2004-02-19..5:08 p.m.

Things I can do without at half7 in the morning: The bodily functions of organisms not me.

On the way to work this morning I very nearly stepped in mutant pigeon shit, narrowly avoided a puddle of dried vomit (is it still a puddle if it�s dry?), disturbed a man peeing in the bushes, and stepped quite firmly onto a withered chicken bone.

Also on the way to work this morning, I was delivered firm prove that the sun does in fact still shine over London. Hard to believe at first, given the history of grey and damp, but there it was this morning, all glowy and orange and peeking shyly into bedroom windows like a virginal peeping tom. I should have documented it as evidence.

Also on the way to work this morning, I came up with a great review line, which now just needs to be attached to a hard-kicking femme rocker, possibly like Karen O. It involves gazelle legs and screeching banshee torsos. And while I was perfecting that thought, I got to thinking about Daniel Day Lewis� performance in Last of the Mohicans. I�ve been thinking a lot about Daniel Day Lewis of late, which is far less strange than appears on the surface when you take into consideration the fact that until Sunday I had led a perfectly Daniel Day Lewis-free existence. Maddening historical dubiety aside, the Last of the Mohicans rather splendidly documents the posturing dynamo that is Daniel Day Lewis. His portrayal of the adopted pale-skin consists primarily of jerky chicken head movements that are supposed to be deep and penetrating, and flouncing. Contrary to popular belief, flouncing did not go with Errol Flynn to the grave, but is alive and well. An inordinate amount of flouncing is done in that film, most of it by Daniel Day Lewis, who conducts his flouncing in the manner of a harlequin man-hero. By comparison, he makes Keanu Reeves seem positively Oscar-worthy.

This morning sure was eventful, no? It was, it doesn�t end there at all! I skived work and got my hair cut too! Snuck downtown for a full two hours while Mahira covered for me and now it�s all Powerpuff bobbed and mod, but still with the potential for unintentional indie-rocker as before. Why it took so long so do, god knows. I kept drifting between anxious clock-watching; struggling not to nod off and have my ears chopped; and trying to find a position that didn�t make my ankle throb.

Appendage Update: Slightly sore after another night of accidental mid-week boozing, but not as sore as my SORE HEAD.

I went to the Geoffrey Lewis/Ballboy concert last night, which resulted in my becoming most inadvertently inebriated. Mr Lewis is my new hero (don�t you worry, Mr. Day Lewis, not in a flouncing harlequin man-hero way. I�ll leave that title to you) He fucking rocks. He does these giant flip-book �documentaries� on The Fall and Rough Trade; his lyrics put Leonard Cohen to shame (he even mentions Leonard Cohen in one of his songs. He also mentions Groundskeeper Willy. I love him); he�s got a monotone dry wit that doesn�t pause to let the crowd catch up. Man, I love that. Literary and musical. Ballboy were excellent as well. Frankly, if you can get away with telling stories about the Queen mistaking your juice drinking for a royal salute, and then call one of your songs Sex Is Boring, you�re not doing too badly now, are you?

Anyway, so got in very late, got up very early and for all it�s worth, the bits inbetween were (drunken) inner whingings and fighting off panic attacks about Nelle�s medical emergency.

Tonight, at least, I should be back to fighting off the sandman half-heartedly before sinking into deep sweet sleep. Turns out it�s an �internal fissure� due to borderline malnutrition and too much caffeine, and totally treatable (a fact I�m sure she�d be pleased as punch I�m spreading. Don�t tell her, k?) Psychically enough, I have written in my journal her saying she was probably going to get scurvy or something like it back in December. Was very glad to hear it�s no pirate disease, however. Will save me from have to find a one-legged parrot, and bribing the post office with sexual favours. Seriously though, I�m not into getting fucking scares like that. Cancer/Ulcers/Incurable tumours. These are the things I immediately think of when people tell me they�re oozing blood from places that just don�t bleed.

Will hopefully be seeing the Ravonettes next Tuesday. If mid-week boozing results from this show, too, I may have to rethink my �accidental� catch-all..

Okay Kittens. I�m off. xxmeep