La la la. Today I have been a whirling dervish of activity. The book sale, again. The library�s abuzz with book sale business. It�s like a holiday here. Plus, I�m so far ignoring the impending teaching that must be prepared for. Note the shoddy construction of the previous sentence. Is this who you want teaching your impressionable minds, America?

I went to the picture show last night. Scott pulled some shifty maneuver and got us in free and me and his friend whose name I can�t remember were very uncool and very much not on the down low with regards to the scheme nor hip to the cheater scene. Scott practically blushed to be seen with such squares. (I mean, thanks Scott!)

We saw�damn I can�t remember the name. It�s that Bret Easton Ellis novel thing? Ah yes, The Rules of Attraction. A meaningless title. A ferociously meaningless movie. I found it pretty entertaining while I was watching it but now it�s working it�s evil mojo on me. I had scary dreams about it last night. The point of view was so ruthlessly male. Ugh. Heartless bullshit and in the end, while I�m sure someone thought some kind of brutal truth was being told, utterly banal, utterly trite, utterly inane. It makes me think of that Emile Zola novel Th�r�se Raquin. Which leads me immediately to relief because I cannot think of that soulless piece of ick without thinking of Henry James, a lovely lovely writer.

I just got back from a social committee meeting. Halloween party plans are underway, you�ll be pleased to know. Cute library boy on the committee is slowly growing on me. Probably he has a girlfriend. And also, he�s far too aware of his good looks for me to actually like him. I don�t like good-looking boys. I like interesting-looking boys. Hell, I like interesting-looking people. Well, mostly, I don�t give it too much thought unless such matters are thrust upon me. Which I think the cute library boy was doing. Which is why I don't actually like him. Clear?

Oh! Happy day! I am now the proud owner of a compact Oxford English Dictionary with its special magnifying glass in its special magnifying glass drawer. The rare books guy said no he didn't want it and my boss has therefore just sold it to me! I�m off to revel in my new riches. Ta-

Oh, P.S. I feel some need to address yesterday's entry. Here goes. You all, you sane folk, know that I meant no one in particular with yesterday�s bout of grumpy grouchy feelings, no? I trust that�s a yes. Anyone takes that shit personally I guess deserves to feel like I meant it personally. That�s what I think. (Especially when I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU.) Good heavens. (Um, thanks, always, to you who wrote with encouragement.)