"Monday, Monday. Can't trust that day."
Why yes, Mama Cass, I agree; but more importantly, you really can't trust my guerrilla-style deadjournal updates once every fortnight. Will I write about Obama? Rachel Zoe? Rank my least favorite University of Iowa homosexuals? The scenarios are endless! And usually fueled by rage. <3

I work in five hours, but I still have a thimble of sass to deposit before I climb under the comforter and dream of awkward contraptions for Bjork to wear. I just wanted to mention how glad I was to see Lemont really suck it last week, as Obama won the election, and, in my mind, enjoyed a well-deserved victory tapdance on the faces of Sarah Palin's kids. Truly a highlight of my year. On Nov. 4 at 11 pm, I stood on my back porch and flung several frosty smirks at the busy village of speds below. Then I tilted my chin up, allowed God time to sing "The Circle of Life" at me, and eventually retreated to, hmmm, bed. Suburban supremacy, thy name is Louis.

Yeah, then Prop 8 happened, and it turned out Mufasa gets killed in a stampede. Uggghhhh. The horrifying measure ignited the gay community, however, so I'm glad to see some unflinching activism against the dastardly Mormon church. Makes me miss California in a big way. I'd love to join the rally in person. Here in Lemont, the closest thing we have to gay activism is the addition of purple altar-server robes at St. Patrick's church. Indeed, a salacious revolution.

Funny enough, next week I'm invited to speak at a meeting of LHS' Gay-Straight Alliance. Apparently there are more than two openly gay people at Lemont High nowadays, a feat deemed impossible by social scientists years ago. I don't know what I want to say to these kids, other than the times have clearly changed. I mostly want to ask how safe and secure they feel at school, and if they're old enough to be outraged over Project Runway's potential move to Lifetime. The pressing curiosity of a journalist never subsides, lambs.

OK. Bedtime. Almost wakey time. Love you guys, and thanks for witnessing my thug antics.

Love,
Louis