Actually, that's a big lie. I just wanted to get to use the cool "O". There's no story, or rather there is, there are millions of them, but I'm not putting them up here. I used to have them around, but then I decided that it annoyed me. This is my theory: art should be anonymous.

But I am still writing in white on a black background in order to demonstrate that I am fully aware of the futility of modern society.

I gave myself to sin I gave myself to providence. óB&S
Speaking of the futility of modern society, what's happening? AOL buys Netscape. The world ends. I liked the internet better when it was a conspiracy of embittered college students. Before my parents and my five year old cousin got online and Congress started worrying about their virgin eyes.

No honestly, though. Welcome to my webpage. My name is Carlynn. No, it isn't a typo. Although my aunt's name is Sahra, which is in fact a typo, except it's legal. My grandfather was Swiss. He spelled it wrong on her birth certificate. His name was Carl. I am named after him.

I am 21 years old. Which means I am old enough to buy intoxicating beverages everywhere except Saudi Arabia. Which, frankly, doesn't worry me. Because there is relatively little chance that I will ever visit Saudi Arabia, and if I did, liquor would not be among my driving motivations. Although I very much want to go to Egypt. I had a friend who lived in Egypt, and she had her high school graduation at the Giza Pyramids. Her name was Alicia Luguri. I would imagine that her name is still Alicia Luguri. However, she has dropped off the planet, which is unfortunate for all concerned. You know how it is.

On my old homepage, which is currently regrettably inaccessible, since my brother forgot to pay for the AOL, I had a huge diatribe about my hair. That was a year and a half ago. But I wanted to update everyone who remembers those days, and who were so supportive in their concern. I've got this great stylist now. His name is Beglar, and he works at George's salon on 86th and York. Very highly recommended. Beglar is actually my mother's friend's hairdresser, and because my mother was not impressed with my home-dye experimentation she made an appointment for me with Beglar and talked to him on the phone for a solid twenty minutes beforehand, giving him instructions about what she wanted done. This was in September. And frankly, I was a little worried. Because the whole time Beglar was doing my hair, he kept talking about how important it was to please la mama. And I was like, look, this is not la mama's hair. But he did a fabulous job. It's a nice compromise I think. Blonde highlights. Civilized, to please la mama, but thank god not my vomitously awful natural color. This is what I've never understood. I have the same color hair as my mother. But she has been dyeing hers blonde since she was sixteen. So where does she get off telling me to keep it natural?

Of these and many other inexplicable aspects of modern life, Lord make us relatively but not excessively tolerant.

So right. My name is Carlynn, and I attend Princeton University, which is located, coincidentally enough, in Princeton, NJ. Now look, I know, I made up some of those Jersey jokes. It isn't that bad. Like, not all of it looks like the stretch of I-95 between Bayonne and Elizabeth. Yeah the Garden State.

I was born in Portland, Maine by accident. The Portland, Maine, part. Not the being born part. Don't even start with me. Currently in the Portland headlines:

Maine is a surprisingly happening place. And their senator's name is Olympia Snowe. Which as Tristan just pointed out, is a pretty damned cool name. However, it's not quite as happening a place as where I was raised, namely New York City. Which is the place to be. As it were. Not that I will ever live there again, but whatever. Just because it isn't my spiritual home (a dubious honor which goes to London, where I lived for three months when I was nineteen) doesn't mean that I am unable to recognize that objectively it is the height of chic.

Here is an annoying graphic:

Like, you know what. I hate angels. They are so tacky. Like, religion is (or at least ought to be) between you and your god. I personally don't give a shit about your god. I don't want to tell you about mine. So there.

Today's date is Friday, December 4th. Today's temperature was 70 degrees. Today's question is how did Stuart Murdoch get such an incredibly beautiful voice, and why do British singers have much prettier voices than Americans. Tori Amos couldn't hold a candle to Thom Yorke, Stuart Staples, or Stuart Murdoch.

Although Cornflake Girl is still a good song.

That was an allusion to Reality Bites. Vaguely.

Where do we go from here
the words are coming out all weird
Where are you now when I need you?