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Céline Dion est chiante!

I forgot to mention in my last entry that there were people doing snorty drugs in the bathroom at The Echo (where I went dancing on Saturday night.) I don't know why I was so tripped out about this. Perhaps it was because it seemed like such a profoundly 80s activity to engage in, and it was indeed 80s night. How à propos.

I was drying my hands, mesmerized by the girls’ feet as they scuttled around the toilet, staking out their spot. I wasn’t sad about not participating, I wasn’t shocked or surprised. There was recognition and an odd feeling of being in a control room, watching history rolling backwards, all slow motion and shit. I like to call these my Moments of Adult Clarity, those times where I disappear and float up and view things from above. It is similar to the alcoholic’s Moment of Clarity, however without the ham-handed stupid Mike Figgis overtones.

Of course, once I got back to the table where my friends were sitting, that adult clarity was but a distant memory. “Hey, there are totally people doing snorty drugs in the bathrooms!”

And now for something completely different...

Some friends from SF came into town yesterday so I have not done a lick of work. We went out to a bar last night, then today had breakfast and did a little shopping in Santa Monica. I am finally going to retire my red Hogan tennis shoes and replace them with my new, navy blue suede Gazelles. I would have preferred red shoes but they had none. I don’t know why I must always have red shoes, it’s become some crazy kind of Thing with me. My friend Hilary thinks there’s something mystical about red on the feet, something to do with Feng Shui and good luck. I sort of believe her because I read an article about Christian Louboutin and his shoes always have red soles for a very similar reason, but I prefer to think of my predilection as having nothing to do with a world famous shoe designer and his influence on my style and taste, but more being an outgrowth of my dance fetish and the film “The Red Shoes.” It’s really, really sad that my Hogan shoes have holes in the soles (Stop that rhyming, I mean it! Anybody wanna a peanut?)

Argh. This daylight savings shite has me exhausted and cranky. Someone needs a nap.

ps: I just had to put it out there that Céline Dion est chiante because I saw a poster with her face on it, and I can't stand her simpering foolishness. She bugs.

5:00 p.m. - 2002-04-08



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