03/26/2004 - 4:40 a.m. | shotgun fire: anybody home?

What an unbelievably unproductive day, says the hack who tries to start his entry with alliteration to sound all cool and shit. I woke up at 11 today, checked out the latest on the weird, amateur masochistic hentai sites, contemplated all that I could do, and then went back to sleep for two hours. Stumbled into the living room and ate cold macaroni and beef and watched as Spritz tried over and over again (in a heartwrenching effort) to find something decent on TV. Tank Girl it is. Weird how Naomi Watts is in it, before she got all Benicio Del Toro on my ass. It was late by then, but we started late, so I don't feel as bad. Much of the day was spent filling out the 20+ applications my stupid ass decided would be good to get yesterday. And, oh yes. Spitting in a cup that I had strategically placed on the floor. See, my throat still hurts, of course, but now in a subtler, dry way that 4 Genebs seem to have no effect on, and I refuse to go above 4 Genebs. That's just plain addiction then.

Speaking of addiction, here is a parable I wrote: Let's say I'm addicted to coke, OK? So, I have this huge addiction, but then I go and get addicted to heroin for a while. The coke addiction is still there, but I'm too busy with the heroin to worry about it. Then, I get sent to drug rehab for a while, and it's no drugs at all. Still, I really want some coke. It's just that there's none around. Finally, I get out of rehab, and I'm after the coke again. But, I say, "I had this long period of neutral time!!" Are me and the Lord square then? No, I would think not.

Filling out job applications apparently tops my list of most boring things to do, so I took numerous breaks to look at Stile with Spritz or get Vietnamese with Spritz (although he did fill out a fifth of an ap with me there, for which I am eternally grateful) or to go see Dawn of the Dead with Spritz because until tomorrow there is nothing else we wanted to see. I was fine with it the second time; I really did enjoy the shit. I smuggled in some ice cream for Spritz and some menthol ass for myself (upon Sir Doug's indirect recommendation, I got these cough drops that are like drinking the yellow Listerine straight from the bottle - mostly they just make me hate the world I reside in just a teensy bit more). My favorite part of the movie may very well be the soundtrack, which they do not have listed yet, but I came in this time specifically trying to remember lyrics so I could Google and Kazaa respectively. Stupid adjective verbs. Since I would no doubt fail as a songwriter, I would like to nominate myself as song chooser for every movie henceforth. Send your votes to Miramax. Because I'm sure they give a fuck.

I came back all juiced up to finish up the last 8 applications. This lasted all of ten minutes, at which point I began the delicate juggling act of drinking just enough that the task would seem interesting but not enough that I would get sloppy and make errors. I think I did fairly well. Meanwhile, Michelle tried to describe the plot of The English Patient to me, and in my narrow frame of reference (in which I take everything she said and smash it all together as fast as I can), it sounds like the worst movie we as a society have ever made. "And then he left her in the cave and she starved and his skin got burned off and he had a morphine overdose and it was romantic." I kept trying to leak in puns about people being patient, but they fell on deaf and uncaring ears. I actually kept the conversation we had just so I would remember this, and now I'm kind of rereading it quickly. I give Michelle a lot of crap. A lot a lot a lot. This is a sign of my affection, though, remember? If it were behind her back! Then you'd know I didn't care! Anyway, she came up with the idea of masks being a solution to every problem, and I think that would make a good movie. Actually, Spritz and I found an idea for a GREAT movie today, but I have to keep under wraps for just a little. Sorry.

Spritz passed on a message that AlterNate had sent him: "btw, i heard that nathan has been calling sarah..." And then he corrected himself and called me "Nate" all snobbily, I bet! Anyway! TWIST THE KNIFE THERE ALTERNATE! Man, he makes me sound like a psycho. But then, it would seem that by modern standards, I am. Two calls, five days apart, one message. And have you seen my collection of her locks of hair? It really is fabulous. Anyway, I like to think that there is a whole circle of people I don't even know gossiping about this all the damn time, and now occasionally I will get a weird look from strangers on the street. "It's that stalker Nate Walsh! Avert your eyes!" And of course they would think that I was the clone. Michelle asked why AlterNate would even be concerned with my affairs as they were, and I went into a lengthy explanation about how since he is the inferior version of my genetics, he cannot help but both admire and envy me. Ah, to protect my fragile ego.

...but you'd think they'd figure out that he was the clone when I got stuck with some second-rate nickname like "Reiterating PATtern" or some shit like that. I mean, come on, people! There are signs!!