Yes, I've been driven to start a blog, if only to get things off my chest, the fun, non-confrontational way. It's pathetic, I know. To start today's story, let's say that I'm part of my college's ballroom dancing, which is a lot more fun than it sounds. This week's dance: the tango, better known as "Sex on a Dancefloor". Now, this dance is definitely easier for me than last week's, the salsa. At any rate, the best part of the club is the free dance, since you're, well, free to dance with whoever and however you like.

The final dance is with one of my friends, who has a boyfriend. She definitely wanted to, so I agreed, and it was fun. However, there definitely was that moment where I felt something, and of course, the moment where you say "Oh shit, I shouldn't be dancing Sex on a Dancefloor with one of your best friends who has a boyfriend". The problem is that, as I leaned back, the thought of a kiss crossed my mind, and I'm almost certain I read it in her eyes, which made it feel awkward as I continued.

Afterward, we walked back, and as we get into the elevator to visit another friend, she asks if I felt anything. I was silent for a while, then I blurbed something out but I did honestly confess a bit. So as I'm writing this, she's out on a walk, definitely mulling things around in her head, which is throwing me into a panic, because, even if I did feel something (remember, Sex on a Dancefloor, it's up-close-and-personal stuff), the last thing I need is to either form a triangle or have her break up with her boyfriend because her interests may lie with me. I also hope that no one here finds this thing, because earlier today, I had even told another friend that there's no sexual desire. So I'm sorry that a girl riding up next to my crotch makes me feel something. Ugh.

Maybe I should articulate that I think it was more sexual desire than relational desire to her. I'm sure that's what it is, and what I've been feeling for way too long. And the big fear I have is, yes, the rare chance that this sort of thing compromises her relationship and she comes after me. We're friends and all, but I don't really see us in that sort of relationship. Of course, as I say this, I can see several scenarios pop up:

1. We do hook up eventually, and I have to recant this argument (or delete it, as it were).
2. She reads this and sees it as me floundering in love, which I'm not.
3. She reads this and sees it as me trying to get her to cheat, which I'm not.

Maybe I'm reading too far into this. Who knows. I just hope that this doesn't fuck anything up, because things like that have happened.

In... happier news, as newspaper staff, I've been writing articles, and here's this week's contributions:
Our paper hosts a "Supershot" each week. This is from my review of Retta's performace last Friday (see below). I took about 20 pictures of the Step Team, which opened for the comedian, and I suppose they liked this one the most.


My review! Isn't it lovely. I doubt you could read it, so here's a nice link to a bigger picture. This version actually used less editing than usual, though they messed up in a few parts. First, I took the picture, not whoever that guy is, and second, they got CAB's next schedule wrong. But minor complaints aside, I'm proud of my work - enough so that I'll probably never elect to review a comedian again; jeez, that's a lot of work.

Next week's stuff includes "Man on the Street" with a friend, a sort of "hey you, what do you think about this," but Halloween edition! It was pretty fun, even if we had to do it twice. You (that one guy I'll give the link to or something) can also look forward to pictures of the Homecoming football game and four mini-reviews of some rather obscure works by Talking Heads, XTC (for whom the blog's named after... I just like that song a lot), They Might Be Giants, and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Lemme tell you: 75 words doesn't say shit about an album.

Till next time...