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4:19 p.m. : 2002-06-28 : Putting My Neurotic Root Down Since Seventy-Fi

Upon watching me look for a FedEx envelope in which I would send my keys to Wil Cat-feeder because I had forgotten to leave them in the mailbox, my father said, �You really need to make a list of all the things you do wrong.� That kind of nonsensical but inadvertently effective psychological conditioning should give you an idea of why I rarely give myself a break. I�m too this, I�m too that, I did this, I did that.

Das Otto Cats practice last night was horrendiculous. I think we were all worn out on account of the 1000�1500� days we�ve had. Frank�s a carpenter and Dave�s a plumber so they were probably swimming in the thickness of the ozone all day while they carpented and plumbed. But we are playing �Sheena is a Punk Rocker� which I�m glad for� I�m owning the song now. See, when I was in high school, a boy I adored with a dull ache in my chest for a good long time (who introduced me to the Replacements and gave me my first real kiss the last night of summer in the woods, pink retainer in the breast pocket of my grey army jacket, and caused me to lay in the dark in my room and listen to heavy songs on repeat) decided to write a nasty nasty article about what a poseur I was in his underground newspaper and painstakingly inscribed �Sheena� on my locker in black Sharpie, which quickly became my social headstone. The janitor had to use some industrial-strength solvent to remove it. Seems silly now, but it totally fucked me up at the time, not to mention the fact that people I had never met were coming up to me in school, outside, in town, and saying all kinds of extreme nastiness, yes� It has a lot to do with my general distrust of the public at large and my distaste for labels. It also has to do with why I wait for the other shoe to drop every time I find myself becoming part of a social group. I expect the �leader� to be pissy and manipulative, tell the �crowd� all kinds of fake things about me and �they� will believe it because, well, why would The Esteemed Leader lie? This has been a recurring thing in my life that luckily has petered out with age. In 2nd grade it was K.V. (daughter of semi-famous host of a children�s show, supporting actor on popular 80's sitcom and Tony winner for a 70�s Broadway show), angry that I didn�t follow her� I didn�t defy her, I just have always refused to jump when the social leader tells me to. The pinnacle of the K.V. situation was when she decided to have a �come as your favorite rock star� Halloween party. R.S. and I both wanted to be Cyndi Lauper (the woman responsible for my red hair), and K.V. spurted at me, �Well then you can�t come because I don�t want any lookalikes at my party,� upon which I retorted, �Isn�t the party all about lookalikes?� She turned on her heel and stormed away in a huff. I cried. Later, R.S. came over and graciously offered to step down from dressing as Cyndi. And I said no� go as her� I�m not going to the f-ing stupid party. And I didn�t go. I did go to a sleepover at K.V.�s once though� and even her little sister wouldn�t creep into the hallway to use the bathroom because she was afraid of their giant barking German Shepherd, complete with Elizabethan collar head cone, lit like a Stephen King movie in a single shaft of light at the far end of the house. She instead peed outside in a paint-rolling tin pan that the housepainters had left behind earlier that day. Why she didn�t pee on the ground is beyond me. I mean, what did we pee in when there was nothing to pee in? This peeing �in� something phenomenon is our doing, people! Of course, you already know about my fits of frustration with seat-pee-ers.

I am motivated often by curiosity. This sometimes gets me into trouble. It�s like watching the Jerry Springer or Howard Stern show, descending into the hot darkness and sour stomach of it all without realizing until it�s too late. This happens with people too. I examine them sometimes, try to figure out what makes them go, good and bad, and can get lost in their blackness, frightening myself with other people�s delusions.

I should be recording today. The number of cigarettes I smoked last night has lent a certain rasp to my voice that with one chorus of �My Heart Belongs to Daddy� makes me wanna sex myself up.

What�s on my desktop:

What�s on yours?

Little kids with big glasses are so unbelievably cute and I want to gather them all to me and hug them.

Word of the Day for Friday June 28, 2002:

nadir NAY-dir; nay-DIR, noun:

1. [Astronomy]. The point of the celestial sphere directly opposite the zenith and directly below the observer.

2. The lowest point; the time of greatest depression or adversity.

Exploitation reached a nadir in the 1920s, when high government officials were implicated in a flourishing international slave trade and domestic forced labor. --Bill Berkeley, [1]The Graves Are Not Yet Full

At the nadir of every recession, business pages fill up with stories of belt-tightening families who move to Vermont and buy their food in bulk. --Peter T. Kilborn, "Splurge," [2]New York Times, June 21, 1998

Nadir is derived from Arabic nazir, "opposite."

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