WHITE HEAT
I have discovered the LOVE that is liquid eyeliner. You almost have to make it wing out at the sides; there's no other way to do it, really. I bought some really cheap (but notably not Wet 'n Wild) eyeliner at the drugstore, mainly for the purpose of dressing up the boys for Hedwig, but I made myself up, too, just to get ready. And WHOA. I feel like I'm the leader of a '50s girl gang, Rizzo style. This is surely dangerous territory here.

By the way, the drag went very well, I think. Adam told me that after they walked out of the men's restroom at City Theater a woman accidentally walked in, assuming it was the ladies' room. And they have pictures. Ahhhh.

It was a great night all around. I went to the free screening of A Beautiful Mind in Shenley Park with Carolyn and some of her friends and met up with Scotto and company at the Union Grill where we were later joined by the three boygirls whose faces I had previously painted. I think it's fair to say that we made a scene. Not a negative, Dynasty-style scene, but a "who are those beguilingly coiffed yet witty young people?" kind of scene. Good for us.

Adam, Carolyn, and I have decided that we need to step up to the plate since all of the amazing/dramatic/hilarious writing seniors have graduated, and we have some large, wisecracking shoes to fill. Accordingly, we plan to be SEEN as much as possible. And so it begins.

On an entirely different note, one of my housemates was hit by a trolley while she was riding her bike back from downtown yesterday. She has a pretty big yellow bruise on her temple, but she seems okay. Jeez! She apparently blacked out and woke up in the hospital. Tonight we're throwing a going-away party for her because she's going to be in San Diego for a while, so it may as well also be an "Oh my God I hope you feel better" party as well. I mean, that's the way I'm calling it.

ROLLING ON THE CARPET WITH THIS YEAR'S GIRL
So Dave's blog disappeared overnight. Or rather, Dave disappeared from his domain name, which was promptly taken over by a ridiculously teenaged girl. Like, super teenaged That, or Dave's sense of humor is even more nuanced that I had thought. I'm feeling a little like eulogizing it because it was literally the second thing I checked online at work. It went like this: 1) Pitchfork 2) Dave and Adam's blogs, and 3) Pander zine distro. Now I guess I'll have to find some more obsessive online recounts of personal life to keep up with. Maybe I'll just continue to read this girl's blog, which strikes me as an acceptably creepy alternative. Nuanced humor! Can't beat it!

Tonight I'm dressing and making up Adam, Josh, and Dave in drag for Hedwig and the Angry Inch. (It bears mentioning that the Dave I'll be making up is not the abovementioned Dave, who wants absolutely nothing to do with cosmetics in any form, even if, as his friend Andy mentioned, people can't even tell if you paint your toes, Dave. Indeed.) Nevertheless, I love dressing up, and having three people on which to experiment . . . . oh, it's just too much. Adam and I will be hitting the drugstore after work for Wet 'n Wild cosmetics galore. I'm actually having a little bit of performance anxiety; after all, Adam said they were looking for a "performative guru," and while I have no doubt that I am just such a lady, I don't have a set gameplan yet. I mean, I can make myself up for sure, but I know squat about makeup for other skintones and what have you. I guess the PERIODIC TABLE OF GLAM has always contained the same things: liquid eyeliner, eyelash curlers, red lipstick, white eyeshadow, blood red blush, bronzer, platinum hair dye, brassieres, glitter, sunglasses, go-go boots, chapeaus, Chanel nail polish, tiny dogs, hotpants, fake bamboo bangles, airbrushing, Debbie Harry, pencil thin eyebrows, bobbed hair, heart-shaped moles, rollerskates, peach schnapps, screaming. So we'll just work on that theme and see what happens, I suppose.

COME WITH ME, MY GLAMAZONS!

I WANT TO FEEL THE ROAD OF TAR BENEATH THE WHEEL NAMED EXTINCTION!
It's clearly summer because I've been listening to Trome le Monde again, maybe more than last time (which is hardly possible). I've read a lot of reviews that criticize its hard, shiny morning-after production, inaccessible amounts of noise and lyrics about space, but for some reason it really hits the spot with me. There's nothing more suitable for hot, sunny days than loud, noisy music: Sonic Youth, Pixies, and Smashing Pumpkins records abound.

I'm glad that it's finally really summery again. I have a pretty general, hard to explain happiness about, oh, everything at the moment. At least that's what I think it is. Summer projects, paychecks, sunglasses, parties. The library, walks down Wightman, beautifully dressed people with whom to consort. What, am I living in The Mysteries of Pittsburgh?

THE PERSONAL COSMOLOGY OF SARAH E. SMITH
First there were bodies, before anything else. THere were hills and crotches in the unspoiled land. THere was depth in everything, but perhaps not very much. There were great lakes like vanity mirrors, and electricity ran untamed by circuits or tungsten. Womens' thights grew wildly, unbridled by space or pyrotechnics. All the glorious things in the world began to exist: concept albums, stoplights, white lipstick, an icecube slid between the lips, chocolate mlated milshakes. The light frequency of skin and wet grapes. The patterns of things and costumes from '70s family films, and dark hair and self-awareness followed. Virtually two years after these amazing consequences, Elvis Costello released My Aim Is True and the world, as we know it, began in earnest.