The NPR people really are monotone. And once they start going on about Bush and his latest "fuck you" to the environment or whatever, I have to turn it off because my hatred of Bush increases with each passing day. But NPR can also be interesting.

When I checked in, they had an interview going on with John Cameron Mitchell, the writer/director/star of Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I was curious; I left it on. They played a couple of songs from the film, talked about the premise, and now I really want to see it. I was uncertain before.

But that's all tangential to the real NPR excitement today. I got out of the car to run an errand, and when I got back in the car, they were playing an interview with Christopher Guest taped a month or so ago in New York. Woo woo! It was super interesting.

He got the idea for Spinal Tap based on an overheard conversation at the Chateau Marmont (a hotel in Los Angeles). This British band was checking in, and the manager said to the one guy, "Where's your bass?" Then the bass player responded, "My what?" The manager said, "Your bass. Where's your bass?" "I don't know. I think I left it at the airport." "You left your bass at the airport?" "I don't know. Maybe. I don't know." "You left your bass at the airport?" "I'm not sure."

Guest said this conversation went on for twenty minutes like that, and something about it appealed to him. In the meantime, he and Michael McKean had been playing in a real band since the 70s, and so they were already friends and musicians. (Guest explained that in those days, surreal band names were all the rage, hence the name "Voltaire's Nose." It's somewhat frightening that their real band name is less plausible than their fake band name, eh?) The interviewer didn't ask how they hooked up with Harry Shearer, unfortunately. But somehow or another, Spinal Tap was born.

Oh, the other great quote from the interview was when Guest said that Spinal Tap was still touring. They planned this most recent tour (the one I went to) because they thought there was going to be a strike. He said, "We're actually playing at Carnegie Hall in three weeks." The interviewer paused and then asked in this incredulous voice, "Are you serious?" Guest answered, "Yes, I'm totally serious. What a sad lie that would be."

I did a wee bit of Fulbright research, and discovered that there's a meeting I can go to at our local Fulbright office on August 8. I hope to be able to talk to someone about what is and is not a feasible project idea.

The booklet says, "The Fulbright program has a long tradition of awarding grants to talented, young American writers. To this end, applications from creative writers... to carry out a major writing project overseas are encouraged."

I just need to make sure that the nature of my writing project justifies my residence in the Netherlands and affiliation with a University there. It would be great if I could talk to an expert about what I can do to maximize my chance of success.

Random stuff on my mind:

I hate being dicked around by my ex-boyfriend. I really, really hate it. He'll e-mail me from out of the blue and act like he wants to communicate with me, then ignore my responses. I mean, really, I'd like to talk with him. I'm at a point of emotional strength, and I can handle it. But this will-he-or-won't-he bullshit is starting to give me a headache.

I haven't made any progress on my syllabus or reader yet. That is to say, I've made minimal progress. Will I be a procrastinator for my entire life? Thankfully, I've reserved Thursday as a day of errand-running, and I hereby resolve to make some serious progress on my reader. You can quote me on that.

I have a list of things that I want to do with Tim if he comes to visit next month. There's this museum somewhere in the city that has a bunch of old coin operated arcade games you can play. That sounds fun. Plus, the theater in Oakland where you can get a pizza and a pitcher of beer during the movie. That sounds good, too. And my point is... well, I don't really have one. I'm just excited. I'm silly.

And here now: a parakeet bulletin. Every night when I turn out the light, Phoebe starts making this little "ork, ork, ork" sound. It's a chirp, but she sounds like a tiny seal. It's hard to explain, but it's really cute. It's her little bedtime ritual. And then Pigwidgeon panics and flaps around wildly and bangs up against the side of the cage for about 10 minutes. He can't figure out that he's supposed to sit still and go to sleep. That's because he's mentally defective.

I guess I've flip flopped from misanthropist to, um, anthropist.

I've been quite the social butterfly this week. I took a few days off, intending to get some important tasks accomplished, but instead I've been going out and doing things with people I haven't seen in a while. Aah, well. One of my goals for the summer, if you'll recall, was "experience the city" and that's what I've been doing, in addition to seeing friends.

On Sunday, Michael and I went out to lunch and then to a museum/aquarium in Golden Gate Park. On Monday, I went to go visit Jen's potential future graduate student housing facility, and then went to the top of Coit Tower. Today, I spent the day with Danielle and we had lunch with one of her friends in Lake Merrit, then walked all up and down Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. And tonight, I saw Eleanor for dinner, coffee and dessert.

Then tomorrow, I am getting blood sucked from my body, after which I am going to treat myself to an unrated movie about lesbians. I am counting on some explicit lesbian sex, which will surely comfort me after my traumatizing experience. After all, there's nothing more soothing to the soul than seeing some hot girl-on-girl action.

Right?

"My heart doesn't matter at all; I just have to be there for Mom. Because my mother has the proverbial heart of gold.... and it's big enough for the both of us."