09.20.02 - 5:32 p.m.

Today's free item from work: homemade jams, cocoa and cookie mixes from Vickie in Virginia Beach. Way to go, Vickie!

I've been rocking out to "All You Wanted" ALL DAY. Why am I suddenly a Michelle Branch groupie? Weetabix is right: she totally sounds like Hanson, which in my book is not necessarily a bad thing. The way they have her multitracked on that song...whoa.

Speaking of the new 'real girl' pop wave, I have a few things to say about Avril Lavigne. (Or April Lavin, eh?) First of all, she needs some manners. Yes, I'm aware you're seventeen and it's your God-given right to be sullen with the world, but don't show up at the MTV awards if you don't want to accept their kudos. Michelle B is a well-brought up young lady, even if she did make that stupid joke about being more drunk than Pink. And picked an unfortunate dress. But she still seems more sure of herself than Avril's "I'm a REBEL, MAN!" schtick. And yes, I know the supposed message of "Complicated" is to be yourself, but Madame Avril seems a little manufactured for my tastes.

Oddly enough, I know every word of the song, because it reminds me of ninth grade, when EVERYONE was a poser and even the so-called alterna-kids (this was right on the cusp of the word "alternative" becoming part of the lexicon, mind you) would rag on each other for being too mainstream. When Erin B. wanted to kick my ass for buying the same pair of white Docs as she had. Yeah, well, were you going to go beat up Eddie Vedder too? Because he actually had them first, and I was trying to emulate him, not you. Bitter cow.

And then there was Jeremy D, writing his little stories about Carrie selling out in his journals for Mrs. Klein's journalism class, writing "Operation Ivy" on my backpack, taking me skating behind the buildings by Sheetz, meeting across from Offutt Field for walks around town in the snow, lying to Moom so I could go to Vince's Halloween party (probably the first of my destination-based lies), watching Rocky Horror after school and deciding with Heather that we should stage our own production. . . .all somewhat traumatic memories that are always accompanied by neon and the stale chill of fall air.

And all of this is conjured up by Avril Lavigne, a teenage skate punk with perfectly straightened hair and professionally smudged eyes. My entire bag of adolescent inferiority issues coming back to haunt me.