September 19, 2002, 9:21 p.m.

Still we linger playing Baccarat

back & forth

Maximilian and Brian have just toasted Africa, and the young National Socialists are hymning it up, gruesome of face. I love this movie, and I always forget that I do until I watch it again. Screw Maximilian! I do! So do I!!

Not entirely entre-deux-guerres: Der Mann ohne Eigenschaften II: Revenge of the Eigenschaften continues, sparkling and funny and urbane and encyclopedic. One can't love all of it, but one can read "Moosbrugger dances" over and over again. I want to be the person who rewrites it, word for word, perhaps even better. Anyway, he manages to say whatever it was you were going to think next, but better-phrased. Damn him.

I got out of work almost on time tonight -- quarter to seven or so, but I still didn't get home until after eight, since the buses of C*mbr*dg* were ranged in sneering diesel collusion against me. Three went past, claiming hurriedly to be Express Buses on Terribly Important Business before I could get on one, and I still didn't get a seat; I hate them.

I need to get some sexual healing soon, too. Why am I not universally adored by millions of thin and beautiful indie rock fags? Don't they understand?

Mental note: green nailpolish like Liza's. Pronto.