NOW THAT YOUR PICTURE'S IN THE PAPER BEING RHYTHMICALLY ADMIRED
You can tell that I've been hanging out with Scott and Ethan because my clothes reek of cigarette smoke. They're definitely out of control with the nicotine, but such nice boys. We watched a tape of the show from Scott's film class from last semester. Wow, there's nothing quite like amateur film. It was really taking me back to that opening at Pittsburgh Filmmakers that I saw with Dave. I don't think we knew each others' taste in art particularly well then, and I was so reluctant to trash anything lest I put my foot in my mouth, which meant that we watched certain horrible films a lot longer than we probably had to. This was a little different, though, because Scott could dish on all of the students while we watched it, making it a pretty good time. I'm sure that I'm a little biased, but Scott's films were great. The first short is about New Year's Eve, and he took phone messages left on his answering machine from New Year's a few years ago and followed the people briefly. He used my voice, which was cool. You can hear me saying, "Yeah, so Sahsa's party isn't going to happen because, like her dad came home . . . " It was actually the day that I wrecked my car with my ex-boyfriend in the passenger side. Wacky.

After that we played Balderdash, had some Indian food, (Aloo Palak is my all-time favorite, if anybody's keeping track) and called it a night. This morning I read most of Seymour, an Introduction and it's renewed my committment to being the kind of person who, for all conventional purposes, is said to write poetry . . . .