let lemons be angry

I believe that if you stare hard enough at somebody's flaw, it will magically hop over and become yours. If only it was the same for talents and beautiful things.

Last night's adm bash is a lovely thing to remember now. The new building still needs a lot of work, but we partied amidst the sandbags and bare walls anyway. The auditorium chairs are nicely spongy and sterile, being new, and the two swooshes of building are something to be proud of despite what all those confused people say about the grass on the roof. I have a case against the badly planned staircases though--skirt alert-- and have yet to find my little hiding spot.

So i saw the freshies, a bunch of people more enthusiastic than we've been in the last year. But then again we didn't have ogls egging us on to dance and scream. The theme was "The Factory", Andy Warhol's pop art studio and hangout house for the musically inclined and debauched of mind. The bash, however, was pleasantly disco-oriented and unpretentious. I spent the first half of the night backstage wired up with an intercom set, miking contestants up and cueing them in. The second half was about wolfing down tarts and filling the dancefloor with the most unlikely people--we pulled in Hannes, Mr Pang, and another technician- and wishing there were more occasions to wear black stockings and chunky boots. You have to give it up for adm professors; the ladies came in huge set wigs, Aileen in rollerskates. The first glimpse the freshies get of our profs.

The keyboard's lagging, and lots of work beckons, so fare thee well, my fine-feathered friends.