Gross. And Funny.

My apartment is gross, and the mice are starting to chew important things like 16 mm negatives and such. ARG! I hate the mice! And I miss my rat. I miss him in his spectacular health though, and the end he was pretty old and scrawny. Sweet little feller. I did love him. The irony is a few days later a close friend also lost her fuzzy friend. We ate KFC in remembrance. Why KFC I'm not sure except I was hungry and that was the closest place.

When I was in high school there was a KFC parked conveniently across the street. The scent of KFC would waft across traffic and settle on hungry teenagers with disposable income. I actually didn't eat there all that much. I ate in the cafeteria. Once I was gorging myself on that month's craving, pizza pretzels, and the girl I would lose my virginity to said she thought I was cute stuffing my face. I didn't say anything back, because my mouth was full.

We were sort of lab partners in biology class, she oohed and ahhed at my strength ripping open a clam, and then she entertained me by throwing squid legs out the window onto a boy she didn't like. Now whenever I smell formaldehyde, I think of the absolute wildness of teenage lust.

If I had the chance to go talk to me when I was that age, I think my advice would be to respect women no matter what. Even if you think they're acting bizarre and ridiculous and maybe even mean, don't be a jerk back. Have some class in your exit, if you can.

I have a jar of liquid latex on my desk and no one to paint it on.

It is red.

Hmmmm . . .

I want to, no, need to make a video, soon.

And I do have a jar of red liquid latex. Maybe I can tell that story about being the whitest looking kid in the family. And how I wanted my race to show. I tell ya, I was a racially tormented child. Oh well. Someone's got to live on the borders. We can't all fit into nice neat little boxes.

I feel like a total borderland creature. Let's see, would you like a quick run down of what it looks like? I have a vast collection of books practically oozing out of every corner of my apartment. My desk is strewn with fast food containers because my fridge is broken. My pills are staring at me in the face everyday when I sit at the computer so that I'll remember to take them. Even my computer desk top is a mess. Files and folders and jpgs and mpegs everywhere. And a bunch of goofy wav files.

In the end, there is truly no greater pleasure than the chance to witness a man running down the road with his ass on fire.