13 February 2003 - 5:19 p.m.

It's a little crazy, in the age of the microwave, how long it tkaes to heat up a can of soup on the stove.

But well worth it, to get one's calcium from Campbell's Tomato. Which is such a putrid color, one might as well just serve it in some clashing Fiestaware so as to admire its midcentury garishness in all its glory. Mmm, mmm, good? Mmm mmm ginchy is more like it!

Last night in workshop we had to write down what rock star we would be if we were rock stars, which was a humiliating experience for me. Because it was not rock star we would WANT to be, but what rock star we were.

"I'm not cool enough to be a rock star," I said to no one in particular, while they all lied immodestly and dubbed themselves Ani DiFrancos and Lou Reeds. Fuckers.

"You can be a pop star if you want," Are said.

"I think you're cool enough to be Perry Como," J. (Just J.) said.

I hated to give her the satisfaction, but I think she was right. So I said Perry Como.

Are said not to feel bad, because his self-portrait looked like Woody Allen.

Well, I wanted to sympathize, but I've never wanted to purchase fake glasses to look more like Perry Como. Sorry, PC.

Not to spread the gloom. I think the fact that I've worked nonstop since Sunday has been bringing me down a bit. But, tonight, I'll be heading to a poetry reading downtown, at which I will not be reading, but some of my pizzals will, which, oddly enough, will probably make me feel like a writer more than the, I dunno, eight or ten pages I got out today before class time.

Do writers engage in too much posturing? Is it annoying? I'm tempted to say yes, and I can only guess it's because what we do is so solitary, and we miss out on the validation that is, say, punching the time clock, however depressing that may be.

I don't know, I just think there has to be some explanation for all these guys in leather elbow patches.

What I'm wearing: See today's earlier entry

What I'm reading: Perry Como's "Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes," and it's lame as shit

What I'm doing after this: Reading "Jack Kerouac is Pregnant" and other stories