7 September 2001

I slept until 7:00 this morning. Do you know what this means? Means I slept right through Mark's alarm. I am so decadent, I can barely stand it.

Yesterday's journal entry caused, well, not a firestorm of e-mail, but. Some. My mom wants it known that to "chew" spearmint leaves, you merely crush them with your teeth about three times and then let the minty goodness fill your mouth. This has been a public service announcement for you the journal-reading public. She also wants it known that "When you're around your friends, you can dress as you like, but when you're going to be around my friends...." was never a favorite expression of hers, merely one she felt compelled to use from time to time.

So okay. So Jimmer says, "why don't you just tell EVERYONE that I'm a PUNK?" Okay, Jim. Hey, everyone: Jim is a PUNK. Got that? Good. I believe he means in the colloquial rather than in the musical sense, but I am merely relaying what I hear.

Finally, Kari wrote, "So I'm the mean one and Jake's the nun-killer? All your California friends must think we're the most evil couple you know. We'll have to come out there and prove them right." Well, for the record, whenever anyone tries to imply that Kari is the mean one for any of the funny stories I tell about her torturing her little sister, I object. She is not the mean one. Although if you had to pick a mean one from the three of us...anyway, I stand by the nun-killer thing 100%.

Now that I have all that out of the way...these people should keep their own journals, is what, and then they could say what they wanted there. Anyway. I have a new favorite old expression, reacquired when I went home. "She looked like she was sent for and couldn't come." My mom said this of a mutual acquaintance of ours, and I was delighted with it. Enchanted.

"Okay...what does it mean?" said Timprov when I shared this new old expression with him. It means bedraggled, haggard-looking; it means that you look a wreck. Not functional. Sent for, but couldn't come. Not as rhythmic as "the wreck of the Hesperus," but in its general family of personal descriptions.

I feel a bit like I was sent for and couldn't come, but since I slept until 7:00 (!!!), it's better. I worked on five different short stories yesterday. Among other things. Today I'm going to rewrite the entire middle of "Mad Skillz" to see if I like it better that way. Going to try to finish the brain-sucking performance artist story, and if I get really ambitious, I'll tackle either the end of the Alzheimer's-related sequel to "The Flask of Today" (inspired by a comment from Cal) or the end of my deal with the devil story. And, of course, there will be work on the Not The Moose Book.

I was going to relax last night. Well. Sat down on the sofa to read and picked up the stories for Sunday's writers' group. Sat down at the computer to write to Sarah, David, and Tim, and immediately started thinking, "Hey, I bet I could get some good work done on that brain-sucking performance artist thing." (For the record, lest they e-mail me with addenda, there is nothing, to my knowledge, that should make Sarah, David, or Tim remind me of a brain-sucking performance artist.) So...well, this probably contributes to the "sent for and couldn't come" feeling, but it was good work, and I like my work. So there.

My parents own a wooden moose now, did I tell you? Yes, I did. But I've seen it now. It has really spindly legs for a moose. It's kind of like our college friend Rob that way: kind of a big guy, but with rather skinny legs for his size. Otherwise not at all like Rob, although I don't doubt that Rob would paint himself red and wear antlers if the mood took him right.

Also, my parents have become a bit inclined in the Parrothead direction. Which would not alarm me at all if I could manage to get "Cheeseburger in Paradise" out of my head. It reminds me of the drive into Kato for the Blues Traveler concert my senior year of college, me and Twig and Slacker in the backseat with MattnJess in the front, and every time it gets to the part in the song that goes, "I like mine with lettuce and tomato, Heinz 57 and French-fried potato...", I hear Jess belting it out and see her grinning like mad. Which we all were, even Slacker.

I'm glad not to be in college any more. But it definitely had its moments.