11.09.03 - 2:49 p.m.

Dear Diary,

I am at work today. Since I'm waiting for p4 sync to finish, thought I'd drop you a line.

My stomach is reeling from last night's festivities. It was Dan's birthday, so he had a party at Sublounge. It's cool to have your own bar to throw parties in, as long as you don't have to mop up vomit and break up fights.

Even though it was his birthday, he bought me drinks because a) he owes me 20 bucks and b) it's his bar, so why not?

There were a bunch of Leapfrog people there. They roam in packs, like wolves. This guy Steve told me he was in an industrial band and I said "do industrial bands still exist?" I wasn't trying to be snotty but I seriously think the days of Nine Inch Nails and Ministry and-- I don't know, Skinny Puppy?-- are now days of yore. I always thought true industrial music (Einstruzende Neubauten destroying stages with jackhammers and whatnot) was better in theory than practice.

Disturbingly, I have a memory gap from last night. I remember everything pretty clearly until my fourth drink, and then nothing. The weird thing is, I didn't even feel drunk. It was just this sudden transition from feeling on top of things to nothingness.

I woke up in the morning and my first thought was "oh shit! Shawn was gonna crash here and I probably didn't answer the phone!" I stumbled out of the bedroom and saw him on the couch. That should give you some idea of how drunk I was-- apparently he rang the buzzer at 2AM for like 10 minutes until I blearily woke up and let him in. I don't remember that at all.

We did some hipster-watching over breakfast at Boogaloos. My attitude towards hipsters in the Mission is kind of like the attitude some people have towards pigeons-- yes they're essentially pests, but they're endearing nevertheless. Horn rimmed glasses, tight t-shirts that make no sense, tattoos... who was I talking to last night who showed me their tattoo?

Jesus I hope I didn't kill anybody. Or order music on I-Tunes.

After breakfast we spent a merry hour chasing each other around Half-Life world with rocket launchers and automatic rifles, and now I am a busy worker bee at work.

Friday was Josh's art opening. I had forgotten about it but Hannah left a friendster note telling me she and Nate were going to be there. I was really glad I went. I hadn't spoken to Nate much since we all left Deakin Street, since we ended our time living together in an angry housemeeting where all parties shouted at each other. But it's water under the bridge now. I asked Nate what he'd been up and he told me he's been making and selling bicycle-powered blenders. I asked the natural question, who buys them? He said one of his clients is a Burning Man camp that makes smoothies.

It was strange to see Josh's charcoal drawings on a wall in an art gallery, since before Friday I'd only seen them on our walls at the Deakin Street party. I enjoyed eavesdropping on people's conversations as they stroked their chins and pondered.

The sync is done, so I bid you adieu.