Greetings from the EC ghetto

'Sup, loyal readers? yes, all THREE of you. How are you? What's on your mind?
I've been feeling a tad isolated lately, and could use some positive human contact. I feel the need for a little attention, electronic or otherwise. So, I'm just going to write about Nothing.

I know, I know, How is this different than usual? It's not.

There is a pair of shoes draped over phonelines on my street. That's how you know you live in the ghetto.

If you take one of the bike paths around here, it ends up near the porn shop on Madison St., which is across from the senior center, oddly.

Biking 40 miles after not having ridden a bike in a number of years is not the best idea. But Lucy and I did it anyhow.

I am a slob. I should really clean up a bit. I am also exceptionally lazy, so I won't.

Despite listening to Tom Waits' "Way Down in the Hole" on a loop for half an hour, I am still not sick of it. It reminds me of the crazy night my friend's roommate tried to strangle me. Only I would find the memory of that night supremely hilarious. That song is incredibly sexy, but again, blues will always be sexy.

I really miss my best friend, Adam. Someone tell that crazy curly-haired bastard to visit me. And Pete, too. And David. I miss my guy friends. I need their perspective on things.

I am making friends in my Post-PoMo class. This makes me happy because it means I can talk lit with people and not sound like a pretentious ass.

Bob Barth's class is amazing. Take it. He's almost funnier than Matt Bloss.

My roommate Anne and her friend are the most annoying drunks ever. They had one beer each and were falling all over. Anne is what Lucy and I call a "fake drinker," someone who says they like to drink, but really don't drink ever. I don't understand why she has to pretend like she does. If you don't like to drink, don't. I respect those that don't respond to outside pressure.