March 28, 1999.

please forgive the lateness of my reply...

Sorry about the time delay, kids. I know I promised entries on my floor-top computer, but I just can't do it anymore. My legs are starting to ache. When they stop hurting, they fall asleep. My back hurts. (My throat hurts too, but I doubt that has to do with my floor computer.) So I'm going back to my first love, paper in cloth-bound books, and it is hoped that I can pop into the library after tomorrow's exam (and look at me now! blocking up library terminals so that unwashed nerds can't check their hotmail accounts! - weary, bitter ed.)

But other than the spinal pain, there are a lot of benefits to a foot-loose, furniture free existence. It's like running my own hippie crash pad, without the promiscuous sex, herbal tea & animal feces. I've decided to conceive of my room as one giant bed. A hard bed to be sure, but I had a friend who slept on a construction of cinderblocks and particle board for a year, so I can certainly handle this.

If you need a mental image, just think back to the Cosby show episode in which the family teaches Theo a lesson in real-world oikos (greek, defined as 'household,' root of the english term 'economics.' - smartytrousers ed.). Just me and my stereo and bedding and books and a lamp. And muscle strain.

Send contributions accordingly.

Last night I tried to study, cross my heart. But the Six Hours Of Sleep-Two Nights Running thing severely sapped my powers of concentration, and I ended up inviting myself over during Scott and Stacy's alone time. What a rogue and peasant slave am I.

Scott: "Are you always this self-deprecating?"
Me: "It's just that I feel unsure of our relationship, so I do these elaborate verbal posturings. (pause) There, we just had a Dawson's Creek moment."

But despite my tenuous right to be there, we all had a good time. We watched Sliding Doors and commented on the bleakness found within the heart of the movie's philosophy (romantic comedy, my ass). I got on a tear of humourous religious anecdotes, condensing 4 years of association with Agamemnon into a series of one-liners. Stacy gifted me with makeup for no apparent reason, and I started talking about how my grandmother supplies me with all my goth makeup, thanks to Katy Winslet's colour scheme in Titan-blech (little MAD Magazine moment for ya.) She made it acceptable to wear really dark colours, see...

Scott responded with incredulity, as most people do. So I decided to blow his mind:

"My grandmother gave me my first pair of fishnets. They used to be hers. Did I mention that when my grandmother was 17, she used to dance in a bikini outside the stripper tents at the C.N.E.?"

Stacy just grinned. She knows all of this stuff already. When she next spoke, it was to comment that I had "the most interesting family history of anybody - except for Josh, who's distantly related to the people who shot Archduke Ferdinand."

I thought it was funny that she should say that, really...since I've often marveled at her own stories. She has the best anecdotes of anyone I know, built from "days of drag queens, circus freaks, S&M wedding receptions, drug binges, week-long parties, Druidic rituals, spontanious performance art, street punks, club kids and general aimless enthusiastic living". She rivals my whole family all by herself. (This is coming out more like a schoolgirl crush than anything. I'll let you know when the blushing and stammering starts.)