What the doctor should have meant: dishery.diaryland.com

Your present plans are going to succeed.

� fortune cookie from my lunch today

In the Hey, Maybe The Stranger Is Not As Awful As I Think It Is department, from Sherman Alexie�s "Sixteen Words vs. Ten Words," August 14, 2003:

As a commie pinko bastard, I am horrified that a right-wing Republican is my president, but as a commie pinko bastard writer, I�m more horrified that he is a malaproping right-wing Republican. Sure, Bill Clinton was a liar, but he was a genius liar. He was a triple-threat liar; he created, wrote, and performed his own bullshit.

In the Oh Yes It Is And Probably Even Worse department, from Aaron Jenkins� "Bush�s Policies Mimic �80�s Reaganomics. Anti-Bush Activists Hope to Mimic �80�s Punk Rock Tactics" (and, oh my god, that headline, whoever composed it should be taken out and shot), same issue:

As I brooded on Broadway one lazy afternoon, a poster featuring President Bush�s head over crossbones caught my eye, imploring [!] me to "Take Action Now." It was an invitation to the first general meeting of Bands Against Bush (BAB), to be held at the Vera Project on August 4. Since the sign invited everyone from "MCs, punks, and techno hunks" to "queercoreans in DeLoreans," I figured a socially aware 17-year-old like me would fit right in.

Last day. Last day last day last day, and how do I feel about it? Uh, whatever. Melissa told me on Wednesday that there was going to be some kind of sendoff lunch for me, but that failed to materialize and I instead I enjoyed my usual vending-machine repast of milk, Sun Chips, and peanuts. (I�m back on the smoothies-for-breakfast plan, so this is fully OK.) Today Big Pharma supplied us all with delicious salads, and I have a feeling there may be surprise cake sometime this afternoon, there I have typed it and I will not un-type it later should my cake hunch prove wrong; I wouldn�t be embarrassed out of a combination of not taking the matter personally and to the extent that I did, recognizing from exactly whom I was taking things personally and realizing that even personally it�s no big deal. There was also supposed to be some going out for drinks this afternoon, but since my leaving didn�t make it from the gossip section to the front page until Wednesday morning, some people were already busy and some could not secure babysitters, etc., so the plan is to do that next week instead, the afternoon before I vacate. Deb gave me a bracelet with little images of sassy cowgirls on it and also a gorgeous, non-gringo-ized Mexican cookbook and a sack full of fancy foods and wine that she says are for my next party. Deb can�t make it next Friday but we traded e-mail addresses and I�m going to get in touch upon my return and we're going to go out by ourselves. She told me that last night someone from a liquor company called screening her for possible participation in a focus group, and he asked her if she had various kinds of booze in the house: Vodka? Yes. Boubon? Yes. Rum? Yes. And so on down a long list to every item on which she answered in the affirmative, and when she�d finished the screener was very excited and told her that she was the first person out of more than 50 he�d called who met the focus group�s requirements. So I think going out with Deb could be a lot of fun.

Update: Not cake, tarts. And not lemon.

I don�t like drawn-out goodbyes or ritualized farewells (though I must say the tarts were lovely). For the record, when I describe myself as a bridge-burner, that�s partly what I mean.

Tonight Steve is taking me out to dinner at Cassis and I get to wear some of my last week�s Ross booty, a synthetic wrap top with thin gray stripes and cleavage down to there and an equally synthetic black skirt with an uneven hemline and a superfluous D-ring self-belt, I am going to look totally Faye Dunaway circa 1974. After that there is going to be some serious drinking, I suspect. That trip to Ross was weird, I forgot to mention before � of the things I bought, every letter size was represented, from XS (a pair of Nike running shorts) to L (the Faye skirt), and here�s the breakdown of the number-sized ones: 6, 6, 5/6. With respect to which I feel like I�m getting credit for someone else�s homework, but I�ll take it.

Is that all I've got? Ugh.

I don�t know, I feel like I should have something momentous to say; moment, alas, I have none, and I�m logy from such a lot of food for lunch and dessert. I also have to finish writing a report for the hospital�s immigration office and revising the manual for my replacement, not to mention purging this PC�s temporary directories and crumbling its cookies. I think sometimes riding off into the sunset doesn�t have to be such a big production � like, what if you just happen to be going in that direction anyway?

More next week, I hope. Liminality, here I come. (No, that�s a good thing.)