Friday, August 31, 2001

must-see dropouts

Today I saw Kacie (she was my roommate freshman year). She looks almost exactly like Debra Messing (Grace on Will & Grace). Yesterday I saw this guy Mike who also used to go to UArts (I think he's back now) and he looks a lot like Sean Hayes (Jack on Will & Grace). I guess when you leave UArts halfway through the program, you end up looking like a must-see TV character.

Thursday, August 30, 2001

on a brighter note...


die, noisy neighbors

The people who live downstairs from me just got home and turned on their damned (that's dam-ned, 2 syllables) music. I was about to go to bed. Last night the music started at about the same time and lasted until at least 1 or 2. Last night there was screaming and such out in the courtyard as well. The music is that horrible thumping bass kind, that nobody actually listens to except people who stop next to you at red lights and the people who live below you.

When I first moved into this apartment, sophomore year, I actually became physically ill from lack of sleep. This is maybe the 3rd or 4th person who's lived down there AND THEY'VE ALL BEEN LOUD. I don't care if I sound like a crotchety old man. I need my sleep! I have class in the morning! (Yuk.)

I think my favorite downstairs neighbors were the couple who was always fighting. One time I thought someone was banging on the ceiling to get my attention because they were locked in the bathroom or something. Because there was quite a lot of screaming, too. Apparently, these people just banged on the ceilings when they fought, or something.

Next came the guitar player. Can't *really* complain, b/c I know that in order to perfect your tone, you have to practice with distortion and amplification. But every time I tried to take my mid-afternoon least it wasn't in the middle of the night.

Also *wonderful* (sarcastic) was the one who would bang on the ceiling when I would bang on the floor as a way of saying "shut up". (In my defense, there's no way for me to go downstairs and knock on their door, because their door isn't on the inside of the building; it is only accessible through the courtyard and I don't think my key opens the door to the courtyard. Besides I would have to get dressed, exit the building, walk all the way around, etc...)

Also in my defense, it does say on the lease to be quiet after 10:30.

I got tired of stamping on the floor; now I keep a tap shoe next to my bed, which I just kind of hammer away with. It harkens back to the days when I would put on my tap shoes and practice in the kitchen of my dorm room when our downstairs neighbor got obnoxiously loud. And, yes, his music was OBNOXIOUSLY loud. I can say this with complete confidence, because he made the concrete floors & walls shake. Ya gotta be pretty loud to make concrete shake.

Tuesday, August 28, 2001


I saw tick, tick...BOOM! on Saturday night. It was soooooooo cool. The speaking/singing transitions were a bit awkward, especially towards the beginning...and Raul Esparza as Jonathan was sooooo amazing that he made the other two actors look (kind of) bad. Those are the only bad things I have to say about it.

Seriously, he was so specific and committed and natural, it was amazing.

There was this song about Sundays at diners, that was an amazing parody of Sunday in the Park with George. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. It was brilliant.

I was expecting to see a lot of aging Rent-heads (like myself) in the audience. Instead the tiny little theater was filled with old people. It was a little disappointing.

Monday, August 27, 2001

you call this a diary entry?

I feel like a crotchety old man. Every five minutes I say something like, "You call this hot?" or "You call this a rainstorm?" or "You call this a torn-up road?" or "You call this a ghetto?"

Never thought I'd miss New Orleans. I guess it goes to show that Home is whatever the h*ll you're used to.

spiffy toilet

I just spent God knows how long trying to change the toilet seat. Once I figured out how the old one was attached (which took about forever and a day) it was cake to detach it and install the new one. But it took a while for me to figure it out.

Sometimes I think it totally blows that I live in a majorly overpriced apartment, and yet I have to do things like buy and install a new toilet seat myself. I could've called my landlord and asked for one...but Geez, when the ceiling was falling down it took them months and months to come and fix it.

Oh yeah, and when they finally did, they dripped plaster and white paint all over EVERYTHING. It should take me about 3 or 4 hours to scrape it all off of the bathtub...oh yeah, and there's some on my favorite turtleneck sweater, too. (Which wasn't even in the bathroom.)

Isn't that a nice thing to come home to?

I would still be scraping and otherwise cleaning, but my back hurts. Here's a tip: if you're trying to unscrew a big ol' plastic bolt and it just keeps on turning and turning but you're not making any progress, try looking for the nut on the other side and holding it in place with pliers or something; don't just try to pry the mofo off with a hammer. And try to be observant enough to notice that there IS a nut w/out having to do an internet search for "toilet seat replacement".

On the upside, the toilet sure does look spiffy.

Saturday, August 25, 2001

cleaning techniques

After living for 2 months with a semi-clean-freak in a new apartment where everything is white...everything looks dirty and cluttered to me. Now I understand the suggestion he always made about how to clean up my apartment: "get a blowtorch". If only it were that easy...

living backwards like merlin

I just took this real age vs. chronological age test on the internet and even though I am (almost) 21, my "real" age is 18.55 - hey how about that! I'm still a teenager.

Friday, August 17, 2001

maury povich

I was watching TV today. Do you know those little things on talk shows where they say, like, "Are you a sexy stripper who wants to tell your fiance that you're already married to a Puerto Rican and have four secret children by five different fathers that nobody knows about? Give us a call" ? Well the one on Maury today was like, "Are you a 15, 16 or 17 year-old newlywed who suspects your new spouse of cheating on you? Give us a call." And I thought to myself, I remember when Maury was one of the respectable ones.

Thursday, August 16, 2001

one of those

I was skimming through my previous entries and I realized that I talk about pop music an awful lot. Just so that I don't come across as more of an airhead than I am, and so that the Fight Club thing doesn't seem oddly out of place: I read Edith Hamilton's Mythology, 1984 and Dante's Inferno last week. (I got through the Inferno in a day and a half.) I'm reading Hamlet now.

I'm slowly working my way through the stuff I read or was supposed to read or should have been required to read but wasn't, in high school. I hated it then but I'm devouring it now. The "required reading" table at Barnes & Noble totally rocks.

Now I just have to refresh my French and learn Italian. (Because, you know, I could end up living in Italy someday. God Bless the Navy.)

I hate school. But I love learning. Yeah, I'm one of THOSE.

i am Jack's diary entry

We rented Fight Club a couple of weeks ago and watched it twice. It's Brian's favorite movie and now it's one of mine, too.

Of course he told me the crazy surprise twist a long time ago - to be fair, at the time I had no desire to see it (all he talked about was how bloody it is).

I'm sure that the movie would've been a lot cooler if I'd been surprised. BUT. Knowing the twist, I did notice a lot more.

The other cool thing was that Brian warned me when the especially bloody parts were coming up so I could look away. I am Jack's sense of squeamishness.

I love that freakin' movie.

My favorite part is when Brad Pitt (I mean, Tyler Durden) falls off the bike. Hehehe.

My other favorite part was listening to Brad Pitt rant and rave about "you are not what you own" just a couple of hours after I read about the mansion he and Jennifer Aniston bought. Ah, Hollywood.

PS, "Who leaves a country packed with ponies to come to a non-pony country?" (I'm watching Seinfeld.)

when facials attack

This has been in the Weddings section of Martha Stewart Online for a while now, but I never REALLY read it until today:


Regular facials before your wedding are a good idea, but avoid them for ten days prior to the big event in case you have a bad reaction.

I always thought that a facial was something you either made an appointment for and received, or not. I didn't know they were something you have to *avoid*.

[Bride walks in with big red splotches on her face.]

BRIDESMAID: Honey! What happened?

BRIDE: I had a bad reaction to a facial.

BRIDESMAID: You're not supposed to have a facial right before your wedding!

BRIDE: I know! I tried to avoid them, but there were just too many. One of them knocked me down and had its way with me in an alley off of Main Street.

Wednesday, August 15, 2001


It's flooding again.

Practically every day, it just starts raining out of nowhere and everything floods to a certain extent. It doesn't even start drizzling and slowly start raining harder. It just starts pouring out of nowhere.

And the thing I've noticed about all of the roads I've seen so far down here, is they don't have any kind of drainage system like we tend to have up know, storm drains on the side of the road, that drain away underground? And where I'm from, roads are higher in the middle and lower on the edges, so that the water drains away (to the storm drains). Down here the roads are flat.

People keep on saying that the streets flood because we're 20 feet below sea level. Well I say, the streets flood because nobody ever did anything to make it so they don't.

Yesterday when it started flooding, I saw I guy get into his car to move it to higher ground. The funny thing is, that in this apartment complex, the highest ground is next to the levee, and that's where he went.

Yeah, that's a really great place to put your car when it floods. Next to the levee.

Wednesday, August 8, 2001

laugh or puke

****DISCLAIMER: if this entry is about you, I don't mean to be mean or anything, just truthful. if you feel insulted, go ahead, stop reading my diary. whatever.****

Today when I signed on, I got one of those messages that you get from MSN Messenger when someone adds you to their contact list, which gives you the option of blocking them from seeing when you're online. I always feel kind of bad blocking people, although I pretty much always do when I have no idea who they are.

Then I got a notification that this person had sent me some email. So I thought, hey, cool, maybe there'll be some kind of note telling me who they are, how they found out about me (most likely through this diary), and maybe they'll be a cool person and I'll unblock them.

Turns out, I was immediatly glad that I had blocked them, and I just became more and more thrilled as the minutes passed. This person (in my estimate, about 13 years old) had sent me four...count 'em, FOUR chain e-mails (oh, and not a single personal note explaining why on earth I, someone who has never even seen her name, was receiving them from her). I promptly blocked her email address so as to not receive any more.

The thing is, they were STUPID ones, like, "if you send this to 6 people, the taco bell dog will run down your street, if you send it to 8, then ronald mcdonald will beat him up." anyone who believes that that would, or COULD happen AT ALL, let alone because of an email, is, I'm sorry, stupid.

The others were about friendship. FRIENDSHIP. I've never HEARD of this person before in my life. The kicker for me was the second one, which consisted of an unspeakably stupid "poem", if you can call it that, about friendship, and then this:

















Not only is this stupid (how is *a hug* suddenly THE ULTIMATE, beyond tongue????), but obviously whoever sent me this hasn't even read my whole diary, and if they have, they don't understand the concept of "fiance", or "getting married" or "I'm twenty years old".

I don't know whether I should be laughing or puking.

Thursday, August 2, 2001

Bob's Truck Stop and Casino

I haven't written in a while because I can't think of anything to write, and I'd rather not write at all than write something lame.

Where I'm from, if you want to gamble, you go to Atlantic City or you go to Foxwoods which is on an Indian reservation in Connecticut, or you get on a boat (b/c you can gamble 1 mile off the coast). Down here, they have things like "Bob's Truck Stop and Casino". No kidding. This landmark bakery that went out of business was considering installing video poker machines to attract more business. Seriously. It makes me wonder why people even bother to drive to Biloxi to go to the big casinos. I guess to see Lord of the Dance, which has been playing at Beau Rivage all summer and the commercials just won't go away.