A Week in the Life of Gustavo

"Seems to think that if he fails to write, la migra will find him."--OC Weekly More merriment available at ronmaydon@yahoo.com

ter├ža-feira, agosto 05, 2003

It Doesn't Really Matter Anymore...

Great article on summer boredom in today's LA Times...aw fuck, now you have to register separately for Calendar Live!?!

This is what's afflicting me--badly. At work--whether work consists of interviewing, eating out, hearing a concert, or reading Daily Rotten--I am invigorated, full of motivation. When I get home, depression sets in. I'm sleeping around 11:30 nowadays--that's not good. I still wake up at 6 in the morning, thank goodness. But I need some excitement in my life, someone that will be my foil, all that gooey romantic crap.

Do you realize...that the last two times someone told me "I love you" (in a romantic sense), they went on to crush my soul no more than two weeks later? And that that was the only time each person ever said it?

Enough melancholy. I direct you to the words of a new friend, Chastity (not her real name--I do believe she has a fascination with many things English, although why she would give herself a Puritan name is beyond me. Why doesn't she go all the way and call herself Chastity Goodwife?). Works as a librarian in Cal State Fullerton and other locations. Met her at a JC Fandango concert, although she found my blog by...I'm not sure. Funny gal and much better versed in Latin alternative than me. Everyone is, for that matter. On her blog, she refers to me as Mr. Big Words, although I'm not quite sure why--maybe Mr. Alliteration, but I really don't use that man big words. Permanent link will be added soon in my Links of Infamy.

Now, for a solemn history lesson...

Aug 5 1962
In her Brentwood, California home, Marilyn Monroe dies in bed, naked, after swallowing an overdose of sleeping pills. Or maybe she's killed by the CIA with a barbiturate enema. Either way, she's dead.

And join our soon-to-be governor Larry Flynt in praying for Bill O'Reilly's health.