3/15/2003

ENGLAND IS COLD.

I'm in an e-cafe in Covent Gardens and I can barely type. But I'm paying for this so I figured I might as well update.

Brrrr.

3/13/2003

...seven...six...five...four...

I got the danged camera.

And boy, is she ever a beaut. She set me back a pretty penny (twenty-five thousand pennies, to be exact) but like they always say, you've gotta spend money to make money, or in this case, make no money but have nice visual aids for your blog posts. It's the same camera as Alecia has. I also bought her 128 megs of memory, which means she can take 271 medium-sized pictures at the highest resolution.

Oh, and a couple seconds of video. But if that's what I wanted I would've gotten a digital video camera. Or just not broken the one my family had my freshman year.

So when I get back you'll all be able to see the UK hella two-megapixel style.


I'm really going, and I'm really excited. Which is weird for me. I'm not often jumping-up-and-down excited about anything that often. When I get really excited about something I get this strange sort of emotional vertigo, I get woozy and want to back off. Caring about things entails disappointment. And I don't like to be disappointed. Most times I just get by on shutting my eyes, holding on and doing the damn thing. Like buying an expensive camera I'll probably break or lose. Or applying Early Decision to NYU. Sometimes you have to spend money you don't have to have the life you want.

I keep damning the consequences. Someday the consequences are going to come back with knives and electrical tape. Oh well, fuck 'em, girl.


It's funny and kind of sucks for England but for a day or two next week the prettiest girl in London won't even be from there.

And neither will the suavest motherfucker. (Points to self)

(Does the Sammy Sosa chest-thump-kiss-peace sign thing)

(Goes to bed)

See y'all next week. Be good.




and if a double decker bus
crashes into us...
to die by your side
well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine


...three...two...one...

3/12/2003

Y'ever wonder how many opportunities you miss in the average day? Any time you make a choice you miss an opportunity: every time you reach for the Honey Nut Cheerios in the morning you have completely wasted an opportunity to have Lucky Charms. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the big opportunities. Job offers. Life partners. That kind of thing. How many do you think you totally biff a day thanks to inaction or spinelessness or ignorance of their existence?

A bunch, I'll bet.

And then I'll continue to bet that if for whatever reason you end up in Hell, it's nothing like the book we just read in Humanities. It's all the opportunities you missed today, and every day before today, and every day after.

My hell will be a stadium full of girls I never talked to. Well, that'll be the lower-deck seats. The upper tiers will be girls I never asked out. And one by one they'll get up and I'll see each one of their pretty faces on the Jumbotron, mocking me, and they'll talk about the life they went on to have.

Three time Pulitzer Prize winner...

First woman to walk on Mars...

Heiress to a superwealthy Bavarian aristocrat...

and because it's Hell, every speech will naturally end but I was eventually treated for my nymphomania. And because it's Hell, I won't be allowed to cry.

So every time I don't say "Hi, I'm DC," what I'm really saying is, "I'll see you in Hell." I'll be the one at the fifty yard line in the manacles getting poked by imps.

It's a good thing I don't believe in that kind of thing.


London in T-minus ten...nine...eight...

Guillermo needs to write more and here's why (long but oh-so-worth it)
We are now forty-eight hours away from ANARCHY IN THE U.K., as I like to call Spring Break 2003.

Had a huge crisis last night. A crisis as big as all outdoors. I thought, If this turns out alright, it will make one hell of a blog post. And if it doesn't, all the blood from my wrists will make it hard to type anyway, so--

But I seem to be out of those woods, only now I'm in the woods of four hours of sleep and an off-book speed through of the show today for which I am, at best, poorly prepared.

Oh well. I like these woods better. And besides, soon they'll be clear-cut, razed and burned to make way for SPRING BREAK 2003.


Just playin' the other night. I know exactly what to think of webcams. Does a smile count as a thought?

3/10/2003

There's this game we play. It's called post really fast so you can read The Bleat and eat some cereal and go to bed.

I will now write a post in two minutes.

(Runs over to microwave timer.)

Hey what'sup.

Musical rehearsal today was lame because all we did was constant speed-throughs and no one's even off book yet

Went to the gym for the first time in a week, Iron Don is back

Webcams...don't know exactly what to think exactly

Digital Camera...must...buy...now

My little seven-year-old brother made a Pioneer Ten out of aluminum foil. Not for school or anything. How awesome is that? Very awesome, is the answer, in case you were wondering.

Boy, do I ever need a haircut. I mean, seriously.

Pitch in money. We're going to move New Jersey next to Cuba.

BEEEEP.

Time's up. Thus proving that nothing good ever gets done in two minutes. Ask any girl.

Treacher says never apologize for not blogging, but I feel like I owe you guys more than this. You guys, you.
I'm going to get a digital camera this week. London will not go undocumented.

I would write more, but I told a girl I'd go to bed.

And I'm a man of my word.