How come I can't e-mail Ryan.NYC anymore? His e-mail is broken but I really want to tell him about how I'm in love with the new Belle et Sebastien record, specifically the harmonica solo "Fuck This Shit" and that Spanish-flavoured number, because I first heard both of them live and lovely.

[I want a tiny tiny cactus of my own.]

Sunday, June 9, 2002 — 05:43 p.m.
Dwayne dreams of playing bass guitar. I know this because I saw the fingers of his left hand reaching for the frets in his sleep.

Hunter wrote me a poem about Waffle House:

mariel t., i had a feast last night.
mariel t., i had a feast.
smothered, covered and diced, o yes.
mariel t., i had a feast.

waffle was sweet.
hash browns were a treat.
tha grits, tha eggs, the suga, so complete.

mariel t., i had a feast last night,
and i wanted to splode.
mariel t., i had a feast last night.
right down the mother-pluckin' road.

Thursday, June 6, 2002 — 10:26 a.m.
I finally get my chance to see Corn Mo. And guess who's opening? Saturday is gonna be a hot night, folks.