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2002-07-17 || 10:24 a.m. || bancroft house. || the house: we have named all the rooms in the house. the bathroom is the whoopi goldberg honorarial library (story: in a book of annie leibovitz photographs there is a picture of whoopi in a bathtub full of milk. the title of the picture is berkeley, california. note the same type of bathtub. note the same kind of linoleum floor. note the postition of the soap dish that corresponds to a bad spackle job on our wall. sean is sure of it. sean wants to ask the landlady whoopi and annie. to commemorate this, our inhabiting whoopi's former house, we have decided we will all have milk bath photo shoots. everyone who has become a regular fixture of the house. sean will be spitting milk at the camera. brian will be wearing a mask and snorkel. becky will be looking back at the camera. i will be smoking a cigarette and meow will be perched on the edge just to the side of my head. we want to have a photo shoot event. we want to get friends drunk and convince them yes, it is a brilliant idea to strip down to your skivvies and lie in some cold opaque milky concoction while we take pictures. the pictures will be framed. the pictures will be mounted on the whoopi goldberg honorarial library wall.). sean's room is the physics lounge, until brian moves in and names it something else. becky's room is the conservatory. my room is the bordello (not sure how this was decided. perhaps because my bed takes up 85% of my room. and that floozy of a bedspread. but i like the word: bordello. of the bordellos i've been in, the old west tired ones that have been renamed bed and breakfasts/hotels, my room does share the unassuming white walls. the unapologetic functionality. this is The Bed. this is where we Do It. ahem.). we are to make plaques with the shrinky dink set i got for my birthday. we are to embody the personalities of our rooms, down to the branches of equations and smoking jackets and fishnet stockings i guess. the house: at the moment the ashtray located on the wee back porch is crowded with cigarette butts. i am secretly appalled they are all mine. the house: i revived the hibiscus plant from near death. i forgot about my miserable knack at killing things. the house: there are boxes still unpacked pushed to corners. is littered with cat toys. is still short of at least one couch, so we have taken to lying on the floor. the house: there is light. there is water rushing. there is stewart and meow meow tearing through each room with manic synchopated pawsteps. the lights flicker. i constantly feel little earthquakes. there are always people outside, driving too fast with music too loud scraping the underbellies of their cars on the striped speed bump. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |