NOW, MORE THAN EVER,
NOT THE NEW ANYONE

A new entry in the journal. Slowly returning to normal life here.

I moved. On Saturday. I’m tired. Very tired. Thinking and writing in more than two-word sentence fragments makes me tired. So tired. Also, sore. Erin’s sore. Sorry, Erin. Yeah. We’re tired.

I am cleaning the old apartment. Suddenly it’s disgusting. How is it that a place can get filthier after you move all your stuff out? A week ago it was home; now it looks like junkies are squatting there. So tired. Must clean.

One last post before I unplug for a few days to move to the new place. Chris and Allison are newlyweds and their apartment was completely destroyed by fire last night. There’s a help page set up where you can donate money or help replace some of the stuff they lost–and they lost everything.

Meanwhile I can’t believe how much freaking stuff I have.

So if you missed me on WFMU yesterday you can always listen to the archived show, you know. I believe that when you play this you’ll hear some music first, and then Bronwyn C. talking for awhile, and then about 15 minutes into the show she gets me on the phone. I mean, I think so–I haven’t listened to the archive yet. I’m bashful that way. If I sounded dopey I don’t want to know yet. But Bronwyn C. was very cool to talk to, and Listener Zack, who called in, was very nice, and also Listener Emily (was that her name? It was hard to for me to hear sometimes). Oh, and I read the Fluffy Mackerel Pudding recipe on the air, so you better listen if you want to know how to make that nasty stuff.

I move into my new apartment this weekend. I got the keys last night and I am packing, in my own spacey, procrastinatory way. I’ve lived in my old place for so long I am somehow afraid to dismantle it all, as if I’m scared I won’t be able to put it back together again in the new apartment.

That, and I had to watch the last ever episode of Dawson’s Creek. If you’ve ever met me in person you’ve probably heard my goofy story about how that stupid-ass show changed my life. I’ll tell the rest of you sometime soon. I hadn’t watched it in about three years. I forgot how much Katie Holmes’ face slides all over her head when she’s trying to act. Wow, I hadn’t missed that at all.

There’s a new journal entry up, don’t you know.

In one week I’m gonna be on the radio. Me and Nancy Sinatra both! But not together. Sorry.

I keep meaning to put up another journal entries–lots of journal entries, in fact–but I feel like I’ve completely lost my sense of time these days. I mean I will get up in the morning and go to my job and do things there, and then drive home, and I watch something and I read something and I answer something else and then I go to the fridge and open up my little bottle of time and it’s mostly fizz. But it never occurs to me to buy a different brand. It’s like that. Maybe they’ll change the formula, though.

Check out the folks who ganked the fish tacos card from my site. Now, I probably can’t claim ownership to the images, and I have no problem with people downloading the images for their own amusement or putting them up on their own site with a link back to me, because, you know, it’s sharing the love, and if people love the fish tacos, one can reason that they might also be interested in seeing more cards. On the other hand, if someone wants to slap their own url on a fuzzy, poorly-sized image and try to pass it off as an e-postcard promoting their site and theirs alone, then I guess they also don’t mind that having secondhand humor content makes them look kind of lame.

I mean, give a guy a fish taco and he has a boner for a day;* give him a link to this and he gets a lot more. I’m just saying.

* Uh, a day is an exaggeration. Especially with that site.

I don’t know who you’ve been reading, but I need to say for myself that there are some mighty friendly people in Texas. That’s all I’ll say about that. And Anna Beth is a great host, too. We had a terrific time at Camp Chao and we all earned badges for bad behavior.