Didn't I tell you last entry about how B and G always seem to call at some point in the macaroni making process? Thankfully when that call came yesterday, it was the first step in th process: water boiling. "Jason, come over here and pick up me and B." This meant it had been decided I was to be the driver. Friday night G had done it. B hasn't driven since Memorial Day, but even that tecnically doesn't count as we all drove to the canyon.

I had to take care of a few things before we left. First, my tire is in bad need of repair. It's gone flat three, now four times in a week. It's flat right now in fact. So my sister pumped it up while I ran inside to get some CD's and magazines for the night. I also took her to McDonalds, which is just a few blocks from G's. I dropped her off, then headed to his house. I get there, his brother and his friends are hanging in the garage and he and B are in G's car.

Already I'm just a tad upset. A CD I thought had burned never did, and another CD burned with nothing but pops and crackles. The first keeps telling me it can't prepare the final track. The second I have no idea what to make of it.

I brought my CD booklet with me, but I didn't want them to see the CD's. This brought about a huge argument, where they agreed not to laugh or say anything. What were the first words out of his mouth? "Blu Cantrell? Tee hee." The same with Nikka Costa, Dido, Guster and finally Weezer. I didn't laugh at his CD's when I thummed through them a few days ago. It leaves you just as vulnerable as when you write that poem you never planned to share.

We drove to Wendy's and I wasn't hungry. Neither was anyone else in the car. Turns out that we're all sick of Wendy's. It happened at the same time. So it looks like come this weekend we're looking for a new place to eat.

Speaking of this weekend, it's my alma matter's homecoming. I'm going to the game if for no other reason than to see perhaps someone I knew and graduated with. Maybe Halley, Mara, Mary or Mandie will be there. The only drawback is if they are, all I'll hear about is T.E.N.T. this and T.E.N.T. that. They know how much I cared for her. They can't seem to except the fact that it's over. Then again, at times neither can I.

As for yesterday, we listened to Nikka Costa. It was then that they found out that her album was my favorite of the year- and they were in disbelief. This prompted her to get a spin in the CD player, and once again, I felt vulnerable. This was one of my favorite albums, and it would soon be subject to ridicule. After the familiar riff from the Tommy Hilfiger ads played leading us to song two, the insults came out.

"What would you classify this as?"

"Trash. Crap. Garbage."

In my head: "Beautiful. It's beautiful garbage."

She lasted maybe two songs.

It surprised me at how much Gup new about her: the fact that she presented at the MTV awards, what she looked like, who her famous godparent was, what went on in the video, the hand claps in the song, everything. I was inclined to ask him how he knew this. Was he secretly a fan?

I played other CD's they wanted to hear, so I was basically at their beck and call when it came to music. B fell asleep in the car, I became uncomfortable in the front seat when my feet were being forced in the driving position (at a 90 degree angle as if I were driving) for more than an hour.

When B woke up,we headed home. Earlier than usual. It was a relief for the three of us. B had worked 10 hours that day, Gup had worked 8 1/2.

Today, I went to Sears after Gup called me and told me that there was only one more of a CD burner I wanted to buy. He bought it himself. I brought my mp3 player and attempted to play it through the car stereo I was planning to buy. It took a while, but after trying a few things, I got it to work. I'm actually enjoying it a bit, so it means I'll likely buy it.

I headed to the store, the tire place (which was closed) fell asleep and slept through my weekly trip to KFC.

At least the whole I have to call Randi or someone like her didn't come up-much. Except for when we drove past where she worked sometimes.

Jason

Random Dandy Warhols lyric:

"Boys had better beware

You could seem to color your hair.

Or on a wig, you already spent

all the dough to cover your rent.

But not so cool man

if you care, for all the

other boys caught in your

bleach job hair.

And girls better beware.

Boys, you better, you better."

-Boys Better

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