30 September 2002 - 5:31 p.m.

Today, I was told two things:

1. I write like Henry James, only less serious, and more interesting. And no, this was not Aitch again. This was Are-Tee, not to be confussed with Are-Aitch-etc.-etc.

2. My outfit makes me look like a friendly butterfly! Aw! That was from someone who can't see so well. But "aw!" nonetheless.

And special thanks to Ms. V for reminding me that perhaps pintucks=provocative to the same people whose migraine medicine makes them punctuate every sentence with jazz hands.

Which is almost too bad, because being so young amongst such accomplished students speaks to my inner Dominique Swain. When given the advice that grad school at Aitch-You was so remote from the rest of the world that maybe living it to the fullest meant doing things we might not ordinarily, I almost had the urge to run up the stairs and plant said big wet one on Jeremy Irons.

Only Jeremy Irons doesn't sit in Talmadge and read his diary any more than I run anywhere.

As another of my favorite British actors once said, "Earwax. Alas."

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: