1:37 a.m. // 25 August 2003

I had to run the door tonight at mable's but it was okay once I got the hang of it. I accidentally made the owner's spouse pay. oops. I brought things to read: Optic Nerve #8 and my new cookbook, A New Way to Cook by Sally Schneider, both of which I just purchased at Recycled, and the Dirt Bike Annie roadie guy's zine, which Dwayne and I found out has a xeroxed Mable's matchbook on the last page. neat.

r. gilbert had a 12-string and occasionally made me laugh with his lyrics, and z. of yore covered guided by voices, beck, david bowie, and prince (!!!), and lyra is verrrry different from margo when I first saw them. somebody has been listening to some radiohead?

The voicemail system went down at work yesterday, and I told Hunter it was because he keeps going to the voicemail computer that no one ever touches and types in random shit and hits return and the computer doesn't know what to do (e.g. "poop" and "omigod crapsters").

also yesterday, three things, sad and scary: I found out that Wesley Willis died, and I got a mass e-mail from James D-llal, this formerly radical-ish liberal guy who I haven't talked to for two years, saying that he up and joined the motherfriggin' NAVY, and then a house near my old house on Locust burned completely.

that is all, good night.

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