06 March 2003 - 9:34 p.m.

This time last year, Aitch was telling me where to shop for wedding gowns, and I was forgetting my heterosexuality so we could rhapsodize on the appeal of Ingrid Bergman. He would bring up Westerns and what was on the radio, and the costumes Edith Head designed for Hithcock, anything, it seemed, to keep our thesis meetings going.

One spring later, Are is lending me Night of the Demon so our chats about cinematic technique don't have to end, and sitting me and the little professor down to listen to big band recordings. Why are attachments always forged with twice the fervor when it's time to order caps and gowns?

When it was time for me to go to college, my parents were extra ill-humored and I was ridiculously difficult, just to ease the impending separation. But academics, it seems to me, enjoy it all, exacerbate and fetishize the sad goodbye. But what can you really expect from people who have favorite songs like "Sentimental Baby?"

In happier news, I defrosted some lackluster 16-bean soup, and, in my infinite resourcefulness, turned it into chili. Go me.

I'm really fed up with the girl scouts for chaning the names of their cookies. I mean, for fuck's sake, there are all sorts of "Peanut Butter Patties" in the world, but there was only one Tagalong. And what the crap is a "Caramel deLite?" Is it a band with Lady Miss Kier? I mean, it used to be a Samoa, but now... well, I just don't know. They still taste delovely and delicious, but the renaming process strikes me as vicious AND malicious, thank you very much.

What I'm wearing: White sleeveless sweater, circle skirt with kitty applique, pink cardigan

What I'm reading: This entry would not have been possible without the help of Groove is in the Heart

What I'm doing after this: messing about with Kazaa, I expect