I had a dream last night that involved a mind-blowingly brilliant concept for a three-part story, but upon waking all I could remember was the second part, which, in its entirety, is this advertisement for a college radio station: "If you're not listening to WJAK radio, you need to be jacked up."

but so, everything is good. It's autumn in the valley again. There's a long broken sidewalk that leads from my apartment, down the hill to the convenience store, or down the hill to Fly's apartment, or up the hill to Devon's apartment; and on the sidewalk there's a wet layer of acorns that crunches half-heartedly underfoot. Orange trees, cold wind. etc. If there were one word to describe my present state it would be-- well, it would be scrumtrilescent. But I am also placid. I'm actually looking forward to winter this year. fleeting images of sweaters & hot drinks in mugs, maybe Toronto, maybe Rock City, pressing my poor cold nose into my palm. etc.

I stopped by Everythings A Dollar on my way to work today in search of socks-- but instead of socks I purchased an X-Men coloring book. The Wolverine in it is Ultimate Wolverine, with the retarded goatee; but it has, like, seven pictures of Bobby-- three of which are connet-the-dots pictures, which, symbolic, be still my heart-- and five of Sabretooth. The pictures actually make no sense: there's one of Scott in his old x-Factor uniform running at full speed through a living room, for no obvious reason, and another one of Magneto peering into the hole of a tree.

So Elizabeth, to entertain me and because work was slow and she doesn't know anything about the X-Men except that I love them-- flipped through the pictures and told me the story of what was going on. Because Wolverine had the retarded goatee, we decided that he wasn't Wolverine but the man they call Captain Pierce, unrelated to Benjamin "Hawkeye" Pierce of the 4077. He has an incompetent henchman named Scott and an uncle named Magneto.

The epic adventure is too complex to explain here; but eventually Hank gives up trying to write his memoirs, and he shouts, frustrated, enraged, "These underwear are too tight! I can't WRITE like this!" He tears off into the woods and meets Sabretooth, who agrees to help Hank with his underwear. They go to a motel.

Later she composed this poem:

Erin Erin, full of books
and wacky ways & sexy looks,
you're fond of food & friends with crooks,
and Christmas trees are full of hooks.

*

A brief sketch of the last few weeks:

1. I went to a debate between Susan G. Cole (Toronto lesbian) and Ron Jeremy (porn star). Say what you will about fratboys-- and I say plenty-- but they do add an element of taut festivity to an occasion. Despite that, the event was somewhat disappointing. Susan Cole is an excellent speaker, with a well-structured arguement and a talent for winning over a hostile audience, who, unfortunately, is against pornography. Ron Jeremy, on the other hand, is a very mediocre speaker who is for pornography and is thus on the same side as everyone else in the room (minus Susan Cole). So nothing was accomplished and no points were made. But on the plus side-- omg, I saw Ron Jeremy! He has a Hawaiian shirt and a cheesy moustache. He referenced the idea of women enjoying boy-on-boy; there were cries of dismay from the audience. See re: fratboys.

2. I watched Dead Man-- a film unsurpassed in enjoyable cameos and yet utter pointlessness. It reminded me of watching The Village, with Pebbs & Doqz & Co.; it was that bad.

I never did get to that point in the con report, where I talked about seeing the Village, did I? I'm so bad. I went to see the Village. It was terrible, as Dustin, and also anyone who has seen it, can tell you. Doqz wanted to see Spiderman II, and we should've listened to him, but Pebblin refused, saying that she had to see Spiderman II with Mel. So it was terrible; and then, as we were leaving, Buttercup said to Doqz, "Well, it looks like you were right." And I looked askance at her and said, "What the fuck did you tell him that for? He's totally gonna run with that now." And he did! so who was right in the end?

3. I was speaking with an associate at work last night, and I was asking him if he ever took advantage of our company's policy of allowing its employees to clock in fifteen minutes before their shirt and to clock out fifteen minutes after. My associate replied, "Sometimes I'll add fifteen on the frontside, but I never take in on the backside." and I think it gave me an aneurism, but I managed not to say, "buddy, you're missing out."

. . . yes, I thought of that just now because I asked who was right in the end. I am a sixteen year old boy.

4. After viewing Dead Man, it occurred to me that I bear a watered-down Nashville resemblence to Alfred Molina. Check it out: him, then me. but don't think about it too hard.

5. Scrumtrilescent!

6. what can I say? I'm going to school. There's a heavy blanket of nostalgia on everything these days, distant memories surfacing randomly. I'm not getting any writing done but I'm learning about literature and history and biblical narratives, which is nice in its own way. I'm sort of feeling life at its own pace, for the moment. I remain stubbornly unalarmed by everything, even through midterms or when I pull out onto the highway and there's a car there I didn't see. Hopefully I will not die in the throes of this unalarm, and I'll get a chance to share with you all the knowledge I'm gaining, by working it into a brilliant three-part story involving a college radio station. See re:sweaters and hot drinks in mugs. Hopefully soon.

Love. tag, love.

--A.