I'm looking at this page in Netscape for the first time in a while, and it looks kind of wack. I wonder why.

The transition took about five seconds, as usual. I got here and, well, I'm here. The hallway was dark, the perpetual flourescence having mostly dwindled I guess. There was a note on the locked door - Rebecca had been there a few hours earlier and her key hadn't worked, so she and the bunny went off elsewhere for a while. I think my key is in the flat someplace, or at least I didn't have it handy, but luckily I had read my e-mail this morning and knew that Ester had left hers in Rebecca's shoe. It still took a bit of fiddling, but I made it into the interior hallway. I didn't notice it at the time, but some bastard had disturbed Nelly's remains. Lugged my lugs in, picked through cds that had arrived (Firewater, new Lambchop and Cornelius promos, Vespertine, no Dis Plan?) and detritus (sorry, detrus.) Not really knowing where to start with the other stuff, I began the process of transferring cds from carrying case to jewel cases (it's really amazing how much space that thing saves; the jewels took up a mighty large box) and filing them all away. Good thing the shelves were all set up. I popped Blur's "Modern Life is Rubbish" into Rebecca's musical alarm clock, an album that I've had an inexplicable craving for lately. I remember that that was the first thing I listened to after I arrived at HCSMF&I the last time, when I was just sitting alone in my room after having unpacked. I pressed the forward button 67 times to get to "When the Cows Come Home," which is a 'hidden track' that follows scores of pesky three-second tracks of silence. Ba-ba-ba-bum go the trombones. Then "Psychopharmacology" which is very rocking and very very dark and depressed.

I was thinking about maybe pulling out the laptop (for the third time today) and writing something like that, but Blondie and Hairy (as I greeted them) appeared before I got to it. We talked on Ester's bed for a bit and visited next door, where there was all kinds of commotion, and eventually got down to dinner - your basic pasta and sauce. Except that the pasta was pretty funny looking. I wasn't all that hungry, having had a hearty lunch, as I suppose I'll write about below. We forewent Scrabble, set about accomplishing the necessary rearrangements. I transported stereo equipment into my new room, where they are currently in a somewhat makeshift but actually fairly satisfactory arrangement (pragmatic if not particularly esthetic) and rewired the kitchen speakers, only removing a minimal amount of hall paint in the process. Christened the new setup with "Hello Nasty." In the middle of that Miss Ester called. Miss Ester? Yes I do. We said what needed to be said, mostly, and gave each other vague assignments. Anyone who feels they deserve a hug from Ester, I will serve as a medium. Thinking about going to Danemarch to visit her, perhaps especially if I have a second travelling companion so as not to infringe on her bunny-time. Ben. I'm looking forward to see Ben. He really loves her so much, it must be so nice. And so frustrating too. Good old Ben. Poor thing.

Took a break from packing last night to read Andre Dubus' short story "Killings," on which "In the Bedroom" is based. I remember hearing somewhere that the short story is the ideal source for a feature length film. This makes a strong case for that; the movie fleshes out a lot of the action that's merely implied in the twenty-page story, but it doesn't add a whole lot except where appropriate. And the dialogue in the story is used pretty much verbatim in the book. I'd like to read some of his other stuff. I had a guilty late-night moo shi veggie in tortilla (Mings makes great hoisin sauce) and packed other things together. Slept for maybe more than four hours, then finished the job, nodded at my mother's blandishments, drove to the airport. We had snow, for the first time since I'd been home there was a substantial amount of whiteness on the ground. Homegrown too. The zealous Rochester security officials put Cleveland's to shame; the latter didn't even want to wand me down, much less x-ray my shoes (I'd been thinking they were in need of an x-ray anyway.) Kind of hard not to laugh. I intermittently slept and read a chapter of Cloudsplitter, about moving up to the North Elba, in my kind of country (I love that Marcy was still called Tahawus back then.) In the baggage claim area I was called to attention by Brigid in a Waldo-striped sweater, holding a hardcover copy of same. We didn't talk about it much.

But about most other things, yes: names and their variants, snow, Papa M, movies, album titles (she doesn't like them), roommates, math, Rushdie, break trips, finding her someone. Meanwhile, she took me in an eggplant colored auto to Sokolowski's University Inn, a cafeteria-style establishment serving up generous portions of hearty Polish fare, replete with plastic Tiffany-style hanging lampshades, communal-sized tables, Indians paraphernalia, beer ad mirrors, and racially and age diverse lunch-hour clientele. We both went for the sizable pierogies and lemonade, and I took sides of kraut-n-noodles and gravy mashed potatoes. I wonder if Nori has learned anything about Eastern European cooking; it's hard to imagine eating something like that here at the Barn. With ample time to kill, I had a whirlwind tour of the West Side, including Jacob's field and the adjacent peanut mural, a funky bridge with colossal figures holding up little modes of transportation, and the terrific public market building. Then a massive thrift store, where pink, green, and yellow items were on sale. We quizzed each other with Trivial Pursuit Baby Boomer cards. And then she deposited me back at the departure area. I would say "what a sweet gal" except you know it's been said before. The rest of the trip, as they say, uneventful. Another chapter of Banks, more sleep. Hauled my bags across the street to get a taxi, and guided the driver back here without too much difficulty. Memories. Then all that other stuff happened.

So here's what:
This semester portends fairly well I think. Rebecca declared at dinner that it's a year for unconventional couplings. For my part I would like to hope that this will be a somewhat less eventful one relationship-wise, not that last wasn't plenty interesting. Stability will be nice for a change; I'm quite excited for it actually. Somewhat more undetermined is what the dynamic will be like 'round here. No question that Nori's additions to the mix will be markedly different from Ester's. N isn't concerned: she has apparently told Ester that she since she doesn't know us very well, she doesn't foresee arguing with us. Yes, well we'll see how long that lasts. Seriously, I am looking forward to this living situation, and I am sure we'll all get along swimmingly. I have no apprehensions. We have also declared that this is to be a semester for nudity. No doubt Nori will be of more help in that department than her predecessor. To kick things off, Rebecca has unveiled a poster of cartoonish Puerto Rican pornographic magazine covers. It matches the peach of the common room nicely. Beyond that? I don't really have a strong sense of what this semester will bring. Oh, rock music, classical music, literature hopefully, the broadening of my academic scope perhaps, and certainly more than a few surprises along the way. Flowers. Good things, exclusively, of course. As I mentioned to Ester earlier, I don't really have bad experiences.

So. Kristin Hersh and the Kings of Convenience have been nicely lulling me, and it's probably high time to make some sense of the pillows and tangle on this bed. The sheets are quite dusty and linty at the moment, from having things placed on them and subsequently removed. But I shall wash them tomorrow. Tomorrow: more rearrangement of household items; Alyssa; perhaps some time for reading, or a jelly-roll pan.

hey all you prestidigitators
why don't you disappear for good