04/01/2004 - 2:18 a.m. | but there's only so much that a [guy] can do

Let me put some parts together and hope they add up to something cohesive. Can we do that? I have this test tomorrow, and though I feel like I have prepared, I also feel like I haven't done anything either. I guess this could be the perfect balance. I'm not so sure.

Sorry! I'm not thinking right right now. Actually, I am, but... ARG! Don't you hate things that should theoretically not be problems but somehow end up a lot more complicated than they are? And you yourself cannot - or should not - do anything about it because it is not actually your place . But then will anything get done? I'm just sort of on edge all the time now. On edge and pissed off, and I truly wish I could explain better to you for once. Normally I like my vague bullshit :)

Anyway, weird fog of morning. As in my brain, not the weather. I'm always sort of confused that I'm up at 7:30 and holding a crossing guard sign and all that. Today, Cute Little Girl lost her voice or something, so she could only mouth "thank you," and I practically melted on the spot. At least lots of things make sense. I got sudden, bizarre inspiration afterwards and looked up summer classes. I believe I am going to be a badass Parkland Community College student because I don't need another UIUC broomstick up my butt. And, God willing, I will sit in on Kyle's Spanish I classes with him and kick some ass. They'll be like, "What's 'cat?'" and I will let fly a series of curses the likes of which only the working women have seen. Yes, that's right - prostitutes!

Go with the flow, they say. Fuck the flow. Recluse. I really didn't do too much until it was time to guard the cross again. When the sun is out and warm, my mood improves 100%. Darn seasonal affective disorder. I'm more like a reverse werewolf. When I got home, there was an EXCITING PACKAGE waiting for me. I quote: "NATHAN, for the price of this [Beyonce CD] YOU get all of these [3 Doors Down and Norah Jones CDs]" BMG, you have truly made life worth living. I hadn't even known I wanted any of those CDs. Pink-haired Jay Leno finally got voted off of "American Idol." Praise be.

Michelle keeps bringing up this hilarious notion that I don't "know her." Perhaps this is true, but I still have a rather high success rate in predicting her actions. Way back on St. Patrick's Day, for whatever insane reason she had, she took the assignment of making some of the Free the Children posters. I could have told you then and there that she would not be done with them 'til tonight, and that we would probably bang some shit out in a last minute rush. I was almost wrong; the whole group made posters in a last minute mash at tonight's meeting. Free the Children is a really hard club to advertise, because you're supposed to take it all seriously and junk, and it just does not have a very catchy anything. Michelle brought a bag of Doritos to the meeting, so I was pretty much being gassed down by noxious cheese fumes the whole time. Anyway, I'm not sure if our poster party was a qualified success. The one moron girl was, well, a moron, misspelling pretty much everything (including the word "you're" three times, in one case), and the posters ranged from the intensely boring to the downright insane. I will give Elliott one thing, though. The man makes good posters. For instance! "MEET TOM HANKS? FREE THE CHILDREN" and "ROCK & ROLL: DEAD OR ALIVE? FREE THE CHILDREN." I tried very hard to draw Jeff Goldblum from memory, but he just looked like a greasy foreigner.

Oh. Mission accomplished.

As we drove back (actually several times throughout the night), Michelle said that she would only stay and play Dr. Mario for just a little while. Every time I called her a flat out liar and said she'd be there for 3 hours at the very least. I went and watched The Rundown with Yousaf, came back, and she was still here. The bizarre Dr. Mario orgy rolls on. I really do very rarely say that I'm right unless I am, you know, right. Anyway, The Rundown was in honor of The Rock's new movie opening Friday, which I damn well better be in line for by then. It was... well, I shouldn't say good... but enjoyable. And Christopher Walken proves once again that he doesn't care what he's in. Yousaf got his expensive ass projector, so we watched the thing on his wall. 96 inches or some shit (and one crazy, Sylvestor trying to get to Tweety's cage, precarious pile of furniture), but for all he has spent on this ultimate theatre system, there are still enough kinks in it to push him to the edge of madness. For one, the screen flickers off occasionally and for no good reason. Also, the surround sound has made some sort of Opposite Day decision to go soft at the quiet parts and loud at the quiet parts. Makes sense by me.

Out of pretty much nowhere in my perception book was the following passage, instructing how to kiss: "To kiss someone, magnify the face-form, if the facial expression is amiable, so as t almost fill up the field of view. It is absolutely essential to keep one's eyes open so as to avoid collision. It is also wise to learn to discriminate those sublte [features] that specify amiability." I hope to one day make a flash animation, but then, I've hoped to have done a lot of things, and The Man keeps holding me down. Be warned: If I ever get terminal cancer - no, fuck it, any sort of cancer - no more punches will be held. If He tries to take me out, I'm going out blazing. Or flaming. Forget which.