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July 16, 2003, 8:58 p.m.

I traveled. I gave a few talks. I edited a raft of papers. I took pictures of cloudless blue skies over Midwestern rest stops. I bought three Members Only jackets to give to friends. I read the entire Wolves Chronicles by Joan Aiken. I was best man at my brother's wedding. I stood in line the night before to buyHarry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix. I discovered Fametracker. I finished the third chapter of my dissertation. I started the fourth. I edited Mark's presentation for this conference. I saw Whale Rider, Pirates of the Carribean, and Finding Nemo each twice (thanks to my brother). I bought three or four summer dresses at a local thrift store for a dollar each.

Here is the latest Punk Planet column. It's my version of optimism. Enjoy! 

April 23, 2003, 11:09 p.m.

I made some guitar pick earrings because I was avoiding the dissertation. One pink, one red -- I pilfered the hooks from another neglected pair. I must be channeling my eighth grade homeroom teacher, who had decorated the classroom in pink and red. All year. Recruited to assist, I remember stapling red streamers around a pink noteboard with papers and notices as N., who fancied herself a pre-teen fashion maven with her sparkling eye shadow and tight blue jeans, rolled her eyes expressively. "I know it clashes," the teacher said, defensively, "but I can't stop myself."

I walked out of the house the other day in: beat-up blue Adidas, striped ankle socks, black leg warmers, a cut-off denim skirt, red-and-pink striped bra, white tank top, my new earrings and red Members Only jacket. (I sometimes think it's a bizarre compulsion.) On Shattuck, a trio of "no wave" girls stared at me as I walked past them, hostile-like. It rolled off them like small, hungry waves. Did they covet my jacket? Or am I not worthy enough to wear it?

The last Punk Planet column I wrote is here. It's sort of filler, really. The newest one will be formatted soon for the site: Boy Bands Against the War, break-up songs, and the appropriation of the intimate, emotional address for a democratic practice.