There are eight people in this apartment right now. I feel like I'm sleeping over in someone else's house: there's the debate over sleeping arrangements, and the unfamiliar bedroom. It's a flash-forward to next semester - I'm in Rebecca's room, (which actually doesn't feel that oppressive at all, it's rather cheery and cozy, at least with the fuzzy white blanket. I'm determined to move my bed in here next semester, even if it takes up half of the space. I don't really need a desk [I'm not using mine now except to collect clutter and store sheet music and printer paper], just my bed, my CDs and my stereo and a bookshelf, and Alyssa; I can use the dresser in the closet. Hopefully Nori will be able to make use of my desk, I certainly wouldn't look forward to moving it. Maybe she'll find the keyboard useful as well for theory purposes, or if not I can store it in her old room); she and Geoff are in Ester's. And Ester is sharing my bed with Jamie and Ilana while Ben sleeps on the loveseat. Joel is alone and unchanged. He's such a constant.

Great night, and I shouldn't have gone on for so long without talking about it. I should not make plans more often. Well I had plans, sort of, but they were rather scotched. I went to soundcheck at five, and nobody was there except Chloe and Nicola, who were just as clueless as I, but set about trying to mop anyway. Eventually bandmates and donuts and tech arrived and we began to play, running through the set and working on more or less new songs. Come to think of it, we never really played a soundcheck. Jeff drove me home to pick up my hi-hat, I came in to find Joel with the groceries, Geoff just arriving and Claudia here to borrow dance CDs. I had to run out again to go to the play (House of Yes), but I couldn't get in even though I was there twenty minutes early. I'll make sure to be really early tomorrow. So I walked back, from Olde Club to the barn is one of the longer distances on campus, decided that it was too cold for birkenstocks.

A little befuddled, I spent too long looking at the nasty little man site. I tried to go to Maria's birthday party, but I couldn't find Woolman. Instead I went to Beardsley, to look at Tiffany Gong's photograph of me. It's excellent, I really want a copy. I'm barely recognizable, mostly because you can barely see my face, just my hands and my accordion. I was particularly struck by the light in the Kohlberg passageway, reflecting off the copper-tiled ceiling. Ali was sitting on one of the benches in the courtyard, looking at index cards with diagrams that I could barely even identify as Orgo Chem diagrams. I tried to help her study with them, but she suggested we go to her room instead. S+B+E were there, with new arrival Eva Holman (16), and whisked us off to Tarble and Rose Tattoo. I decided I didn't want to sit through the same songs again by Joe "Jewel" Altuzara, so Ali and I went out in search of adventure. We found the remnants of the Afro-Latin week dinner in Upper Tarble, where they insisted that we take some Ethiopian leftovers (they had, among many other things, two huge aluminum pans of that spongy bread stuff). Ali knew Emily, so they/we talked for a while. We tried Rose Tattoo again, but it was even worse - some guy strumming "Jack and Diane" with piano and cello accompaniment. Ali suggested Hallowell, and I insisted that we wander through all the hallways, as she smoked a cigarette (then put it out in a trash can, but the building was still standing when we left). It's a fine dorm. I don't miss it. We visited Shawn Kyzer, whose room is what was once the lounge across from my room. He was very gentle and welcoming, although I don't think we'd met before. Then back once more to Paces (Chris Conoway was on, doing some folky stuff and then some electronic stuff), for not much longer this time (by now the rest of the group had disappeared). Finally we ended up on a bench under the tree outside Mephistos, to have the conversation she started earlier that evening.

Ali's a crafty one. She asked, innocuously, what I would do if I knew I was going to die at midnight. That was only two hours away, so I said I would probably just play the gig and then go to sleep. With twenty-six hours rather than two, it's a tougher call. Actually, the party tomorrow night would not be a bad exit; at midnight it will still be going on, so I'll avoid the comedown, and just be there to enjoy the high. She said she would want to tell all the people she's close to what she thinks of them. (well, what's your answer?) I said that I felt I had more or less done that, at least with everyone I really care about. Her perfect opportunity to ask (as well as about herself) about Brigid and all that. So I told her the story, the twenty-minute version I guess, with all the key players. She also wanted to know about Barn dynamics. I asked her about the three of them, and she had some interesting things to say. We went to Nick's (wading through the Willets weekend wantonness) for a few minutes, and looked at some charcoal portraits to be published in their planned 'zine. I decided I should probably go back to Rose Tattoo and see about playing.

My timing was right on - I got there as the act before us was starting his last song. Jeff told me the premise of the lyrics he had just finished writing for the "ba ba ba" song, which tell the touching story of a boy who loses his coolness when he pees in his pants, and the girl who was too shy to talk to him until after that - they fall in love and engage in some questionable sexual practices. The audience was fairly large, although none of my good friends were there; I chatted with Justin and Ranmal and played the fawning rock fan with Damon McMahon. Jeff and Leaya did a so-so wispy duet with Corey on Djembe, and then Jason and I took the stage for the Keller Method proper. We opened with "Want," the police-y tune with a lot of breaks. The tempo was pretty good, and it went surprisingly smoothly. The "70s song" was next. I don't really have a sense of the song, I just decided to play hi-hat sixteenths, rim-click on four, double-bass the whole way through the song, playing around to find as many sounds as possible between the two hats. Corey and I shared a mike for the improvised a capella nonsense-syllable intro to "Infantile Sexuality," which was definitely our most popular number with the crowd. I worked that sixties back-beat, rat-tat-tat fills for all they're worth, and some people even started clapping and dancing along. I orchestrated a re-cap of the opening a-capella with everyone clapping and then a rocking-out. The final number was one of Leaya's called "Naked Ladies," after the flower. It was okay. I just banged on the toms. I don't know how well we were recieved, but whatever, it was fun. Morgan was there for the end (she wants me to play with her dad on Monday, should be fun), as was Joanne Gaskell, who invited me to watch meteors at 4am tomorrow (are she and Spiegel together? it sure looks like it). And Brigid was waiting for me.

The usual suspects were apparently all off drinking in Jarrett's room, having left Eva asleep. Of course she wasn't - there is always someone awake in that room - she was talking on the phone and looking a bit confused. Brig said something about giving her privacy and we went back outside. On a night like that, we couldn't help but wander down to the Crum to look at the stars. Pausing to climb the tree outside Sharples, where she tried to give me a piggyback. The sky from the meadow was surprisingly light, but I'm sure I could have made out more of the winter hexagon if I remembered them from Pynchville last week. Orion has a particularly low-slung hunting knife, or something. Cassieopia seems to be in a different place every time. Each plane we saw had a different blinking pattern. Orange, white white, orange, white white, orange, orange, white white, orange.

Ali and she differed slightly on some points, such as whether they want to live together next year, and the number of guys beating down Brigid's door this semester (ten or zero.) But they wanted to know some of the same things, particularly about how things are working at the barn (I probably gave a more negative answer than I would normally, for the sake of critical analysis). And they agree about the pros of triple living. Anyway, Brigid and I told our stories, in fragmentary form. Her dating experience limited to a "Wake-Up Little Suzie"-ish episode in high school; I invoked Meredith for the second time that evening, first as a smoker, and then as a heat source. We talked about travel, toothpaste, houses, Queen, Ohio, science, first kisses, the weather, death. I explained the basics of the relationship theory, not very eloquently. Codes always amuse me, words - "interested," "something," "complicated," "presumptious." It was special in the way that sort of thing can't help but be special, but mostly it was just nice. She felt better. We had to rely on each other for warmth, and we had to give up eventually.

Came home to the best possible things: bustle and "squished people," Ester's lookalike comfort friends piled on her bed, camera-ready, Ben Friday-stressed, family. It's morning now, and I think I'll go see who's up and who wants oatmeal.

I'm overjoyed to hear about your wedding.
I'm writing you to wish you every blessing.