did i tell you my life is essentially perfect? listen, i wasn't joking. it's not time right now for me to tell you about my fabulous weekend, or even about today. okay, fine, today: the most beautiful one yet? i tell you, worth courtyard is at least five times prettier today than yesterday. the trees flower quite suddenly. new venues: french moved to the amphitheatre for us to shout hastily memorized chausettes lines ("du liquide pancreatique!" "frottez-moi le dos!"), and bio convened in the spankin' new lecture hall, which is just too nice a space (if you ask me) to be wasted on science lectures. well, i'm sure they'll show films there too. lunch/w'stock interview with elena was great, radio was good too, with special guest and many happy returns. i got, among others, a new first cd (aa before ac) for the first time since the acid mothers temple superseded ryan adams last fall. i got a voicemail from yale evelev, which is doubly exciting. i helped becca assemble an absolutely great picnic dinner co-op featuring cold salads i like(d) and beer in a wine jug. tap class is always great, as is practicing. and terpsichore made me want to get right up on the stage and dance some more. i inched closer to completion of the trio (i'm at viiº/V7, poised for a cadence) and finished writing four snappy reviews, which will go up here shortly.

just about the only thing that isn't making me happy right now is a pestersome sniffle and drip plaguing my face. i blame it on the aftereffects of a day in deadface (which i'll write about soon), not on some abstract springy allergy. (you'd think i've been alive long enough to identify what gives me these occasional allergies, not that i could avoid it. but no. some particles in the air, i presume.)

it's been a full day, and i've been willfully not writing (not neglecting, not avoiding, just not doing) the 7-10 page semantics squib that's due tomorrow. i don't know how much, but certainly the fact that it's not even called a paper is helping me to not take it too seriously. no, i'm happy about the prospect of now writing it too, staying up maybe even all night to get that looby overexposed allnighterhangover which i like but don't do often at all ("night is fluid into morning," i once wrote it.) if not for the sickish, i'd been even more happy about it.

i'm going down to the crum for another bonfire now. then i'll come back and write it. don't worry.

the famous person wears the same size waterskis as me
she's got three cars as many years i've lived in this city
her hair is blond and mine is browne they both start with a "b"
but whenthephone insideherib cageringsitsnot for me