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Valentine the Destroyer
February 14
8:30 p.m.
I love you.
Every one of you. Yeah, man, even you, but not that way. A different kind of love. Yeah. It's okay. We're still cool.
Having devoured pamie's archives earlier this year, and having greatly enjoyed her Valentine's poems from '99, and having simply adored her poems from 2000, I was of course looking greatly forward to this year's Valentine's entry-- and, as I expected, the poems for this year rock, too. So that's good. I especially like the poem from Snoop to Dr. Dre, being as Snoop and Dr. Dre are quite popular here at the Other House on Maple Street. We even know a girl who went to a high school that played soccer against Snoop's high school. So we're practically in the Dogg Pound, yo.
pamie poetry is all the Valentine's day fun I need, really. I'm not a greedy guy.
Work was normal work plus some Hershey's chocolate kisses. And then after work I had goodies in the mail-- Hilary sent me Tile Chess, the cool game she wrote the rulebook for! I got a present from Meg too-- a lovely handmade card (she knows of my crushing disdain for mass-produced greeting cards) and a bag of Starburst!
Hell, having a bag of Starburst on Valentine's day is the next best thing to having a sexy girl on Valentine's day.
No. I don't really believe that. I'm just trying to make myself feel better.
Starburst is pretty good, though.
I sent Meg flowers (yellow and blue ones!), and she loved them, so that's good.
I went to Pergolesi, and it was dead-- everybody was out with their lovers, I guess. I did see that gorgeous woman there, the one I didn't flirt with last week, but she left before any sort of Magical Valentine's Day Connection could be made. Drat. So instead I read Ted Sturgeon and Nancy Kress and another brilliant story by a member of my writing group. They're so good. I bask in their reflected glory. I sip their backwash.
Okay, on that note, I'm gonna write now. Carlos has some destroying to do.
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9:15 p.m.
Some writing done, and more to come. I may finish this story tonight.
KPIG (the radio station of choice here at the Other House) is playing some pretty funny love songs tonight-- I'm presently listening to "The Masochism Tango." KPIG is probably the weirdest radio station I've ever had the privilege of listening to.
Now to get tea, and then write more.
*******
10:35 p.m.
And yet more words have been written! In among lots of web-surfing and e-mail composing and time-wasting. I may not finish "Carlos" tonight after all, but I should come close-- there's not more than a thousand words left. I like this story a bit better now than I did last night, but I'm still not satisfied. It may be that there's just not enough substance to this story for it to pull the kind of thematic weight I want it to. I've decided that's a problem for revisions.
For now, it's time to scoot to 7-11 (or, as we call it here, "sebemlebem") to get some Solitary Valentine's Day Ice Cream, and then watch The Simpsons.
*******
Midnight
Sleepy Tim. No more writing. Night night.
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