Okay, kids. It's becoming awfully hard to keep my wallet closed when people keep coming to town to visit. Three friends are here this weekend alone - from Chicago, California, and Africa - so you know the beer budget is going to need a little cushioning. Ugghh. Watch the loan money dwindle. Although I have to say, it's fantastic to have such a fun and varied group of friends. I'm so glad there are so many different people filling up my life.

Here are a few of those very fine people...

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So this story is a few days old, but backs up my whole Ivy-preoccupation argument, a soapbox I'm still not done standing on yet.

Met with the design director of the mag today. (He showed us a rough draft of the Chappelle cover. I'm not on it. Except maybe my arm... the one in the lower left-hand corner definitely has my albino-greenish glow.) Asked him what it takes to get into mag design. Answer: "Talent." Great. Kicked myself profusely for choosing J-school over design school. Wondered if my life to this point has been a fun-but-misdirected ramble down the wrong fork in the path. Remember the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz? He's been appearing in my nightmares as of late.

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A recent awkward bar exchange:

Guy: So what do you do?
Me: Oh, right now I'm interning at _____.
Guy: You're interning? Then what are you doing here? (Gesturing to bar)
Me: (thinking he means, why am I here spending money when I am an intern, and thus penniless and starving) Well, even an intern's gotta drink. In fact, being an intern is all the more reason to be drinking...
Guy: No, I mean, how are you in here?
Me: (realizing that this jackass-tool thinks that, because I'm an intern, I'm thus underage and should not be in said bar) Uh, right. Gotta go.
(hurried exit Stage Right)

Yes, I'm a 25-year-old intern. And proud, dammit.