August 24th, 2002

(no subject)

Numbers.
numbers tell a story.
NUMBERS tell a story.

all music is beautiful
except for eurodance.
and the stuff that plays while you're typing at a gigantic corporately owned internet cafe.


I saw a lot of important works of art in person today at the National Gallery of Scotland. Really great stuff. Go crazy white men go.

One of the best stories I've heard in a while is why there's this really unhistorical painting of a little white terrier hanging in a passageway.

The dog's owner gave a lot of money on the condition that they take care of the dog after he died and that they always have the painting of his pooch on display.

And there it is, steps away from Titian, Van Gogh and Rembrandt. Fucked up shit.


There's something about traveling abroad and drinking that makes you make out with your friends.

“Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.”


I'm much farther along in my studies, but I still haven't gotten anywhere with the performance anxieties. Or neurosis.

Let it go.
Do nothing.
Subtract the need.


I'm ready to get out of diva house. Eight acting, dancing, singing girls sounds a lot better when you're not living with them.



w00t lnog psot.

(no subject)

I remember hearing about these dating devices in Japan once.


I think behooves LiveJournal to do the same. Worldwide. Radio devices letting you know who is dateable. Whether you're walking around my hometown or a foreign city.

And I don't use behooves often.

(no subject)

And my parents split up.
Last Saturday.

My dad's trying to get an apartment in DC.
Across from Watergate, if you know the area.


This is what my brother was trying to tell me in that comment a while ago.

I've been oscilating between celebration and quiet reflection.
So I guess I'm taking it well. But I should fly home before Thanksgiving.