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Thursday 11/2/00
I exhibited truly bohemian laze today, rising only at four p.m. I write this at ten a.m. on the morning of the third. I did not wake until four p.m. because I was coughing up phlegm and snotting all day and having a headache that even psuedoepedrine and acetominophen could not vanquish. But though I descended into the abyss of disregard for my academic and financial future on account of an easily (or at least somewhat) tolerable head cold, I bring back from the rim of the world of failure and ruin this. I'll probably be visiting it pretty regularly, and I think it's worth everyone's time to at least take a gander.
I had two points of business to take care of after waking: 1. Get a haircut and 2. Get some food. Shortly after walking downstairs, Bess walked in hungry and I seized on the opportunity to see if she wanted to go with me to achieve my two goals. She agreed. The stylist/barber (whichever is less gay) trembled thoughout my haircut and after it was over Bess hugged me and told me that I reminded her of William Cain/Cane from Cain/Cane and Abel. Then we went to DePalma's and ate fettucine alfredo and spaghetti marinera. The waitress was attentive, engaging, efficient, and pretty. I tipped her nine dollars.
Returning home, we all (meaning myself, Bess, and lots of people in the drawing room) continued complaining about Landfield's horribly compassionless article in the CW. Bess wrote a letter while I read more of Youth in Revolt. Reading the novel is like reading Dostoevsky without any of that interesting psychological stuff getting in the way and making the story really engaging. I was surprised by the phlegmatic and stolid tone of my comments during the discussion of Landfield's letter, since I was so recently so enraged over injustice.
During the dorm meeting (which happens every other Thursday night, regardless of the fact that I haven't mentioned it in this journal) Steve McNoHumor was presented with a sexual-type blow-up doll bearing the visage of Robert Goulet, and to everyone's dismay, he did not react as Steve McOutburst but rather as Steve McSurprisinglyGraciousAndAppropriateYetWithUnfunnyJoke.
At some point during the night, while Josh and I were discussing linguistic stuff that no one else is interested in, I was informed that Reuben once again has a girlfriend. Predictably, this prompted a diatribe concerning the Goddess of Justice's depature from the earth, the cruelty with which the Creator blindly flogs the earth, the fact that His ways how strange are so strange as to be rendered entirely incomprehensible unless innocence offends Him, and that clearly He needs help directing the blind fury with which He flogs the earth.
I had to remember that it rains on the just and the unjust alike.
No, actually, that would be just fine, I mean, if the rain fell on the just and unjust alike. But clearly there is no justice, and no fair play, and no recognition of quality, and the rain falls mainly on the just, and the unjust have taken the umbrellas of most of the just, except of course for a few who grew fangs and are now regarded by the rest of the just as dangerous and hateful, and the fanged just cannot make the other just see that they are fanged in order that the unjust will not hurt the unfanged just so much, but since that would force the fanged just to make the unfanged just drink of the same poison that they (the fanged just) use to nourish and innoculate themselves against the injustice, and since drinking of the poison would kill most of the just, then clearly the only consolation is the yawning embrace of the grave.
But, so, well. And but so then several of us, including Bess and Trevor, stayed up in the drawing room making fun of people and criticizing stupidity and puling bitches. Ducks in a barrel. A short stack of them for breakfast in ten years. Short work, errant swordstrokes on the field of intellectual battle, let's hope they don't actually delude themselves into thinking that they can outfit themselves and ride screaming into intellectual battle. Fucking children's crusade.
Then Shane and Luke and I sat up while I did Logic derivations and the sun came up and my penis didn't. Then Luke said he was going to bed and Shane and I went in quest of the Crimson White at the Ferg, but you're (<-- look at that! I, unlike many users of the internet, know the difference between the possessive and the predicative words that sound like "yer") going to have to wait until I decide to blow that load in tomorrow's entry, ya dunderheaded galoot!
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