Hot damn if that White Stripes album isn't the catchiest damn thing.

I really like living with Brooke. It's beating the hell out of living with my mom, nothing against my mom, of course. Even though the apartment's still a mess and we have a mouse and the gerbils got loose last night, it's still incredibly homey.

I played Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for about 5 hours yesterday, until I got to a point I couldn't progress past. Then, when I was getting ready to go to bed, I saw a little Grand Theft Auto guy running around in my head, stealing cars and getting them repainted. For some reason, this only happens with games. I've had this happen to me before after I've played a lot of Snood and Tetris, and also with this non-electronic thingie called the Rubick's Puzzle (anyone have one of those? Not the cube). Something about the act of gaming makes the images stick in your mind and get played around bedtime, I guess. Weird.

Good for you, Carmella Soprano.

I should really own the DVD for Wet Hot American Summer. Perhaps this will soon be rectified.

Pavement are a great band, and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain is a perfect album. And I'd like to hang out with Bob Nastanovitch. He's like a real-life Jeff Daniels character.

Back to work.