heating and air conditioning.

i spent last night in some weird kind of daze. i tried going to bed at 9, and almost fell asleep, but not really. so instead, i texted random people because i finally know how to text, and then i read some old journals and wrote an entry. i said something about not wanting to fall asleep anymore in my parents' house on a twin bed with snowman sheets. you aren't supposed to do those kinds of things at my age. that's what society says, anyway. i finished the huge book of hell and started against love: a polemic. i get it, laura. monogamy doesn't work, and it's okay if we cheat. that's what you're going after, right?

actually, i wonder about a woman like laura kipnis. i wonder about people like her, specifically, academics. after reading a couple paragraphs chockful of words that would bring any gre/sat taker's score down, i wonder if it makes them feel superior. like i try to imagine her at a target. and not just any target, but the target off zinfandel in rancho. you know, the "ghetto" target. well, maybe not all people think it's that "ghetto," but you get the point. so here's laura, walking around target, and i wonder what she's thinking. does a woman like laura, an academic, prolific writer even visit places like target? and if she does, what's she there to get? dove soap? biore strips? when the bitchy clerk gives her shit, how does laura react? does she just think to herself, i can communicate on a whole level this person would never, not in a million years, ever understand. this bitchy clerk is so beneath me, she could even spit on me, but i've got degrees at home, money in the bank, and published books on the shelf.

when this happens at a barnes & noble, when she's confronted with a bitchy clerk, does she ever think to come back to the counter and buy a copy of her own book? i think that's what i'd do. i'd pay for my own book, and after i've signed my receipt, i'd sign the book, and make it out to "the bitchy clerk who will never amount to anything other than selling copies of something i wrote." and then i would just leave it there and laugh. i would laugh and laugh and laugh.

these are the things i think about at three in the morning.

i also came up with this poem, although it's not very good. it's not meant to be, if that's what you're asking:

21, had some fun.
22, so much to do.
23, what's in store for me?
24, such a bore.
25, still alive?

then i woke up early and told my dad we should go see juno, which we did. it was pretty good, but i'm biased because they played everything in my cd collection, and even made an anti-sonic youth remark, which i could understand. but even my dad said he liked it. i can't remember the last time it was just me and him seeing a movie. i think maybe it was waiting for guffman. that was over a decade ago.

there was a preview for persepolis, which looks amazing. my dad doesn't like cartoons, though, i don't think, so i'll have to find someone else to bring along. he's gone to movies by himself. he once saw the motorcycle diaries alone. my mom's done that, too. i forgot what she's seen, but she's seen something. me, i've never been to a film by myself. i don't see why i haven't. it's not like you talk to anyone while it's playing. it'd just be weird, i guess. like having to stand while taking a number two. it'd be breaking a habit.

i liked in juno when she said, "i bought another sonic youth album, and it sucked. it was just noise!" not many people laughed, but i sure did. i don't want to spoil anymore. just that one little tidbit.

tonight, maybe i'll convince rich to see there will be blood. there's a midnight showing. why not.

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