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sometimes I wish I were more, and don’t think I am enough. The inner workings of my own mind, however, remain endlessly fascinating. Oh I did not just think that, I often think to myself, chuckling. And then I said what?! Oh I didn’t! But I did. What happened in my dream? I know!

The loud conversations of the people who gather on the balconies of the apartments near mine though, I find less interesting than things I’m not interested in, and actaully are beginning to piss me off. “Someone was having a party here last night!” I bitched to my sister. “Where was it?” she asked. “Seemingly in every apartment but ours.” In my fantasy I lean out the window and manage to catch the attention of some drunken buttplug. “Excuse me, hi, normally I wouldn’t complain about your little fest, as I too am someone who enjoys revelry and regularly vomits from overindulgance of alcohol– that’s how fucking FUN I am– but see I am doing this TV segment, I know, I never thought I’d be on TV either. What? Yeah! I know. Anyway it’s at the crack of dawn tomorrow and I really need to get like four hours of sleep so could you possibly move the partying inside? Thanks!” Then they’d retire to their convertible one bedroom and set the VCR so they could watch their neighbor on the news while reminding themselves to invite me to their next soiree. And would I go? Doubtful, but it was so nice of them to think of me. Instead I just lie there getting more and more agitated. Or do I lay there? Dirty!

on the news this morning the anchors started dancing to the drummers from the Family Drum Circle which is an event I was talking about and first I stood there uncomfortably/comfortably and smiled as one who doesn’t dance will do when surrounded by sudden dancing but then one of the anchors whispered ferociously DANCE! and so I did some retarded dance while trying to affect a look on my face of “I don’t really dance yet I”m dancing which is kind of making fun of dancing as opposed to sincerely dancing” which never works since if you’re on the dance floor busting out the Roger Rabbit and thinking you’re doing an Ironic Roger Rabbit, really you’re just a douchbag, not that I did the Roger Rabbit, and can I also say that my sister actually told me some months ago that I “have no dancer’s intuition” when she was trying to show me how to kick my leg up in some way that she was doing which looked fun, so essentially I can’t even fidget gracefully, but anyway the media person from the magazine said the dancing wasn’t on air however IT SO TOTALLY WAS

unrelated of course. anyone else have this stomach flu thing that’s apparently going around. it’s the type that makes it so you can’t sit still and you can’t stand and you can’t lie down unless you’re asleep because you feel all tingly/nauseated and your skin hurts. actually, I compared it to the world’s worst hangover except I haven’t been drinking and then it was suggested to me that perhaps it’s DTs. So anyway though, I was also on the news talking about summer concerts and CBS put it up on their web site. See it here

is waking up half a year later feeling like you’ve been on an episode of Shipmates where someone forgot to yell “cut!”

In honor of my being 30–the only benefit of which I’ve noticed thus far being that I can blithely refer to “my twenties”–I decided to turn once more for guidance to the sticky black orb sitting on my kitchen counter near piles of stupid mail. Did I explain that the ball is sticky? It is. It’s a strange kind of only-in-new-york grime. Maybe it’s more tacky than sticky. I mean, it’s tacky, but you know. Maybe it’s some kind of prophetic slime. Anyone touched a soothsayer? Are they sticky?

Q: should I?
A: It is decidedly so

Q: will I?
A: It is certain

Hm.

but I can’t figure out which I care less about, this new pope hoo-ha or sports. It’s a draw. Also, I bet if you were to say “new pope hoo-ha” over and over eventually you’d say “new poop” or even “no poop.” A less mature person might laugh about that.

is the turnstile’s way of calling you a douchebag.

ok, survey time!

You are going to the movies, or collecting food stamps, or buying expensive lingerie. You arrive and there’s a whole bunch of people already there! Do you

a) get IN line
b) get ON line

please respond and include whether you’re from the east or west coast if you feel so inclined. thank you!

What cowpies and malarkey!* Except this article, by Nick Sylvester, whom I do not know, about the fascism** of the current 80s revival, is great. I wish I had written it.

*this is a joke. must I explain everything to you?
** not his words

I’m sorry I said that thing about how you should just crawl up my ass and die. I was angry and you were caught in the cross hairs. The truth is that you aren’t so bad and actually, I DO appreciate the extra hour to play hop scotch and catch rainbows in mason jars. So, guess you do know me better than I know myself! What say we hold hands and skip past the sun-dappled bums snoozing near the port authority area? ok then!

heart,
A