Someone told me yesterday that I look like Saddam Hussein when I smile. There are no words.

Score. Seems like Kazaa is going to stick around after all.

I got a new watch today, to replace the old one, which lasted about six weeks before i walked into a wall wrist-first or something. Certainly my life is fascinating.

Read this before it goes away. It’s crazy. Also, I like Red Hot Chili Peppers’ video for Can’t Stop lots.

Just got a haircut. Now there’s less Anush. Best of all, no more split ends, as the ones I gained from having my hair set on fire have now been chopped. Now I will be fitter, happier, and more productive. Well, not fitter — longer hair means more arm movement to brush it. When you get as little exercise as I do (i.e. none) this is important.

I went to a Tori Amos concert last Saturday. This was v. spiffy. Tori Amos is sexier than I.

I’m reading A Passage to India by E.M. Forster right now, having been forced to put aside my revolutionary literature for the time being. Don’t read it; it’s a terrible, boring, stifling book. Oscar Wilde’s ridiculous, posturing society, except without the satire. I do, however, like this bit: “Though people are important, relations between them are not.” I find this oddly heartening.

Mom’s birthday present: a person made out of a bobby pin, wire, and embroidery thread holding a sign. Like one of those homeless people’s signs, only not really. Sleep.

In response to Meera’s butter-clocks, I had a pretty nice dream last night. There was this highly unlikable guy, who went nameless, although I think he represented someone. I told him to go into a certain room. He did, and fell down the stairs. This room, you see, was just a door with stairs behind it, except the stairs went on forever.

This man is an idiot. Ho-hum.

The newsletter thing seems to be working thus far, although of course no one has written any articles yet. My strategy, consisting of setting a deadline, stalking, and death threats, seems to be working. Maybe I can make this my independent study project if the anti-capitalist manifesto thing doesn’t work out.

I finally took that oral essay, and my teacher told me it “wasn’t very communist.” We communists are devious, said I. We like to pass classes.

Woke up two hours ago with scattered thoughts about being someone else, and wanting to get back inside my head so I could go to sleep. Also something about a widow. Eventually gave up on the sleep thing. How stupid.

I completely forgot about Easter. It’s only relevant if someone’s trying to give you chocolate, anyway.

I like sleeping. Also, I like Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent. My English independent study project may have to be some kind of anti-capitalist manifesto. I haven’t encountered much else by him, although I do have two bootlegs of his books on my computer. Inexplicably, they are in some obscure German-like language.

Now I’m on break, which is really great even though it means I end up with a lot less human interaction. My mom and brothers are in Lubbock (why?) and dad doesn’t come home until six, which means I don’t have to be civilized for a while. I think I’ll be sitting around and alternating between Salman Rushdie’s Step Across This Line and Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky’s Manufacturing Consent.

I tend to try for quality here, which makes my writing style a bit forced, I think. Merle’s place is generally superior. I’m missing her. Withdrawal symptoms take the form of cynicism and chocolate.

I’m not too socially competent, now that I think about it. The kind of person that I could call up and invite out usually doesn’t interest me, and the kind of person I really like is pretty well-established and unattainable. I still feel like I’ve got a life back in Michigan and am just sort of skimming the surface here in Austin, which is pretty sad, considering I’ve been here nearly a year. Then again, I’m usually pretty happy, I’m involved, my grades have taken a hit but I’m still getting mail from colleges. I think I’m just hung up on my complete inability to get out on weekends. Where do I want to go, anyway? With whom? Look, I can still be grammar-sensitive when confused!

My mom dragged me to some speech by a Polish guy yesterday about his experiences when deported to Siberia. He was refreshingly devoid of self-pity — quite an accomplishment, considering how terrible two years in a concentration camp at thirteen must have been. He was a funny, sanguine, anecdotal guy, a real success story, and it was a good thing to listen to.

I’m at school, in Health class, and I should be finishing my oral essays, which were due god-knows-when. The problem with having an easy class in which I can do work is that I figure it into my schedule, and then it stops being extra time. I went to Starbucks this morning, which was good.

I think I’ll call the newsletter World Takeover. This might be a bad idea, considering how everything else called that (namely, the group blog) failed miserably and pathetically. Also it might screw up the whole objectivity image we’re trying to project. Or maybe The Underground, seeing as I can’t be bothered to make it legit.

Wow, the time on this thing was screwed up. Subtract six hours and that’s the one you want.