that's not funny

I personally do not own an alarm clock (one of the many things that got left behind in various moves), but I tend to charge my cell phone and my PDA by my bed. Whichever is closer gets to be the clock, but the PDA's alarm is more intuitive. Today I woke up, looked at it, saw it read "8:37" and groaned. I just didn't want to get up, but I forced myself to.

I didn't think about checking my cell phone for the time, too, because what are the odds of them being so different? But they are. I can't believe my PDA was set 20 minutes fast. Maybe hitting reset five times last night wasn't such a good idea after all...

assorted thoughts while commuting

Apparently Don't You Want Me by the Human League only fails to make me cry if I've been drinking.

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Steve thought I was flirting with his friend at our BBQ on Wednesday, but really I don't think I was. He did look extra-cute, I'll admit, and Steve is very perceptive, so that must be it. Of course he only looked cute because he'd probably lost weight from camping for a week. What can I say, I likes 'em skinny.

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I saw Sean Nelson (you know, that guy) at the Barca Lounge last night. I was there with Steve and the Egyptians, partly because I was feeling rested from a nap and partly because I didn't know when I'd get to hang out with Steve again before we met up in NYC next weekend. Anyway we mostly talked about Steve's problems, which was fine, because I worry about him. He said "Well, these lows are the price that I pay for those fantastic highs." To which I replied, "Yeah, I don't believe it works that way personally."

Because I don't, really. I don't believe that you have to be sad now in order to be happy later. Maybe you get a better appreciation for it, but who cares? That's like saying you have to hate in order to know what love is, or something. I dunno. Seems like crap to me.

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The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's album is so incredible. You can tell they love what they're doing. It's the first album in years to move me.

car talk

I get a huge kick out of riding in cool cars. I mean like old cars, or fast cars, or old fast cars. Anything before 1970 in general is good. Mostly I just look at other people riding in these cars, though. Of which there is no shortage in this town. And it's always men driving them of course, because men like tinkering with cars. I'm sure some women do too, but as a rule it's gonna be either some overpaid yuppie or some redneck dude who likes cars more than women.

Yesterday afternoon I saw a shiny chromesque red '53 convertible, and I was filled with such longing that I would have slept with the beefy blond guy driving it if I could ride in it. But then I came back to my senses. Of course I wouldn't sleep with a guy just to ride in his car. I'm not that kind of whore. Then I wondered what I would do. Kiss him? Talk to him? Then again, sleeping with him might be more pleasant than talking to him, as long as they were mutually exclusive...