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  everything possible, nothing certain.

Peter: I KNOW you don't want a back massage.

Me: And what is THAT supposed to mean?!

Peter: It's too distracting while you're trying to do your thing.

Me: And what exactly --

Peter: Is your thing?

Me: Right.

Peter: Well, right now it's blogging, I think.

Me: And WHAT is blogging, Pete, exactly?

Peter: It's instant dyanamic web publishing. It's user friendly, too. It's glorified web publishing. Next question?

Me: Blogging is one big circle jerk, except the circle is infinite.

Peter: Are you honest with me?

Me: (pause. drag of cigarette. sip of Selom Sober's beer.) define honest.

Peter: thought so.

Me: I'm a bad person. I'm going to Hell. Even though Rumandmonekey dot com's test "Are you damned" says I'm going to Heaven. [side note: everyone should take this test. because doesn't the free will/predestination thing get settled when the internet TELLS YOU YOU'RE GOING TO HEAVEN.]

  ¶ 12:17 AM

  I HAD THESE GIRLFRIENDS

There were these four girls. They had posters on their walls of Wonder Woman and their rooms were MESSY. When I was sick they brought me vitamins and wet cloths with which to sooth my forehead cough drops.

They were

1. California Gothic Christine

2. Loryn of the White Skin and Black Hair (who's really a tragic heroin)

3. TigerLilyTomBoy CLAIRE

4. cat. who can't be embellished

and now they are gone. and i had just learned how to have sisters.  ¶ 8:23 PM

  With a Child

(Zach, 4, and Joel, 19.)

Joel: What's a human being?

Zach: A person.

Joel: What's a person?

Zach: A boy, or a girl.

Joel: Identified by species. Hmm. What's a man?

Zach: Living. Good.

Joel: Living! Good! Moral!!

Zach: Once there was a baby in Mommy's stomach and it died. We pray for it.

Joel: Awww.  ¶ 4:33 PM

  LOCATE THIS.

Easter Break in Berkely -- doesn't get much sunnier than that.

My little asian flower friend Aletheia led us into Mr. Mopps Toy Store. Yes!!! Pink plastic elastic jewelry, bubbles, squirt guns (one cowboy pistol, green, one radar space age weapon, red), bubble gum, silver slinky, parachute aliens, a kite with a dragon on it, and a plastic peanut for Joel, so he doesn't have to be scared of peanuts anymore. Thrilled to the gills. Almost out of cigarettes. Tempted to drop out of school three weeks shy of a diploma, get a job at the hot dog stand and live on Telegraph Avenue. (Just for a year, Mom, just until I get my bearings . . .)

"Good News For People Who Love Bad News." Modest Mouse. Epic.
Since Modest Mouse plays on the radio now, it's safe to assume we can burn their records without feeling guilty. This is a lovely 16 track watercoloury disc that puts Modest Mouse up with Radiohead as one of those tried and true bands that holds onto their identity but stays fresh. They've mellowed a little, but the rough, depserate midwestern twang is threaded through every song, and the lyrics are, as usual, spot on: "Woke up this morning and it seemed to me that every night turns out to be a little more like Bukowski. And yea, I know he's a pretty good read, but God who would want to be such an asshole?"

Who indeed? I haven't touched booze in days and as a result feel more like a child and less like a bitch; more like an adult and less like a crybaby.  ¶ 4:02 PM