This weekend, instead of packing, I played in a couple of photobooths at the beach. At left is only a small sample of the rather expensive and narcissistic picture-taking fun. I would like to own a photobooth some day. I don't think I would ever get bored experimenting with facial expressions, of figuring out how to make myself look alternately alluring and grotesque in the span of forty or so seconds. And I want all my friends to play with it, too. I know it isn't an original idea, but it's still a good one.

Sometimes when I'm in a bad mood, I make faces at myself in the mirror to cheer myself up. I wish I could remember to do that all the time.

This week is going to be absolutely hellish. At the end of it, I will be sleeping in my old twin bed again, driving a less scenic way to work, and eating nearly every meal with my parents. I haven't given much thought to how it will feel. But there's bound to be some whining going on around here in the next few months.

Ugh. I have no idea how I am going to get all of my stuff up to New York, when that eventually happens. Maybe I can hire a hipster with a van.

Oh, that reminds me. I met Stephen's lovely friend Sue and her nice boyfriend Guido in Harlem last Wednesday. Sue for some reason thinks I'm a hipster. I told her to listen to WOVO; that, combined with the photographic evidence to the left, should dispel any notion that I could ever be anything but a big dork.