July 27, 2002
Dead tired. I need to
Dead tired. I need to write down my recollections from the Neil mini-tour before the fine points vanish. But we're gonna be chic and urban and go into the city for a screening of Naked Lunch and possibly some Kurosawa/Mifune collaboration - gee, what a shock, another retrospective. I love this town.
Got another announcement from our friends Lori and Dave. The last one revealed their elopement to Hawaii. Now they have their first house. I'm sure I'll be hearing soon about the conception of their first towhead. At least I think I've figured out at last what to get them for a wedding/housewarming gift.
Don't get me wrong - I love to to be on one's announcement list, and I'm absolutely thrilled for my friends. Send me a pretty token of your good news; I save them for the day when I'll actually start my scrapbooks. I'm not so keen on, say, getting pregnancy announcements via e-mail. (Which has happened.)
I feel a twinge of jealousy? regret? frustration? that I'm not there yet and that I now have friends my age who are on-track and living the grown-up life. I've got student loans, scary credit bills, and before I even contemplate being a homeowner or future parent (gah!) I should try, just try, to quit living like a wacked-out college student with stuff everywhere. I have incentive to pare down on our stuff - we could be moving cross-country within the next year. I do not want to be toting boxes of crap that I should've thrown out in the first place!
My domestic porn is Martha Stewart Living. All this stuff I will likely never do, but you get a window into a world with approximate instructions about how to live the Martha life. (Although I must admit I have no interest in insider trading.) At least I know how things could be done - a girl needs inspiration and ideas, some of us more than others.
I want a brownie, the fairy-tale kind of creature who swoops through one's house at night and everything is immaculate in the morning. I guess in the modern world they call them maids, or mothers even. And putting out milk and cookies as appreciation won't cut it. I need to be my own brownie, since a) hired help is not in the budget, b) that would be utterly pathetic for people like us, and c) I'd be way too embarrassed to let them see the state we're in.
The surprise of running into John Nash has worn off for Scott. He keeps running into the man around campus and in the department. The man has been spotted wandering around the floor before going off to his ultimate destination. Can't say it would've been the most exciting experience - Poli Sci is a really bland floor. Maybe because no one accosts him, even though they recognize him, he likes being up there. Or maybe he just prefers the 7th floor men's bathroom to the ones on the other floors.