weekend, instead of packing, I played in a couple of
photobooths at the beach. At left is only a small sample
of the rather expensive and narcissistic picture-taking
fun. I would like to own a photobooth some day. I don't
think I would ever get bored experimenting with facial
expressions, of figuring out how to make myself look
alternately alluring and grotesque in the span of forty
or so seconds. And I want all my friends to play with
it, too. I know it isn't an original idea, but it's
still a good one.
Sometimes when I'm in a bad mood, I make faces at myself
in the mirror to cheer myself up. I wish I could remember
to do that all the time.
This week is going to be absolutely hellish. At the
end of it, I will be sleeping in my old twin bed again,
driving a less scenic way to work, and eating nearly
every meal with my parents. I haven't given much thought
to how it will feel. But there's bound to be some whining
going on around here in the next few months.
Ugh. I have no idea how I am going to get all of my
stuff up to New York, when that eventually happens.
Maybe I can hire a hipster with a van.
Oh, that reminds me. I met Stephen's lovely friend
Sue and her nice boyfriend Guido in Harlem last Wednesday.
Sue for some reason thinks I'm a hipster. I told her
to listen to WOVO; that, combined
with the photographic evidence to the left, should dispel
any notion that I could ever be anything but a big dork.