and i've never gotten used to it, i've just learned to turn it off..

It's time for a little Bob Dylan in my life.

Lord knows.

How hot is Bob here, by the way? Nice mug, man.

Anyway. Around this time last year I think I was going to that Bob concert, actually, which was around the time that my suitemate and I were becoming friends. I remember that because I hadn't really told anyone that I was going to the concert or that I was going by myself because no one would have wanted to go nor would they care, but as I was on my way out my suitemate asked where I was going. When I told her I was going to LA alone to see Dylan, she told me that I shouldn't have decided to go alone, and that I should text her when I got there so she'd know I was fine and "not raped" (thus began a gross, ongoing raped-by-dylan joke which she continues to find hilarious). I remember thinking that was nice. Towards the end of November, she was the one who ended up in the hospital. When she left in the ambulance, I found that my car was dead as a doornail and proceeded to run up and down the parking lot aisles, frantically clicking her malfunctioning car key remote until her car was revealed to be at the furthest end of the lot. When I got there I sat next to her, read Russell Brand's observations outloud, mused about death, and waited for the prissy capote-esque nurse or the blood guy who called himself "the vampire" (and yet totally didn't get my Twilight jokes...) to come back. I remember standing in the hall where one could go to fetch water or talk to the person at the desk and wondering if all medical personell were so unhappy, and observing that the doorways to all of the individual rooms were low, square, and all painted slightly different pastel colors. They looked like little frames around the sad picture of whatever was inside, and from the perspective of the desk you could peek into most of them at the same time, like a dollhouse.

I remember thinking that was very Wes Anderson.

I just recently discovered the "stats" thing on blogspot, which tells me how many people i get looking at this here blog--- which is waaay more than i thought--- and what brings them here and what posts are and have been popular. The popular posts, as now can be noted on the right, are peculiar to me. I get some of them that have key words and pictures (the fashion one is only popular because people love mad men clothes), but others I don't understand. My one-line declaration of my awkward life? My discussion of what Beatles music means to me? Odd. Other popular posts according to stats include some that go on and on about my depression-mode. That kind of concerns me and makes me wonder, is that because someone is researching? Identifying? Or... mocking?

The internet is a tricky thing. Anyway, I won't discuss the stats or look at them much anymore, that's kind of like breaking the fourth wall. Still, nice to know someone somewhere is reading along, no matter how tedious or strange. Hi guys :) You know you can say hi from time to time.