Dual Purpose. Glasnost. Sand And Rocks.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore.

Typing that out was mainly for my own good. But I suppose it serves the dual purpose of opening up this little monologue broadcast of mine. (Fanciful image of Eric Chao British pirate radio. 'ardcore, you know tha score! Chuckle.)

I'm not gonna lie to you. I can't think of anything noteworthy to post about. Not that it's stopped me in the past. But in the spirit of glasnost, I thought it only fair to make that entirely clear before I went any further.

Suffice it to say that I'm still here. Though not being a very attentive blogger. We can't all be Kathy Kim.

Well that jogs one thing. I got a postcard from Diana (Kathy = Diana, right? Heh. Sorry about that, ladies. That's just the way it's become wired upstairs. I'll call the electrician tomorrow.) today, all the way from Sweden. Next to my name, she drew a tiny stick man. Upon whose head she scribbled a tiny mimicry of my hair. Sweeps across the stickfigure head. I pictured her drawing it in there. For some reason, she has her tongue gripped between her teeth like a gradeschooler deep in concentration. Not that, to my knowledge, she does that. The thought makes me smile, though. I miss Diana.

And it's not like we hung out all the time. I suppose I just liked knowing that my friend was within reasonable distance at any given point in time. Such is the nature of my greedy, greedy friendship.

Alright, man. Fuck this.

I'll try again when I've got a head filled with something other than sand and rocks.

A Number Of Unrelated Reflections

From A Bathroom In Rolfe Hall, 08/17/05:
How exactly does one's forceful stream of urine manage to splash urinal water into his own goddamn eye? I can't be sure of the exact logistics, but it happened. Postscript: I bet a lot of you find that revoltingly disgusting. Hah hah. I'm classy.

From Another Bathroom In Ackerman, 08/17/05:
One of those anarchy symbols (The capital A with a circle around it, you know.) is scrawled in black Sharpie over the toilet paper. Can imagine some mohawk'd (What? Kids aren't doing that anymore? God damn you anyway, Ashton Kutcher!) dude dressed all in black scribbling it while making a deposit. Oh yeah, brother. That's real hardcore. Show The Establishment just how fucked-up useless it is... by getting an education at an institute of Higher Learning. Go back to OC, O tormented soul.

From An Automotive Repair Shop Owned By Family Friends, 08/20/05:
HOW THE FUCK DID I BREAK MY MUFFLER INTO TWO SEPARATE PIECES? JESUS. Addendum: Sorry Alex, my car no longer growls like a riced-out Honda.

From The Respective Living Rooms Of Two Chinese Families, 08/20/05:
These people paying me to talk to their sons about UC Application Personal Statement Essays?! Correction: The$e people are paying me to talk to their $on$ about UC Application Per$onal $tatement E$$ay$!!

From The Warm Glow Of My Parents' Television As I Fold Laundry, 08/20/05:
OMG. OMG. COMMANDER ADAMA HAD BETTER NOT FUCKING BE A CYLON. Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus, please no. Please. Also, Missy Elliott's new music video is cool. Why doesn't that sentence make me feel dirty? And did I miss the memo where Papa Roach decided they weren't dark and tortured anymore? And decided to write bittersweet lovesongs? And is that the Doritos Girl in the video? Goddamn, maybe I shouldn't get cable at the apartment.

Cursory

Insurmountable, insurmountable. If I try to catch it all up, I will collapse. Sorry. Will update soon.

Brief Aside:
Just got off the phone with Daniel. He called to inform me that he and some friends are walking past Royce Hall, and that there is a couple having sex on the fountain. He stayed on the line for a few minutes, to continue reporting on the situation. He hung up with the affirmation, "I will keep you posted."

My roommate is the fucking coolest.