2002-04-15 - 11:05 p.m.

Oh man am I procastinating. I have my English presentation on Race on Television due in the morning and I've been putting off the bulk of the research until now. I'm oddly not as stressed out over that as I should be. I'm more stressed out over my Group Project on Chinatown with the rabid monkeyfucks in my group. Is it too much to ask that they would have all at least SEEN the movie by today (with the presentation due Wednesday Morning 8 AM)? I think it must be.

Man, I wish I had at least ONE of the four orphaned Nintendos loitering around this joint operational. Nothing could help me relax like playing a few stages of Kid Icarus or Burgertime. How sad that all the $300 worth of super radical graphics and gameplay in the Playstation 2 fail to amuse me 1/2 as much as Metroid and Zelda. . .

= Stress Relief

So yeah. I am quite happy that Holly and Theo the "Unfrozen Caveman Jackass" didn't win those Saturns. Though I am less thrilled that Rachel and Walter can get their grubby mitts on those cars, good for Sean and Elka.

While I am getting a little picture-happy with my entries lately, and for the most part I think it makes the posts more entertaining, I want to apologize for the blood + milk curdling phtograph of that Australian Red Baby Eating Arachnid in my last entry. It has made it so even I can never look at it again. No amount of oversized books can unburn that little muckraker from my retina.

Speaking of carpetbaggers, my father is going to a Melissa Etheridge show this summer and he could not be MORE EXCITED about it. This fucks my brain so much I don't even know how to tackle it. I'd make a reference to my dad's love of short hair and the LPGA (not to mention his brief crush on Molly Ringwald - come on, who's not guilty of that?!) or that he used to get his hair cut at Heads Up in Lakeport (come on, who's not guilty of that?!) but it all ignores the fact that no matter what joke I make MY FATHER CANNOT BE A LESBIAN. Man. . .that's a good title for a book. I might use that someday. And, as promised to Keith Wentworth amongst the smokey dart boards of Forever Young, the first edition will be autographed to him from me. I'll say this much, if my father starts expediting at Patrick's I'm gonna know something is fishier than Lesbian Canoe Camp in mid-July. (that sounds far grosser than I ever could have intended it - great, that's all I need. I already have the state of Colorado [sans the Ramsey Family], the Jewish faith, and Kirstie Alley against me [so let's just throw the rest of those Scientologist clowns in with her], so the LAST thing I need right now is Lesbian Canoe Campers on my back).

The final part of that last paragraph reminded me of a time that I did an awful thing. We were having elections our Senior Year of high school for officers in clubs and organizations for the following year. Well, on the day that we had the Drama Club elections, Ricky, Scott, Monique and I were in charge (This should be a red flag already that this could only spell trouble). Well, Ricky had to go somewhere - he may tell you the dentist, but it was probably Patrick's cracking their Alto-Sham whip even then - so he couldn't make the elections. So, stupidly, but by the book, as the President he put me, the vacuous VP, in charge with these fateful words: "Zach, you're in charge. For fuck's sake don't fuck it up and please promise me that no matter what happens you won't listen to any scheme that Monique cooks up." I told him not to worry. He said that made him feel even more worried. Anyway, the elections were proceeded by a secret ballot and Scott, Monique and I went out to count the votes in a seperate room. Here's the deal. We wanted one girl to win president (we'll call her Merica) and we didn't want another girl to get it because one time she looked at Monique cross-eyed or something (we'll call her Mkate). So we counted the votes for all the offices and recorded it and when we got to President, to our sad surprise Mkate just BARELY beat out Merica. But our esteemed Secretary insisted it could not be. But I was in charge so it came down to me. I appealed to Scott and he said we should do what was right (God bless you Scotty), and Monique said she agreed, and what was *right* was making sure that little pomplemoose got what she deserved (which in this case clearly wasn't the presidency of the Drama Club). So that's when it came down to it. It was decided that since we didn't have to actually SHOW the votes but only the final winners (no specific tallies) we (meaning Monique) decided to do the only logical thing. Have me stuff the excess Mkate ballots down my pants. And I did. And she lost. And Merica won. And Ricky came back later and looked at me and said, "How did it go?" and I said, "Fine." and he said, "Good GOD, What Did You Do?" and then I ran and hid in G-Storage.

Man, I'll do anything to get out of working on this project. Please God, I love Chinatown, BUT PLEASE, I CANNOT WATCH IT AGAIN TONIGHT. Too much mystery. Too much nostril slitting. Too much NOIR!!!! Sigh.

Well, off to work on my project. . .

It's been real,

Svetlana Monsoon

ps - It's 11:47 and Ben's still working on his taxes. . .tick, tock . . .tick, tock . . .

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