September 17, 2003 @ 1:23 a.m.
Music. It allegedly makes the people come together (have any sex researchers actually verified this?).

I'm filled with joie de vivre today, for varying reasons, at least three of which involve caffeine.

The single coolest thing that's happened to me today was getting a card from Margaret, the gorgeous webgirl who asks the big questions like "if I have a boyfriend, is it wrong to show my nipples to my creepy Internet friends?" (obviously we are soulmates). As if that wasn't cool enough, enclosed in said card was a NOTE WRITTEN TO ME by Mat Harding, the drummer of the coolest band in the entire Universe. I was justifiably blown away. I gave her a pop culture tipoff, told her to see them if she could, and she gets the drummer to write me a freakin' personal letter. Margaret, I have already said this, but a thousand times thank you, you (and Mat) have made my week!

The only problem is that I've since found out they've broken up. Bastards. This supports my theory that my fandom is the kiss of death for good bands. Regardless, you should all check out the Rather Good tribute.

In other happy, music-related news, the Eels gig is THIS FRIDAY. I'm so excited about it, I make Big Kev look positively Gen X. I'm still going by myself, but I doubt I'll be stuck for company. As Stu pointed out and as I've already observed, I tend to attract weirdos. Case in point: Stu. Seriously, though, it's one of those talents I wish I didn't have. It's no fun being bailed up by a smelly hippy who's banging on about absolute shit when the boy you're hoping to score with is standing two metres away and indicating that he has to leave now (and if you're reading this, smelly hippy, know that I still haven't forgiven you, even though things worked out spectacularly well in the end). I'm also a target for yobbos, friendly retards, 50 year old men who think I look like an innocent young piece of arse, and the dentally challenged.

I'm sure I will have a good time though, regardless of the "friends" I pick up along the way. I'm looking forward to observing for myself the walking mystery that is MC Honky, as well as basking in the presence of Mr E himself, flu or no flu.

The other cool thing that's happened is that on Friday I got a letter from the English department at Uni, inviting me to apply to do Honours. Sure, it's a form letter they send out to anyone who's been doing well, but I didn't actually think I'd been getting good enough marks to get into honours, so it's nice to know I have been. Of course, I am one of those annoying people who gets sad when they only get a distinction instead of a high distinction, but even so I wasn't sure. I'm happy as a particularly jovial clam, however; my plan to never actually leave Uni looks like it's advancing a step further.

Also,I finally met my niece (see previous entry if you're confused) on the weekend. I was expecting gross and whiny, because let's face it, newborn babies usually are and Myles certainly was. Instead...well, she's gorgeous. I'm officially sucked in to the Cult of Baby. At one point, she fell asleep on my chest while I was trying to burp her (Stuart does that all the time though, so I'm used to it), and I just sat there on the couch and luxuriated in her warmth and peacefulness and the rhythm of her breathing. If you think I sound clucky, you'd be right. I'm scaring myself.

In much more Rev-like behaviour, I've been faking pirate orgasms ("Yaaarrghhh! YAAAAAAARRRGGHHH!") while walking down the street, and I accidentally made a grab for Stu's crotch while under the watchful eye of a security camera. Accidentally in that I didn't realise the camera was there, I mean. I meant to grab his crotch. I don't do that accidentally, I always mean it, unlike the times I end up face down in some guy's lap, as has been known to happen on the odd occasion, and also sometime last week (sorry dude, my depth perception was shot). You can catch it soon, I'm sure, in the latest installment of Caught on Camera.

Dude. This fucking joie de vivre thing is really starting to freak me the fuck out. It's like I'm turning into some uber-serene Stepford Girl or something. One who talks about her pubic hair a lot.

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