did i tell you i got a nosering while i was in london?  i did.  it’s a little silver stud with a blue stone on my right nostril.  the word nostril in conjunction with anything jewellery-related still seems weird.  i got it at metalmorphosis, partly because the name is really clever, and partly because it had been recommended to me by three people.  i brought three people with me to get it, too, although they were a separate set of three people.  at any rate, when we got there i went up to the counter and said, “hello i would like a nosering!”  the guy asked me if i had eaten in awhile, and i told him not since breakfast.  “you need to eat something beforehand,” he said.  i had a sandwich in my bag, so i told him, “i have a sandwich in my bag!”  “good, go outside and eat the sandwich for me, okay?”

so we went outside and stood on the curb of a soho street and i ate a sandwich made from nutella and strawberry jelly i stole from the refectory, while diane and matt and debra watched.  sandwiches made with nutella are really just dessert.  we went back inside and down the stairs, i picked out the stud, and the guy motioned for me to follow him into the hallway.  “can i bring my friends?” i asked.  nope, he said, and we were off down the hall to one of the rooms, leaving my friends waiting on a velvet couch next to a caseful of fluorescent labret thingies.

it was very white with mirrors everywhere and a white gurney-type bed in one corner and a white countertop with supplies in another.  the noxious smell of clean made me lightheaded, and i watched, blinded, as he wheeled over a metal tray with my nosering, a new sealed needle, and a sterilized cylindrical something-or-other.  and then it was over.  during the approximately five seconds the entire nose-piercing process took, he used no less than four separate pairs of gloves.  after each thing he did — swabbing my face with alcohol, putting a marker dot where the stud would go, moving the marker dot, piercing my nose, putting the stud in — i heard the dual *snap* *snap* sounds of latex gloves being removed and replaced.  he wasn’t too friendly, but he wasn’t unfriendly, either, and my nose is well and truly pierced, so i cannot complain.

if i close my left eye and look towards my nose with my right, i can see it, a big blurry dot at the side of my nostril.  does it make me a conforming nonconformist?  probably.


garglepaserawefafd.  eraefaerwersuper.

i just went to the harp with phil, who it was fucking great to see.  both the harp and phil, i mean.  i ordered a colorado bulldog and phil ordered something-or-other, and when i went up to reorder, i said, “a colorado bulldog and whatever you gave phil last time,” and he said, “okay, your tab or his?”  so nice and familiar.  i gave the harp a picture of the harp i saw in london, and i gave phil a small bottle of scottish cream (like irish cream but nuttier and, we decided after drinking it, better).  scottish cream, it turns out, does not mix well with vodka and kahlua, so i am feeling kind of funn-ay.  phil sat through all my pictures, all twelve rolls.

did i tell you how great mark and funky and tracy and steve are?  no?  we went to the crusting pipe (whatever that is) on saturday night, and drank some wine and stuff, and afterward mark and i sat on a curb in covent garden and talked about stuff and things and stuff.  he is nice and fun and when he gave me a ride from aston’s to school on sunday, we listened to “have you seen me lately?“, both of us yelling, “can’t you see me? come on, color me in…” and i was on the left side of the car, but i wasn’t driving.  it was backwards and beautiful, as i’m sure you understand.

somewhere out in america, it’s starting to rain.


yo, i’m home, where the air is stinkier, the toilet seats lower, the coke tastier, and there’s no public transportation system, let alone one with which i am fascinated.  i arrived at my parents’ house at two a.m. (eight a.m. my time), after having been awake and travelling for twenty-four hours.  it’s a miracle i’m not dead, and when my dad and sister saw me stumbling down the jetway, purses and bags and sweaters crisscrossed over my shoulders and chest like a pack animal, i’m sure they figured i wished i was dead.

i really, really miss london.