[ like i said: i love this band and everyone in it... ]

...with the occasional exception of myself. ::shrugs:: Why lie? There are plenty worse fates than a perfectionist streak in constant grips with an overdeveloped sense of modesty.

As is old news to those of you who attend Haverford, Haverfest got its ass stone-cold rained out, which forced the festivities indoors, and into one of the most antithetical situations I've come across in my attempts to have fun here: Indoors is full of Walls and other such useful-against-cold-and-wind-but-restricting Barriers, which more or less runs precisely counter to the notion of Haverfest.

Far be it my right to tell everyone what Something's very Essence is, but it seems unambiguous that a right proper Haverfest is about absolutely everyone being in the same spot at once, enjoying themselves, relaxing, and just having the freedom to see and move to wherever and whomsoever they please.

Clearly, not the case last Saturday. Ah well. At least JDS9 rocked the Dining Center out.

I suppose it's not remotely close to a Deal to anyone else, but I was nervous as all hell about playing guitar. For one thing, it's got MILES more room for expression (and therefore: fumbling amateurism) than the keyboards. For another, I'm woefully-inexperienced with it, this actually being my first time playing guitar on stage (quite the cringing debutante, I suppose).

Without going into some extended cultural analysis that would likely present nothing you couldn't read in some book someplace that I haven't the time to compose anyway, it's fair to say that the damned instrument is so miserably romanticized, with more image-issues associated with it than pretty much anything else ever. I mean, there's a poster in Conor's suite with Linsday Lohan (or possibly Hillary Duff...but do go on and ask whether or not I give a shit) wherein aforementioned postergirl is at a patently-glamourous lean, sporting a glitzed-out guitar, only backwards, at an impossibly-awkward angle over her shoulder (think even more awkward than Liz Phair on the cover of her recent sellout self-titled release, only not spread-eagle on the floor, you UNPRINCIPLED HACK. Welcome to No More Respect As An Artist Ever Fucking Againsville, Ms. Phair) serving no purpose at all. I recognize that it's supposed to be some manner of evocative pose, I guess, but it serves to do little more than convince the hyperthoughtful observer that this month's It-Girl simply has no fucking idea how to rock out. It could have just as well been a pair of skis.

Except that it's a GUITAR. And that's my point: that whether it be good attention or bad, a guitar will get you Noticed. There's Expectations about those things that guitar players contend with every damn day.

Hence: eyes down, hiding behind shaggy hair. So very, very shoegaze. Alternately: shy and obsessive, and hours away from a confident stage-solo.

I'm not really one for name-dropping, but I got a congratulatory hug from Shamie, which was really quite nice, given how vanishingly little we've spoken to each other, despite a lot of misfortunate commonality qua work and such (unless I'm simply being mawkish and presumptuous, in which case, oops). Seeing Allison at the concert was likewise most-pleasing, as lame as her AIM-style is. [/deliberate barb]

...as always, I'm just glad everyone had a good time. God knows I did.

Music: Franz Ferdinand - Auf Achse.

"You see her, you can't touch her / You hear her, you can't hold her / You want her, you can't have her / You want to, but she won't let you..."

[ today, the campus sleeps in ]

Yet Another Sunrise over Lloyd Green as Yet Another All-Nighter moves into daylight hours. The next two weeks will see the coming and going of final exams, a week of supposedly worry-free celebration for the Senior Class, and a host of proud, overdressed parents watching their children's symbolic walk into post-Collegiate life. This Thesis isn't moving fast enough, Electronics Lab was sorely neglected, and both need passing if I hope to join you all.

I really, really hope I make it.

People ought not to leave their glasses lying around, unless they don't mind my putting them on and taking dippy pictures of myself wearing them. I sincerely hope never to need a pair, but it's some solace to know that I won't look too terrible if I do.

Music: Dntel - (This Is) The Dream Of Evan & Chan. The one featuring Ben Gibbard of Death Cab For Emo-Pop. The one that inspired the now-quasimainstream Postal Service side project between the two artists. The one that brought Death Cab into some degree of prominence.

Jesus, do I need a backrub.