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2001-02-13 || 11:09am || guiseppe must be in a rock band. we're talkin codpieces. || there is a man who works in my office. we'll call him guiseppe. his name isn't really guiseppe. but there aren't enough guiseppes in my life. and he has the dreamiest smoothest voice. like melted chocolate and plaid wool pants. that he doesn't use often enough. but when he does, oh daddy. really deep like calvin. and he has a moustache. and he smokes on his breaks so we have this secret comraderie. do i talk too much about work? are you getting bored with me? i can talk about other things. the adventures i'm not really having. my dangerous lifestyle (sometimes i walk in the crosswalk when there is a flashing red hand. sometimes i DON'T walk in the crosswalk.). stories about the little dog i don't have because the parties responsible for getting me a little dog are too logical and rational and ruffle my hair when i mention how much i want one. but guiseppe. i'm going to find out about this guy. he is very mysterious, with that moustache and all. i hear he is a painter. i hear he has a lot of girlfriends. i bet he drinks whiskeys and soda. i bet he has a red car. i bet he has an extensive 8-track collection in boxes under his bed. jonathan richman lyric of the day (i am on a kick and my office music selection is limited): "i think i'll call up something intelligent like gene-luck godard" (see, i do realize it's jean-luc godard, but he says it's gene-luck godard. and that just kills me.) guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |