Hmmm. Now that it's not late last night that editorial I posted about seems a lot weaker. The ideas are there, though. Donovan gave me some good advice about making it less and more dense in the right spots and easier to read. I've got a lot to work with.

While I was eating dinner Harry called (and mistook my mom for Rosa). After a few minutes of conversation he realized that I was chewing into the phone--very sexy, I know.
"V, are you eating?" he asked, sounding shocked and apalled.
"I'm eating barbeque chicken. Why?"
"What are you doing? It's our anniversary! We're going out tonight! How could you possibly forget?"
"Harry, that's tomorrow."
"Oh."

Apparently, he was calling me from his cell phone just outside the subway, about to pick me up for a romantic two-dollar dinner. And I thought about how silly and bizarre and quirky he is and remembered why I love him.

Two years is a long time.

I got in a real fight with Robin in Photo this morning. She keeps forgetting that I'm a junior because everyone else in the class is a sophomore. She forgave me for skipping the most recent assignment, though, because she liked my somewhat freaky photos of a hairbrush and because she remembered that I have two more SAT IIs, and she stopped freaking out.

My dad said that when he was in high school in Nowhereville, Wisconsin and had the only rock band in town, they didn't call themselves "hippies" at all. "You were a square, a greaser or a freak," he said. I don't know why I find that so interesting. I guess everything gets distorted over time.

I get high off of good grammar. I don't always employ it, but I know how to use it and I love when writing is so gramatically correct that there are no bumps to trip on, no confusing references or unclear run-ons, nothing to hinder the experience that the author is trying to convey.

There's also something thrilling about bad translations of good texts. The words are so foreign and stiff and un-English, and the ideas are so fluid and smooth! I wish Nabakov hadn't translated himself. I'd love to read a really crappy translation of his stuff.

And I have in-house because I was late a lot last week. It's a pain but it's probably good for me, because I have so much work these days that I can't afford to duck out to the East Village Thrift Shop or Thai On Two during the school day any more.

Renata just peeked over my shoulder. "'I get high off of good grammar'? Laaaaaame." And then she kissed me.

And that's the story of my life.