So after a two day visit from Brian including Giordano's stuffed pizza and two failed attempts at a Strangers With Candy-a-thon, I hopped a plane back to Maryland to finalize transfer stuff/otherwise recharge.

Last night was one of the finer nights of my life.

Actually, when I think about it, all of the nights I spend here on breaks/during the summer with these kids have been some of the finer nights of my life thus far.

Matthew and I first went to a notorious Basement Show, and noted how strange it was to observe high school kids in their natural habitat. There was actually one surprisingly above-par band called Pashew with a tasty lead singer whose provocative red bra liked to peek out of her dress. We debated propositioning a threesome, but pussed out instead.

Also there was a band entitled Human Host which featured two young men singing pretty MarsVoltacore over a prerecorded CD of keyboard beats. They wore flannel. Nuff said.

After briefly getting lost, we met up with Lindsay and Seth at Baltimore's Number One Indie Dance Party.

I think that the Brat Pack is to St. Elmo's Fire as us kids are to the Taxidermy Dance Lodge Party.

I definitely danced and coyly smooched with a hot stranger named either Shawn, Shaun, or Sean. Upon this action we were advised to "get a room," but that would have been somewhat difficult considering that Sonar has but two main rooms, neither of which are designed for serious canoodlin'.

We were about to exchange phone numbers when I told him that I lived primarily in Chicago now, so it was left at one of those "hope to see you around sometime" deals.

G'damn.

Chicago is like the annoying little brother that you have to introduce to people, and yeah you really love him and everything -- but he can be such a burden sometimes!

But then other times he gets you slap bracelets and you guys play Tetris like, all of the time.

Anyway.

OH!

Matthew and I also thought of the greatest thing ever called the Hand Paradigm. It basically reduces pop culture stereotypes into dots on a horseshoe shape you can make with your hands.

I have made a rough, rough copy; just imagine that in real life the two black dots are replaced by thumbs, and the apex is where the two index fingers meet.

(Most of the time I envision myself on the left side of the spectrum, definitely towards the bottom/lower quarter area of the scenester snob category. Though I can pretty much get along with any given asshole at a surface level. This is mainly because even though I dislike a good 87% of people in my age group today, I want them all to love me... because that makes me better than them. Dig?)

Of course, it is all subjective. At any given time a regular nice guy can do something tool-ish, which would place him at a different dot in the spectrum even though he normally falls say, slightly to the left of the Apex. It's just a visual representation of a set of standards we (at least I) already have in my head.

Wow, labeling people sure is fun! There is nothing I love more than a good stereotype. Well, except for maybe sex.

Though I think I am through with this depressing, emotionless sex thing.

Coldly fucking?

Thank you, I prefer pizza.

I have some strange form of dance-whiplash from boogying down last night. It feels like my neck and upper back turned into stone overnight.

And now I will shower.

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