Stuart Hobbes

On the corner of 65th and Shattuck is the 3-weeks-old Nomad Cafe. It's got great big windows, a range of menu items, good outside seating, and all the wireless you can eat.

OH MY GOD!!!! TARA AND I ARE GOING TO BARNES AND NOBLE TONIGHT FOR THE HARRY POTTER PARTY AND GETTING BOOKS AT MIDNIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE ARE SO EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THERE IS WANDMAKING AND FACE PAINTING AND EEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

I worked some more on my books today. Before, they were in five seperate piles (each with a different, special, and confusing signification) but then those piles got knocked over, and I kept having to explain to my parents that, yes, roughly a third of THESE books, in THIS part of the pile need to be put in storage, except for a couple, because they're supposed to be over in THAT pile (which is buried under another pile). And then there were my Madame Figaro magazines. I have been collecting Madame Figaro magazines for two years (about as long as I've been collecting birthday cards...) and ostensibly I use them for inspiration for costumes and characters in my writing. Except that they actually just sit there, gathering dust. For the last two weeks I've been determined to keep them all, but yesterday I finally cracked down and culled them viciously. Most of them are now in the dump. Many are missing pages, where I tore out entire sections, ostensibly for inspiration in my writing, but they will probably just gather dust in a file somewhere. Some I kept; my first issue, for example. Back to my piles.

I learned something. Books that aren't going to be read don't NEED to be kept. This was a revelation to me, because I NEVER throw out books. Suddenly my "Give Away/Throw Out" pile has grown to two times its old size. Then there is the "Storage" pile. And then there are three other piles, whose meanings have been changing throughout the afternoon. I have no idea now why they exist, but hey, you can't be too picky with piles. I think one of them might be "Books I Feel Like I Should Read" and "Books that I Kinda Want to Read". But that was what I decided after the piles were completed, and I actually have no idea which books are in which pile, so basically I'm back where I started...god I suck at organization. Scratch that, I am GREAT at organization. I LOVE organizing, files and books and all that jazz. The problem is that I'm TOO good. I make too many files, too many piles, etc.

I also discovered that I deal with change by being particularly restless. After the Parkour disaster on the porch, I tried to do a somersault in the hall and basically took a nose dive on the wood floor. Then I painted my nails electric blue. And I still refuse to take down my drums. I should do something about it soon because my dad is starting to think that it might be because of emotional distress, which causes him to ask me about my feelings, which just pisses me off because if there's one thing I hate, it's people asking me how I feel. I know it's because they care, but I swear to god, the second someone starts asking me "Are you all right?" or "How do you feel?" I get...very bitchy. Feelings are my own business, not anyone else's, and I dislike talking about them. It, like this entire last paragraph, makes me very uncomfortable. Anyway!

My house is now being invaded by cyclists in spandex and lycra! My dad and his buddies just got back from their ride, and they're watching the Tour de France in the living room, which also causes me to be very uncomfortable, because I might have to make conversation, which would NOT be bitchin'. I watched Death Proof again yesterday, which WAS bitchin', and I tried to watch Planet Terror but decided that watching it alone, at midnight, in my bed was a very, very bad idea. But the part that I saw was indeed, bitchin'. And absolutely disgusting. Popping abcesses FTW!!