HARVEST MOON
I made the hearty mistake of going back to see the literary club at work again today, and they're still acting just as bored and hopeless as they were yesterday. It's true, the magazine is a lot of work, and it is your summer vacation, but there's no rule that says anybody has to do it just because it has been done in the past! When I came in they were all stewing in a tense silence, and they didn't want to go get lunch with me so I brought them sandwiches from Sheetz. And then they ate them, joked around for a little bit, and went right back to feeling and acting absolutely miserable. Geez. (Maybe it's because they were listening to Destiny's Child while they were working. I mean, hopeless is hopeless, and it starts with "Shmestiny" and rhymes with "Shmild".)

For the first time since the Huge Scary Snake Incident of last Tuesday, I went for a walk up the hollow with the dogs. I think I threw something in my shoulder because I have that achy, sick feeling that comes from having a chest muscle that isn't sitting comfortably. It was good to get outside again, though, because when one lives in the country it makes no sense to be easily freaked out by the most abundant thing around, i.e. the countryside. Besides, like any good country girl knows, copperheads prefer so much to stay away from people that it's rare for anybody to run into them.

Deer ticks, on the other hand . . . .

Never mind.

I USED TO ORDER JUST TO WATCH HER FLOAT ACROSS THE FLOOR

My day has been entirely better because Ram is back, and lo, dear reader, I have spoken with him on the telephone and also through Instant Messenger by now. However, it doesn't look like I'll be able to visit him before he leaves for India. This means no Ram time until July, and that stinks in all kinds of ways. (Well, one, actually. You know what I mean. It's just a colloquialism. No need to drag Wittgenstein into all of this.)

I went to Greensburg with the members of the literary club today to get an estimate from the printer. For some reason Greensburg looks really nice and familiar to me, like a cross between Sydney, OH (where my mom grew up) and Bloomfield in Pittsburgh. The printer's offices are cool and well-lit with that great '50s office aesthetic. Also, there's a big classy sign over the entrance to the printing rooms that says, "IT CAN BE DONE." Cripes, I love these people. They just do their thing in a highly professional manner without any dissing or mean talk. If you ever have any kind of publishing work to do and you live in the SW Pennsylvania region, go to C.M. Henry.

Regrets, sure I've had a few. One of them is not getting Ian's mixtape in the mail soon enough. I owe a lot of mixtapes, actually. And there are quite a few zine letters I should be writing. I'm thinking about starting something called the Correspondence Club next semester. Ah, ambition. Have a nice evening, everybody.

BLACK HARVEST MOON OVER MY HEAD

The primary thing I should mention is that I miss Ram. I think he's still with his family on a trip out to see Mathu (his sister) graduate from Brown, but I'm not sure, and it's been a week since I've heard from him. You may think me feebleminded, reader, but it's hard to go from lots and lots of daily contact to none for a week, and then a brief and happy bit for a little while, and then none for another week. And then, the great looming trip to India. Which will be wonderful for him, and I know it's going to be a great time, but I still know that it's going to be hard. I want to be back at school, take a walk around with the gang, buy my books, and shoot some shit over coffee or whatnot with everybody. Most of all I want to see Ram walking through my door. I'm sure that most of my longing would be abated if I got a letter from him, but I know that nobody's at his house . . . oh Ram, why don't you come home now?

Ah, well. In other news, some things that constantly impress me:
1.) My ability to buy even more t-shirts from the Goodwill, even though I have two boxes of sweaters and a bureau full of random clothing in addition to a pretty big closet packed full of other clothes.
2.) Mulholland Dr. still keeps me from being able to go to sleep immediately (because I keep on thinking about that homeless man/monster scene behind Winkie's. Come on, you know what I'm talking about.)
3.) Elvis Costello's early twangy voice.
4.) Lewis Carrol. I feel an addiction coming on.
5.) Jenn's new blog, which brings so much interesting self-introspection to the table, way more introspection than this vain little blog of mine.
6.) Those early Beatles records. I know I've said it so many times before, but go listen to "I Call Your Name," "You Can't Do That," and "I Saw Her Standing There." And please join me in the twist.
7.) Ram Subramanian. He waves "hello" to all animals and babies, charms waitresses and old people (although some of the D.C. cops don't seem to appreciate his sense of humor . . . and vice versa . . .), sounds a lot like a girl for the first verse in "Sweet Adeline," looks better in my t-shirts than I do (and disagrees when I say so), knows almost everything there is to know about every Beatles, Pixies, or Radiohead song, has a messy room at school (but not at home), has cold hands, wore a shirt and tie throughout high school but stopped because so many people at school did it mindlessly, doesn't eat eggs, loans me good books, carries a handkerchief, eats a lot of candy, fulfills every requirement on the list of essential boyfriend characteristics I made about a year ago (especially "has a good time in a toy store"), can eat a footlong veggie sub from the "O", is afraid of insects, mashes up his sambar, curry, and rice into one big conglomeration, doesn't wear shoes if he can help it, and makes me feel calm and happy, like we're the two people on the cover of "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." Need I go on?