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27 september 2000
ooh shake i can't shake Last night's entry is an example of what happens when you put premium vodka ontop of tasty chianti ontop of mediocre vodka. Tonight's entry is an example of what happens when your roommate wakes up with 104 degree fever and projectile vomiting. I'm writing from Culver City. There's no way in hell I'm going home tonight and exposing myself to whatever virus, airborne or otherwise, has turned my six-foot-two home-sharer into a shrivelling ball of infected pathos. So I'm crashing at Wamba's place, nestled not a half mile from the monumental intersection of the 405 and 10 freeways in the heart of West LA. It's been a long time since I last slept in the city. The environment is invasive, the constant white noise of the freeways, the persistent orange glow in the sky. What happened to the crickets and the stars? No internet access, I'm falling asleep, and I can't get my new tune out my head. Does that mean it's good? 27 september 1999: : on a long hiatus 27 september 1998: : on a brief hiatus 27 september 1997: saucy reflections on teenaging : I had this theory in high school that "The Reflex" was all about masturbation. No-one believed me. Just listen to the lyrics, though. It could have been more aptly titled "An Ode To My Penis." Maybe I'm just nuts. Oops, bad choice of words. Um...Dr. Freud, are you listening to this? [ swim back | email me | swim ahead ] |
