SATURDAY, 15 JULY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA

ARGH! This is SO fucking frustrating! I’m sitting here on my bed, playing with Photoshop, and the neighbours are having a little pow-wow in their yard … and I’ve completely stopped working because I cannot help but listen in on their conversation. I’m baffled. I’ve been doing this for 20 minutes. 20 fargin’ minutes. And I’ve only caught ONE WORD. “Muthafuckin’.” At first it was funny. “Zabbawabba HEDDA wingah wowldah habba nabba gow.” (Hee hee hee. Isn’t this funny. Ha ha. Dialectical differences within a language. Whaddahoot.) Now it’s becoming scary. Really, I’m quite frightened. I mean, the neighbours and I both speak English, right? Right? You don’t believe me? You think I'm dramatising the situation? All right. I’m going to type what I hear. This is the Marquis, comin’ atcha live from South Philly. This just in… “Damdawlin heeda doodah … doodah … doodah … konah sto’ … anda HEEDA doodah downdee HODAH doo downda nu jersay…” How is it possible that I am not understanding what they're saying? There is certainly sufficient volume. They’re 10 feet out of my window and speaking very loudly. “Wowza HABBA neebah muthafuckin' dibba dooda. Ang ang ang ang ang!” Oh gawd. Help. I’m weirded out ovah heeah. “Coodahadapuddainnapainanda. TACO! TACO! TACO!” WHAT? I feel like I’m listening to my cat, to whom I generally respond, “I cannot understand you, darling. Those are not words you’re making. Those are just runny cat noises.” “Wen ow skat dar beet dodat moffin kelp.” Someone give these poor sods a Hooked on Phonetics tape er sumpin… doubledamn quick. I dedicate this diary entry to dear Mr. Dorzic. “Hadda bran bo!”