cheese steak in the mission, watching the raiders and the patriots stumbling around in the snow and making the clumsiest plays imaginable.� "i think that was called the red sea defense.� the defenders leave the middle wide open and just let the quarterback run through and get a touchdown."� then we went ice skating.� my very first time.� it was alright.� started to sort of almost get the hang of it, after an hour or two.� saw andrew from the f.ways, of all people.� i wasn't in much of a talking mood because i was all worn out, flustered and still had a bit of a cold.� but i went and said hello anyway.

drove around listening to lots of orange juice and the smiths.� "hmm yeah.� morrisey thinks he's edwyn collins, and orange juice think they're roxy music?� something like that."

stopped back at her house to pick up the new roommate she met on makeoutclub.com.� the strokes were on saturday night live.� we watched it, just like everybody else did.� at a SOMA warehouse these awful goth bands were playing.� one featured a black transvestite in bad vampire makeup, wailing tunelessly.� the other band, we decided, had good music and poor singing: "the band is good killing joke, the singer is bad siouxsie."� hmm, time to go in the back room and have some drinks and smokes, we thought.� we got some use out of the xmas gift that ebm sent to me.

the new roommate supposedly made a lot of money during the internet boom, used to run an auto shop, owns a bar, deals drugs on and off, and does post-production work for major movie studios.� he wears garish, brightly colored fake-fur coats and has the nerdiest sense of humor.� the more we hear about how many things he does, the more we privately wonder if he's for real, or if he's like a schizophrenic with a trust fund.� "wtf?� who is this guy?� if he's such a busy multi-tasking type, what is he doing hangin' out on makeout club?� and why is this weird raver-lookin' dot commer guy's alarm clock going off at 7AM on sunday morning?!"� i'd almost completely lost my voice, so i could only whisper like harvey fierstein with laryngitis.

the next evening was a fairly mellow night at death rock booty call.� the drag queens did not look good at all.� or else they were just really ugly old women.� sometimes it's hard to tell.� the night began with very few people on the floor, all doing the same slow twirly fey dances no matter what music was on.� "you call that twirling?� no, this is twirling."� they had serious difficulty interacting with the beat.� the night ended with so many people on the floor that it was too crowded for anyone to even attempt to dance well.� so they mostly did the "shake around a little, and bump into people a lot" dance.� the roommate never had anything to drink.� he just played with the web browser on his cellphone all night.� i kept stepping out into the alleyway to make use of ebm's xmas present.

i felt sore all over in the morning, and spent most of the afternoon watching rap videos on BET.