jealous.

Kept seeing two boys as we walked up & down College street this afternoon: one in a black leather motorcycle jacket & cat-in-the-hat hat, the other in boots, tight black jeans & a salvation army coat, long hair growing out of a black dyejob & held back in a neat ponytail. This second look is what Mr. Shoreleave tried & failed to achieve in his prom outfit. (Gee, I wish I could scan the picture & show you.) In other words, my highschool ideal of perfection passed me twice in the streets. I wondered if they knew Stacy...they had a Gardengamer look about them.

one year ago today: scared stiff