Friday, Jul. 26, 2002 / 8:12 p.m.

~Short Attention Span Diary~

All right, who sat and read 48 pages of my diary and didn't even bother to sign my guestbook? That's just wrong.

Moving right along. Freaked you out with the last entry, didn't I? Dear Reader. Unh huh. Yep. No worries.

I bought the Dirty Vegas CD today, on my lunch break, my pig fuck lunch break, during which I bought said CD and tried to figure out what to eat, what would be nutritious, what wouldn't cost too much, what would be fast, what would be easy, and ended up going back to work and getting a turkey and cheese on whole wheat from the vending machine.

Kukla starts doing the Mitsubishi girl dance, tells Laverne it's called "popping", that robotic dancing she does in the car, to the tune of "Days Go By", by one Dirty Vegas. Or three Dirty Vegas. Or, I should just say, "Dirty Vegas".

And I say, after not talking to anyone really for a few weeks now, "Hey, Kukla, I have that CD, with that song on it, I just bought it on my lunch break, wanna hear it?", and we're popping it into Penelope's CD player and soon Kukla is "popping", and Veronica comes over and she's doing it too, and Penelope really likes it, and she's 50, so yeah. Cool, huh?

And I'm on the phone with Mark at the time, telling him what's going on, and he can hear anyway, and I'm handing them Moby's "Move", getting them to play the jungle song I like, the really fast techno, and Kukla says it's too fast, and I'm saying, "Yes, dancing to that is a bit like aerobics, but it's good for you", and I'm thinking how much I loved dancing to Moby's show on Tuesday, and Dirty Vegas, how much I loved them too, and now I have their CD and it's really, really good.

So I get it back and pop it into my Walkman where it belongs.

Phones down all day, or up and down, or mostly down. Computer tracking system down, no work processed. Sit. Listen to music, start to write an entry for my diary, but fingers cannot type. It was about listening to Neil Young's "Unplugged" album, but there wasn't more than that, it was just a beginning, no middle yet.

Moby, Moby, Moby, I've been going to the boards more and more for support, realizing there must be some study already published on the psychological ramifications of hero worship, or idol worship, or confusing reality with fantasy when it comes to meeting the famous, or even the progression that leads one from harmless adoration to stalking and potential murder.

Remember that guy that killed that young actress because why?, because he couldn't have her? The one who killed John Lennon, what was THAT about? Is Moby in danger? Not from me, but he shouldn't get so close, should he, really?

He has a song on his new album, "18", called "Signs of Love", in which he writes, "I fly so high.....and fall so low", and I did that. Crazy, I know. I can't verbalize anything right now. I almost didn't even write at all today, but I can't leave that last entry just sitting there, no explanation offered. Not that there is an explanation, but still. Time to move on, eh?

I went back to work yesterday, after my Moby night, my intense, intense night, and my recovery day off on Wednesday, and the gals were talking about their big night at a concert the night before. Lulu, Laverne and Veronica went on and on, and on some more about how amazing it was, about the food they brought (for an outdoor amphitheatre show, with table, etc.), how late they stayed up, etc. And I could only think, yeah, I know, boy, do I know. Been there, done that. But I only told D., the Supervisor.

"Guess what? I met Moby", and it was worth it just to see the look on her face. I called my friend Luis too, at work, "Guess what? I met Moby!", and he said, "I love meeting the Superstars", and he told me of meeting one of his favorite musicians, Lene Lovich, and how he told her something along the lines of "I have always wanted to be your friend" and she said, "You always have been my friend".

Stephanie sent me a link to the photos she took at the show, and the ones after, one of her with Moby, one of me with Moby. Moby looks better in hers. I'm going to post it....just a sec......

Moby with Stephanie (and the Homer Pez dispenser she gave him)

(My god, look how fucking beautiful he is in this photograph!!!)

Why did her photo turn out so fucking well and mine is blurry and horrible? There is no justice. Actually, the more I look at Moby in my photo the more I think he looks drugged. Or like he just got laid, or like he's really enjoying me rubbing his back....hard to tell. I don't think I'll show anyone, it really turned out horrible, but I have it on my desktop, I just put it there, and Stephanie is sending me the actual photo. Even though it sucks, you know I have to have it.

I have nothing else right now. If I think of anything else, I'll write later, but don't hold your breath. It's easier for me to post to message boards right now, it's like a short attention span diary over there. And we're all writing it together.

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