2003-02-10 - 12:18 a.m.

I had My S. over tonight for dinner, and it was great. It reminded me of when I used to walk down to my buddy Scott's pad by Mass Ave and Columbus, kinda sketch (the now gone packie there had bank-teller-like bulletproof glass windows, and the gas station nearby did too), and he'd have little Simpsons gatherings every Sunday.

And, often, that was the highlight of my week. Sunday--his specially made corn-on-the-cob in my belly, or Sunday, arriving with legally purchased brown-bagged beer in arm--just a six-pack (pre-purchased on Saturday, and unpilfered), and always snobby beer, too, and I demanded a glass.

Simpsons, King of the Hill, X-Files (we always talked through King of the Hill).

It was fun, and when I was lucky, I got to go up on the roof. I was still in the dorms, for crissake, and it was so much fun being in an apartment, my buddy�s apartment, and I�ll be back next Sunday for more drinks, food, and Simpsons action.

So I watched the Simpsons which I was gonna do anyway, with My S., and it felt like I was going to church with a fellow worshipper, going for muffins and coffee afterwards in the church basement, discussing what we just witnessed, chatting about our lives, happy to be in the company of fellow believers.

So, and call me pathetic if you�d like to, but, seeing as how the Simpsons will never die (and I�m all for the Simpsons outliving me), wouldn�t it be great to have a you can count on it Simpsons night at my place?

Hey--lemme know if you think it sucks or if it�s just the way you wanna spend a Sunday night. Only thing is--you gotta bring yer own beer--Sunday, after all.

Ah, Diaryland, the cause of, and cause of, all of life's problems.

OK--I think that everybody I know is going through a mid-20's crisis right now. As if we're all outdueling each other. Don't snicker, either, I'm talking about you.

I can�t help you. I really want to help, too.

I always really wanna do the good things I can�t possibly do. It�s not a bad thing, though. I wanna do the good things I can do, and then I do them, �cause I wanna-ed to.

Watchin� the Simpsons tonight, I noticed that there were tons of commercials that also aired on the Superbowl. Some of them were really clever, or well shot, and I enjoyed them.

I hate when I enjoy commercials--the enemy. But then it kinda hit me--I�m watching TV, so it�s not like I can complain. And then I said if I can be insulted by a horrible commercial, shouldn�t I then be able to enjoy a good one?

I love subtlety, �cause I have none of it. I�m the Tom Jones of subtlety.

After last night, I owe so many people mix-CDs. Customized. I can�t wait to make them.

After a Sunday where I let my �puter do the thinkin�, and it just picked Mary Jane�s Last Dance (the Greatest Hits was a Roommate import--a surprise), and I�m glad to hear it, after a full day where Nico danced for me, where Lou Reed sparkled, where I nodded my head in agreement with everything Aimee Mann had to say (she�s not perfume--men can wear her too), where Nick Cave added unnecessary but interesting punctuation, where Os Mutantes pitched themselves for My S., where Yo La Tengo, as they always do, quietly rang my buzzer at just the right second, as if they timed it, as if they had spies, as if Cibo Matto didn�t also know when to make themselves known, and after hearing my Ma�s gushing answering machine message, lauding the Christmas CDs I made for her and my Dad, the very least I can do is make some more kickass mix-CDs for friends, even if the effort leaves me drained for weeks (the delicate touch ain't just magic), and see which tunes I get in return.