but I also have possession of quite possibly a very rare item: a vinyl of early computer music compositions made here at uiuc (on the record are ‘Illiac Suite for String Quartet’ and ‘Computer Cantata’).

This will keep my Rick Springfield and Ukranian songs vinyls company.

The last two points forced me to get away, so I bought a plane ticket to the east coast on Wednesday and crashed in my friend Rahat's apartment. In Manhattan.

Details of all the little activities I busied myself in are uninteresting to retell, but I had a great time wandering the city, dropping in on locally owned cafés and shops, getting lost in Times Square's lights at night. Et cetera.

But, but, there was one factor that made these events absolutely unforgettable. I'd spent much of those moments wandering with the most amazing girl I've ever met.

I don't know how exactly to describe Sabrina, except that everything is magic with her. She's smart and beautiful and funny. She keeps me at ease and on my toes. Holding her hands and kissing her lips is enough to make me feel like life made sense.

And on and on. Yeah, I'm in love. So much so that the rest of this semester doesn't seem like a big deal because, come summer, Manhattan will be my destination. ’No matter what’, as the Orbit Girl would say.

God, I hope this bubble doesn't burst.

(And now, I'll step away for a week or so. Or try to.)

Look: they're turning left onto another street, which happens to be named after them. (Serena and Venus Williams Street, Williams Sisters Avenue? One of those likely permutations.)

Now they're walking up to a townhouse door. Venus walks in, but Serena and the guy are standing outside. In the townhouse next door, the guy sees a naked girl walking around. He knocks on the door and she answers, naked. A Chinese girl. Maybe she's nervous, because she starts saying, in an accent, ‘We only do this to survive’. Ah yes, there's another naked Chinese girl that walks up to the door now.

It's all clear. Someone is importing girls from China to become prostitutes in America. There must be several more girls in the townhouse; the pimp isn't around, obviously. Why don't they just make a run for it? After they put on clothes, of course.

This guy is concerned for their well-being. He decides to call the police. Just before he does, though, the radio jumps to life at 6:31 in the morning. The story remains unresolved.

Your left forearm is in pain from pressing the ruler down so many times over the span of two and a half hours. Your back is a bit sore from the rigidity required in keeping a straight path. But you are almost done.

Pray now, that a war to end all wars will spring up, but only after the critique tonight.

I'm looking to spend $50 on printing, excluding the $25 already spent on interim printing, for the sake of seeing how it really looks on paper.

The subject matter is interesting enough to keep me awake, and cutting sleep down to five or six hours a night might actually be beneficial to my overall well-being. And I need to be at full-time status to be eligible for health insurance from my dad's work.

I command the weather to stay where it is, or to deviate no more than five degrees from Spring-perfect, lest I become gorky to the max[im[ovich]].

I woke up this morning feeling that I needed one for my project, just to give it that special touch. It's bound to change when the desire to do such things overcomes me.

Also, Bruce Litchfield is by and far the nicest assistant dean I've encountered. The other two I've talked to (one today, one a year ago) made me feel like I was just some loser for wanting to drop classes because the computer wouldn't let me.

Alas, I survived the beating heart and sweaty palms as Dean Brown picked at me and, ultimately, dropped the course I wanted dropped. Had I held out for Litchfield's reply to my e-mail, none of the nervousness would have occurred.

If everyone was blind I'd walk around campus naked.

The couple disappeared with the boy. It turns out they were cannibals. On top of that, they kidnapped a baby. No one could find them. I think I was looking for them with my dad, and we ended up on top of some strange pyramid.

Anyhow, the girl was eventually isolated from the guy, and she said the only reason she did this was because the guy told her to.

There's more, but the details always escape me. How many times I've wished that I could record my dreams…

A few more inquiries later as to the choice of movie, he extends his right hand toward the Playstation 2 and coils it back, grasping a vhs copy of Brain Candy.

Would you believe it?

Another layer of success, I think, is that my music professor was heard uttering ‘great!’ a couple of times after my piece and no one else's. And, honestly, I think I surpassed the rest of the class for once in my life (excluding high school physics and calculus).

I am saddened that no song attempts since ‘Nameless Echoes’ were ever successful. One would think that, with training in various musical things, the attempts would turn out better than a song made with no prior experience.

Nay.

What I imagined as I stared at him was that I'd throw a rock at his car; he'd stop and confront me; I'd tell him he shouldn't be such an asshole; he'd provoke me; I'd smash his face into the back of his head.

Whether I actually have the ability to do such a thing remains to be seen.

Must eat Chinese now. Must make self sleepy before self starts to cram.

I love you, Miyu. Come back to me! I don't want it to end…

There is a twinkling little star in my life, however, that I've just seen the preview for: Piglet's own movie, coming out next Friday. Though no one will accompany me to see it, it should be fun nonetheless. I hope the parents don't think I'm some sort of pedophile.