10.24.03 - 5:43 p.m.

It's so teenish and emo to quote ye olde song lyrics, but who said I'm not (mentally) either of those? And yes, I'm aware I already goopily mourned Elliott Smith AND excerpted a poem about a ferry in this diary over the past week. Fuck it. This damn Thorns song has been on repeat on my computer all day:

Cold outside
But I don't blame the weather
No one's calling
No one's at the door
But I can't stay inside all day
Blinds pulled to the floor

It ain't right
Feels like forever
So many changes, I stopped keeping score
But if you want me, you know where I will be
I don't get out much anymore

There's no blue sky in my town lately
Everybody looks at the ground
I've been distracted and dulled out, crazy
But the sun never looked so pretty going down

Tonight's plan is to make corn chowder. Though I nearly exceeded my comfort food limit with turkey kielbasa/sauerkraut/mashed potatoes on Wednesday and the verboten Wendy's chicken nuggets yesterday, it's cold out, dammit, and my tum-tum wants more meat on its bones.

Last night I reaffirmed my crush on anyone and everyone ever associated with The State by watching Michael Showalter play Jeff Spicoli, Joe LoTruglio play Mark Rattner and David Wain play Mr. Hand in a production of scenes from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. It was like a His Dude play, only somehow they were able to convince people to pay $10 to watch. Though I would probably pay $10 to watch them read The Devil Wears Prada out loud. John Flansburgh provided partial soundtrack accompaniment by singing Cheap Trick's "Surrender." I swooned.

So despite the return of Death Cold 2003 and the general funk that has permeated my brain and given me supa-dupa-circles underneath my eyes, I've been rather social the past few days. Gold star!