WHIRLWIND, HEAT, AND FLASH
There were an impossible number of cultural events that I wanted to attend in Pittsburgh last night. First of all, Bob Dylan (!), the premier of Daddy Cool, a really excellent, bizarre-looking Pittsburgh-made film, and Miroslav playing at the Frame. You may think it's silly that I put Miroslav up there with Bob Dylan more or less, but I'm a fan. What can I say?

So Bob Dylan is the man. Because of his delivery/interpretation of most of his songs, it's kind of hard to tell exactly what he's playing. He played "Blowing in the Wind" as a first encore and Beth couldn't tell what it was until afterwards. Also, his best songs were arguably his covers, especially if I include his cover of Jimi Hendrix's version of "All Along the Watchtower," his last encore. He also played "Brown Sugar" and "Old Man." But none of this is the point. He's Bob Dylan. He wouldn't even have to sing in any language any of us know because his power doesn't always come from the words. I had chills the whole time. I guess it kind of goes that my favorite moments were when he played the two songs from the Wonder Boys soundtrack, the aforementioned Neil Young and his own, the one that won him the Grammy or Oscar or whatever.

HOW I CAN ARGUE WITH THE MAN WHO'S GOT THE MONEY IN HIS HAND
This is one of those moments when I feel impelled by something in my veins to do something, to really write a letter, to really write something for my zine, or here, or to really talk to somebody. To grab somebody's shoulders and look them in the eyes and say something, finally, after thousands of years of bullshit. There is no music fast enough or loud enough or manic enough for me to get some of this released. Elvis Costello comes close, but everything else just makes my legs twitch ineffectively. I should be getting ready for the show right now instead of hopping around my room and putting on this shirt, that shirt, this scarf, that belt, and screaming "Bone Machine."

God, I love coffee so much.

But I would be leading you astray if I made it sound like this is just the product of two cups of black coffee. Because that isn't it. I feel like this much of a time bomb when I talk to Megan after class about authenticity and performativity, and we both GET IT. In a huge, big, way. There is, finally, no need to shout and it rules. I don't feel the need, at least at the moment, to explain to myself why I bother having a zine, or bother reading others. Or any of the other things I do that every 19 year old kid does, like writing letters and getting all jacked up about books that I'm reading. I'm loving it at the moment.

WE DISCOVERED THAT WE WERE HIP
Just got back from seeing Bowling for Columbine with Adam, Kevin, and Emily. It was pretty much what a Michael Moore documentary would be, given my pre-existing expectations for it. I like Michael Moore because he reminds me of my dad: no-nonsense, quick-witted, good sense of humor/knack for getting into trouble, and compassionate. Obviously, both of them do things that upset me. In Michael Moore's case, that means constantly referring to THE MEDIA as if he isn't a part of it; in my dad's case . . . well, I don't have anything in mind right now. But still, I'm glad they're both around and doing their things. I think as many people as possible should see Bowling for Columbine, and even pay $7.50 for it, but nobody should walk out of the theater and just feel great that they saw the film. That would turn the whole thing into a big act of mobile upper middle class/academic fuckery. And I know you don't want a part of that. So, um, work on that.

Things that are funny: I think Adam and I are updating our blogs simultaneously (we're both in the Cyert cluster), I've been spelling "Gerry" (as in "Gerald Costanzo") wrong all this time because he preferrs it spelled "Jerry," Charlton Heston is a bigger asshole than you could have imagined. Things that are sad: Charlton Heston, the whole fear leading into consumption thing that we pass off as the American Way.

CELLAR DOOR
Donnie Darko is the most awesome movie. OH my GOODNESS. It really hit all of the right spots for me, I don't know why. Producing that movie is possibly the coolest thing Drew Barrymore has ever done. No, really, go and see it right now.

Thanks to Gerry I'm making some progress on my Gladys Schmitt research, but I haven't been able to dig up any of the actual stories yet. I guess this is the perfect time to learn how to really do periodical research; I have all of the dates for about 20 short stories of hers, but no actual copies to hand in. And ugh, I haven't read any manuscripts today, mostly because I hate to think about how much they're piling up. I hope I don't have a nervous breakdown on our baggers this weekend, but hey, if I do, they'll just get a realistic look at the school. Uh huh uh huh uh huh.

Adam and I were SO OUT OF CONTROL in Playwriting today. I was drawing the whole time and we were both kind of giggly and full of ourselves. Usually I don't doodle during my classes, but I couldn't keep my mind in one place today. I did a pretty awesome pure contour line drawing of the really talented kid in our class, the one who's writing a play that uses old Nintendo cartriges and projects the images onto a wall while actors offstage read the lines.

A SECRET STAR THAT CANNOT SHINE OVER TO YOU
I want to learn how to ride a bike so badly. Sometimes I get flooded by thinking about all of the things that I can and should be doing with my life, and how long it takes me to do one simple, smaller part of them, like laundry, say, that I don't even think about how much I want to do those other things. It's a constant feeling of inadequacy, dissatisfaction, that I don't think I'm ever going to buck. But I was thinking about riding a bike to the library in my skirt, a scarf trailing behind me, and I don't want to give that up just because I never learned in the first place, because I wasn't daring enough. The city isn't exactly the most desirable place for learning how to ride a bike, or is it? Or am I just a wimp? If you find a really solid, old Schwinn, maybe you should tell me about it.

Today, other than that, is satisfying. I'm doing real research work for the department, which is difficult and kind of confusing, but I may be named as a co-editor on this book. On the cover. Don't get too worked up about it yet, but it is a possibility. God, I'm so infatuated with scholarship: the pens, pencils, notecards, quiet footsteps in the library. You, me, and Borges makes three.

BLAME THE DEVIL FOR THE THINGS YOU DO
I totally look like the archetypal indie girl today. I'm wearing dark blue jeans (cuffed up twice), a belt, a Belle & Sebastian t-shirt, a red cardigan, a polka dot headband, grey kitty socks, and black converse. I'm feeling kind of indie pop today, too, I guess. In the sense that things are grey outside, I'm listening to Mutations, and drinking warm liquids. To keep warm.

I have the funniest feeling listening to Jenn conduct phone interviews the way she has been the last few weeks. She's a research assistant in a project that tries to correlate physical well-being with human contact, so she has to call probably about fifteen research subjects every night to ask them questions about how they're feeling. "Have you confided in somebody in the last 24 hours? If so, did they show concern? Today, do you feel full of pep?" The last question is "Has anybody hugged you in the last 24 hours?" Maybe I'm not supposed to constantly-self evaluate when I hear these things, but I do anyway. Full of pep? No, not so much.

LIES AND BETRAYALS/ FRUIT COVERED NAILS
I spoke briefly (over IM) to somebody from Governor's School all those years ago. I told him about my breakup and he asked me immediately if the sex was any good. And then he told me I needed to smoke some pot & that would make everything better. I mean, great. Thanks. He asked me what kinds of things I've been reading lately and when I told him about the literary theorists I've been getting into, he asked me if I knew how to say their names. What an asshole. I don't consider it acceptable to tell somebody that all their problems will be solved by some drugs. Things don't work that way for me. I guess if nothing else I'm glad that I can tell you that and know it's true about me, at this moment at least. I may be a little different now, but there are some things that aren't, in fact, different at all.

I really like Slanted and Enchanted a lot more than most Pavement fans, at least the ones I know. When I first heard it I thought "Oh, I got burned. This sounds so fucking emo." But I started to fall hard for some of those songs, especially "In the Mouth a Desert" and "Trigger Cut" and "Zurich is Stained." Gosh, I am an indie pop girl. I guess. It's pretty standard college-type music to listen to, or at least it seems that way to all of us who don't even tune above the low 90s on the radio. Like, my Matador Records compilation makes me totally mainstream, right? I kind of like that viewpoint. It's so wrapped-up in itself.