After having turned down the Jamaica job, I'm applying for a position in Albert, Ontario, a tiny town near the Northern Quebec border.

I have fantasies of living in a log cabin and snowshoeing to work in the winter.

Maybe I'll become a crazy reclusive environmentalist, with a pack of wild dogs and haunting native-art statues; carefully placed sentinels to keep away the local children.

If anyone dares visit me, we'll eat organic cabbage and drink home brew by the fire pit.

Yes, that sounds good.



New Interpol is great. Though you have to be in the right mood. Which I am, I guess.


I am so sick of student housing. The other day I flip-flopped into the kitchen to make a tea, and this Belgian chick I live with was making dinner with a group of 5 or 6 of her friends.

First, she's all, oh hi, how are you? Then she turns round to her friends and starts talking about me in French... which, I suppose unbeknownst to her, is a language I speak and understand well.

She was commenting on the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra, and they were all critically discussing this - right in front of me! It was so fucking uncomfortable. I didn't even wait for my water to boil and ducked back into my room to spend the next hour crying.

Wha, wha, wha.

And that is all for today.