july 9, 2001. Inspired by the information that Stacy's movie needs a cheesy porn track, the Boy & I tried to whip up something suitable on bass and djembe. After a few minutes of noodling on the drum, I had to stop. "This is the most uninspiring porn music ever," I sighed. The Boy stopped slapping for a moment. "Yeah. This music doesn't make me want to fuck anything." We paused for a moment to contemplate that statement. "That's going in my journal," I said. Today was a rather productive day, all things considered. It wasn't one of my hyper development days, in which I scowl & mutter at the computer screen for 8 hours straight, but neither was it a ''surf & look busy" day. Among other things, I finally wrote a first draft of the orientation document I was supposed to begin 3 weeks ago (oops). I was pretty arrogant about the matter - am I not the girl who wrote an entire 15-page essay on Clarissa in a 6-hour period? As it happened, 45 minutes of solid work was enough to pull my metaphorical nuts out of the fire (metaphorical chestnuts, that is. Did you picture another kind?) Life is good. this time last year: remind me to shoot myself in the head.