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Friday, May. 03, 2002 / 1:22 p.m. ~Strangely Enough, I'm Not 16~ Moby, Moby, Moby, I'm surprised I didn't dream about him last night. I just took my little 15 minute break here at work, used the Interweb-Access PC, checked email, stats, the usual, and decided to look at Moby's "Blips" that take forever to download on my home PC. Here, it happens FAST! They're so cute. All these little green people with big eyes and antennae. Moby, you're so cute! (Am I making anybody sick yet? I can't help it, I've had a crush on him for months now, and every so often it gets worse, all gooey and wet, like now.) Thanks to Andy for letting me know that Moby misses cheese. Mmmmm� cheese. Me, Moby, and maybe Gromit, well, Wallace likes cheese too. What was that "Wallace and Gromit" wherein Wallace met that woman he liked so much, but when he found out she didn't like cheese, well, that was the end of that? I love Wallace and Gromit. I wonder if Moby loves Wallace and Gromit. Surely he must. If he loves "Monsters Inc" he loves them too. I hate crushes. It leaves one feeling crushed, at some point or other. But, I read, on Moby's web site, that Area 2 tickets went on a "pre-sale" on Ticketmaster.com� and it ended yesterday. Fuck. I am SO going, I am. David Bowie is going to be there this year. Wow. I've never seen David Bowie in concert, and that would be ultra, ultra cool. God, I sound like I'm 16. And guess what? Today I'm wearing a shirt I've had for some 30 years. Yeppers. This shirt, on which I've been complimented so many times already today, here, 12:11 p.m., cubicle time, is one I wore in the 6th grade. I told Veronica I'd bring my 6th grade class photo back after lunch so she can see me wearing it, this shirt, with my favorite pink bell bottom corduroys, not that the pants are visible in the photo, but still. It's a groovy shirt, and it hasn't fallen apart. It's like some polyester knit, real soft, long sleeves, pink and maroon and white, this groovy geometric pattern, impossible to describe. Skipper and I are going out tonight. Yeah. We're going to a movie. ! First thing this morning I sat here, in said cubicle, nothing to do, no work yet, and listened to Fatboy Slim's "Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars", and was dying to dance. It was impossible, but I did it, I sat here and didn't move more than a leg, or two, or a foot, or two, and once I did break out in a dance move, from the waist up, but it was quick and nobody saw. This one song, "Ya Mama", as in "Shake what ya mama gave ya!", well, I dare you to sit still. I dare you. It takes me back, I can see us all on the dance floor at Norman Cook's show, no one sitting in the audience, everyone down on the floor of this old theatre, one giant throng of flailing limbs and sweaty bodies. Orgasmic. Dance orgy. It was so amazing, I'll never forget it. But I'm not dancing. I'm sitting, at work, on a Friday, a rainy, cloudy, Friday, just waiting for it to be 6:00 so I can get out of here. Well, I'll leave shortly to go home for lunch, but it's such a tease, I have to come right back. Can you believe Candace has been listening to "Play" in her work PC's CD drive this week??? Wow. Synchronicity, man. And Caroline, thanks for filling me in on the Osbourne interview last night on Leno! I love the guestbook comments, it's so great to know people are out there. Suddenly I'm bored. Suddenly I'm dying for this day to be over. Sucks, huh? Cost of the War in Iraq
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