my house needs better insulation

I think that my broken power cord is perhaps too broken, because every time I plug it in the muscles in that arm begin to ache, and I can only assume an electrical current passing through is the cause.

V has found my blogs. We've traded so I've sat here noddling through old entries. Had I had my eyes closed, what would I have assumed I'd have remembered and what would I have predicted forgetting?

I've discovered that carrying around The Satanic Verses is quite a good way to meet people. I'm considering taking to reading it in public more often. My friend R once had a weird boxy outlet sort of thing in his room that we decided he should label, "conversation piece," and he did. I would like to label my book, "conversation piece," and wait for them to come. In class today S asked how many of us remembered the fatwah in the news, and I felt old, being one of two beside the professor who did. I felt older when it turned out S had been 5 at the time. My copy is my parents' from Royal Books in Franklin. I remember how everyone was talking about the controversy, and how my mom rushed out to buy the book, and it felt funny to write in its margins all these years later. It occured to me tonight that as awful as the fatwah is (and fun fact - it can never be revoked now that Khomeni's dead...it's an "endless arrow"), the severeity of the controversy is a kind of testament to the power of literature that seems oddly quaint in an age where controversal literature consists of Harry Potter, The DaVinci Code, and Danish cartoons.

I like sitting next to V on the couch and working (or not) together. Last night we dredged up old videos on YouTube, dreamed of playing PJ Harvey's basslines and rocked out to Snoop Dogg. We are total dorks and I love it.

I'm going to think about the postcolonial subject vs. the globalized subject now. And maybe do a little writing, too.