What is with me and all the dated and yet futuristic dance moves at the same time? And what a wealth of wackiness in my latest dreams! Last night I dreamt of a song/dance combination called �She-bot Twist.� Isn�t that �yar and quick to the helm�? I thought so. And Brent said my brand of the robot is like Japanese-bowing style. I just kind of move my arms up and down and bow like a Japanese gentleman. And then Brent invented what looked to me like an Iron Chef robot---Hatchet-bot. It�s kind of like the pony only with bent shaking knees. I�ve been writing too much about dance moves lately. They�re impossible to visualize. Sorry. Maybe I�ll have to post animated gifs one of these days of us doing the Japanese Gentle-bot and the Hatchet-bot. I think it would be a big hit.

So the new Enon album, High Society came out yesterday and we�re going to see them tonight after my Das Otto Cats practice. See, I digs the Enon. I wrote about them in my first dorky diary entry. Anyway the new one is good�a touch poppier than the last one but John Schmersal�s voice is just so damn cool and is perfectly complimented on this one. But considering that no one has joined my Enon ring, I know ya don�t care. So I�ll shut up about that too.

Wow� what can I write about that�s remotely interesting and fun? Not much. Cuz I know no one really cares that I did all sortsa mad work on my thesis proposal yesterday. Pops got a letter from the powers that be for my mastah�s degree and it seems I must finish by June two-thousand-and-three. And with rhyming powers like that I will have no problem at all, right? I�m all Eminette and shit. Yuck. I�m going to write it and then go roast chickens for Joan Didion and her family. Oh, I hope she never reads my site. She�ll make a few phone calls and next thing I know someone�ll be coming over and breaking my literary kneecaps and I won�t be allowed to ever write about her again. Nah, I think she�d appreciate my repartee.

So I have something dorky to tell about myself. Sometimes, if I get a little too soused, I like to sing the songs of Cabaret karaoke style. I actually have a Music Minus One cd of it. It�s awful. And thank the Lord I haven�t been able to find it. A few weeks ago I went hunting for it in a fit of white wine inspiration and desire to step into the stilettos of Fra�lein Sally Bowles for a few songs. I really have to keep the natural performer in me in check when having drinks. I�ve also been known as �DJ Jenn� which at times was great but in dark depressing times could be a downer for everyone involved.

Them: Come, on, Jenn, we don�t want to listen to Ride anymore.

Me: Just one more song! Just �Vapour Trail�!!!

It�s all fun and games until DJ Jenn pulls out the Ride albums. Luckily I haven�t been called DJ Jenn in some years. And I�m glad about that. But I know they secretly like it when I play �Edge of the Deep Green Sea� on guitar. Equally depressing, but somehow better. �Why do you cry? What did I say? �Well, it�s just rain,� I smile, brushing the tears away.� Oh Robert Smith� you made my exclusively black-wearing years painfully delicious. Or deliciously painful. I learned the art of the remix with the Cure on my brother�s recording equipment (that�s now mine�word). I crudely fashioned Cure songs into epics and added sound effects appropriate for different songs, i.e. piggy sounds in �Piggy in the Mirror� and meows in �Lovecats.� Once a dork always a dork. And I fell painfully in love with a boy at the beach one summer to the soundtrack of the Cure Wish and he lied and lied and cheated on me with his ex because she put out and I didn�t. And totally lied and manipulated it so that she and I would be friends by telling me how messed up she was and how she could really use a friend like me. Her sister reminded me of Anne Frank. He even bought me the same perfume oil she wore so that, I presume, I wouldn�t smell her on him! And I didn�t find out until I had already become addicted to it and I still wear the Egyptian Musk to this day (I may have written about that before, don�t remember). And he worse vanilla oil from the Body Shop and his eyes were the color of the navy sky at dusk. But the fact that he had lied and lied and lied and made shit up about me to his/my friends to keep us apart made it a lot easier to dismiss him as a simple liar instead of clinging to a broken heart. I knew, because he was so not the boy of my dreams that he had pretended to be, that was somebody who was, and he was still out there somewhere. Anyway, the truth came out to me when we were still calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend and I ran into him on a Saturday night at a Holy Angels dance and he was there with HER after supposedly, as he had told me, he had to hang out with her that night because her mother called him and said she has tried to commit suicide that day by taking too many pills and he was the only one who could talk to her and yet there she was, dancing to �Devil Inside� or something. Now, she was fucked up, but she wasn�t a Rayanne Graff or anything. Not the kind of girl who would get her stomach pumped and be back out shaking it on the dance floor that same night. She was really pretty. She looked like a cross between Winona circa Beatlejuice and Heathers. But he had really sparse sideburns and ended becoming known amongst my friends and I as �Ratboy� from then on. What can I say? We were young. I think we even sang �Ratboy� to the tune of Social D�s �Sick Boy.�

Word of the Day for Thursday June 6, 2002:

ameliorate uh-MEEL-yuh-rayt, transitive verb: To make better; to improve.

intransitive verb: To grow better.

Among the pressures provoking these distresses were a father's financial inadequacy and a growing awareness that, by finding employment himself, he could ameliorate the family's exiguous circumstances. --Terence Brown, [1]The Life of W. B. Yeats: A Critical Biography

In the socially fluid and (until the crash of 1837) economically expansive 1830s, the legislature frequently appropriated public money to investigate social problems, forestall dependency, and ameliorate human suffering. --Elisabeth Gitter, [2]The Imprisoned Guest

Ameliorate is derived from Latin ad + meliorare, "to make better," from melior, "better."