One of the Many, Many Who Sip Henny

More Disturbing:

That the newly released 'Best of Ja Rule' album exists, or that I know almost every word to every song included in said Ja compilation?

**Okay, there are so many hilarious pictures unearthed by the Google Image search 'Ja Rule be Trippin', but this one of Ja in a tiny mirrored space is one of my favorites. Why are you in a tiny mirrored space, Ja? Where on Earth could this possibly be? WHAT DID YOU DO WITH ASHANTI? Seriously, Ja, where is she? Lady should be singing hooks somewhere. Wouldn't it be awesome if she went and found LL Cool J and they did a song for Ludacris to do a crazy remix of? And even the non-remixed version is sort of awesome because the video has Uncle L doing push ups under a waterfall while Ashanti lounges on his back, and they play it on Vh1 Soul all the time?

Yeah, I don't know what we're talking about anymore, either. Someone find Ja Rule so we can make sense of all this!

**I just spent a LOT of time Googling Ja Rule.

Best Of List, Yo!

So like, three people read this blog. I think my mom even stopped because I quit updating it for eight months, and she totally has better shit to be doing on the internets. Even so, people do end up here.

The Most Awesome Search Terms Used in Finding My Sporadically Updated, Cabernet-Soaked Blog:

I hope you all found what you were looking for, eventually. These are in a semi-particular order.

'Sex Mimosas and Donkey Com'

I don't know what Donkey expectorate they misspelled, and I don't want to. Okay, I know. We all know. I think this combination is known in some circles as a Tijuana Brunch. Even if they were talking about video games. Tijuana's crazy.

'Labeled Diagram of Mimosa Fruit'

So...maybe just Google 'Orange'? Sometimes a classy joint will impale a strawberry on the side of the glass. I don't know, it usually involves Cook's or Andre. You need a diagram?

'Bonectomy on Toe'

Wha? Does that mean taking the bone out of your toe? So you'd just have like, a squashy skin-grape at the end of your foot? Why would you search for something this grave and then click on a blog? I am so embarrassed that I've used the word 'bonectomy' on the internet.

'2011 NCAA Tournament Results'

How deeply did you Google these results that you ended up at this post on my (Never) Award Winning NCAA pool strategy? (Fucking TRY IT. It's fun. And you will have so many weird conversations with dudes in bars on this. People have OPINIONS about which imaginary creatures would win in a fight.)

(Sidebar: Why does Everclear have a Greatest Hits album? Can you name three Everclear songs? If you said yes, just - get out of here. Or go wait in the corner over there until we're through. Seriously, that's awful.)

'Lynn Dorms'

There are dorms in Lynn? Are there even enough high school graduates in Lynn to populate a dorm? Ohhh! Just kidding. One of my grandmothers was from Brockton. I can't say shit. I might have even just made up that stereotype about Lynn. But...I don't think I did.

'Tom Tancock'

Yes! I will happily glorify any reference to the 2008 Olympics. Controversies aside, those Olympics were the shit.

'Angry Rocket Play Therapy'

This is probably a better band name than Rocketship of Intelligence, but I feel like it's totally not the sound we were going for.

'They Call Me USHER RAYMOND'

You're damn right.

'Bingo's Dream Dorm'

When the shit did I write about dorms this much? (Oh wait. The Meadow Soprano time.) More importantly - what is Bongo's Dream Dorm like?!?! I hope you found it, searching friend. Sounds like it could be a weird time.

'Follow the Drinking Gourd Fake'

BLASPHEMY. Go sit in the corner with the guy who knows all the Everclear songs!

'Tom Bergeron Eats Chips'

Who searched for this and DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED?

(Yeah, I still have a Tom Bergeron thing.)

'Yinka Shonibare Child Obsessive Alien'

I don't know what the shit this is about, but holy band name. My lord. (Originally, this one was ALL IN CAPS but I felt like I needed to calm down. I have to go to bed soon. Seriously, though, this is awesome. But I'm never searching for it on my own. I don't want to know.)

* I don't know what the hell this picture is about. I searched for 'best search terms ever'. Google Image is my favorite.

They Call Me U-S-H-E-R-R-A-Y-M-O-N-D

Imaginary Phone Conversation Between Myself and Mr. Usher Raymond, circa February 2009

kk: Hi, Usher?
ur: Hey! kk! Iwas just thinking about you!
kk: Aw! Ush! Stop. Seriously, though, I called for a really specific reason.
ur: You want to act out that R.Kelly featuring Nivea 'Laundrymat' video from 2003 again?
kk: No. But I love where you're heading with this.
ur: I'll put it on ice. What's up?
kk: We need to talk about your video for 'Trading Places'.
ur: It's dope, right?
kk: I'm obsessed with it.
ur: What did you think about the Hologram Ice Piano?
kk: Dude. I LOVED the Hologram Ice Piano. More than that though, can we talk about your lyrics?
ur: I guess. But I'm a little...it's just...some people on the internet hated them.
kk: Usher. No. Only nerds use the internet. These lyrics? Are GENIUS.
ur: Really? You think so?
kk: Yes.
ur: You're not fucking with me?
kk: Never. Clearly, your recent collaborations with R. Kelly have been paying off.
ur: 'raises eyebrows' (Sometimes my imaginary conversations are video chats)
kk: I'm serious. Like...okay, the part where you make your lady breakfast in bed and then you list all the items on the plate? Amazing. And you provide her with "strawberry and grape jelly"? Both jellies!

ur: I like both. When I'm at a diner, I like that they have all the little kinds so you can mix it up. Sometimes I even go crazy and get some orange marmalade in there.

kk: Me, too! What I'm saying, though - only people like you and the Kells really get that shit.

ur: Well, thanks, then.

kk: Also, the part where you're listing all your household chores? I mean, you don't go too into much detail, but it seems like a relatively non-gendered division of labor. Also, I like that in your household, taking out the garbage is a pants-free endeavor. These are interesting things to me.

ur: Do most people wear pants?

kk: To take out the garbage? I think so. But I've lived in the northeast my whole life.

ur: Next summer, try it. It's liberating.

kk: Noted.

ur: Anything else?

kk: No, I -- oh! Yes! The end. When you encourage us all to stay tuned for part two, where you reverse the scenario...back. To your normal roles?

ur: Yes.

kk: Wouldn't that just be...like all your other songs? So we're staying tuned for --

ur: Yeah, I noticed that after I released the song. That's why there's no 'Trading Places: Part 2 - Regular Sex and Our Usual Chores'. But now that you mention it --

kk: See? This is exactly something that R Kelly would do! I love you so much. Did I tell you that this year I made my own 'Usher's Greatest Hits' cd and listened to it like, four times in a row when driving up I-95 on Memorial Day weekend?
ur: You did. You mentioned that during our last imaginary conversation. But that makes it no less awesome. I love you, too. Okay, I have to go take the garbage out. Should I try it with pants?
kk: Never, Ush. Stay you.

Imaginary Band of the Month

Rocketship of Intelligence!

A revolving-member outfit that uses only instruments available to elementary school children. (Xylophones in various sizes, bongos, triangles and cowbells, maracas, tambourines, and gourds - you know, what you played in elementary school music class if you grew up in a hippie college town.)

This concept was developed over drinks on Tuesday when Leila, Sarah and I -- each a product of Amherst Public Schools -- discovered that we all shared the childhood experience of ironically singing slave songs while doing chores.

You can try to block out the memory of opening your tray-table onto your face as much as you'd like. Your face, however, will remember.

I Love it When...

...you're randomly prowling around on Facebook, and you click on someone that you haven't checked in on in YEARS, and all of a sudden they're married and they have really cute dog, and they're on a hike or farming or something, and their spouse looks really nice and totally like someone that makes sense for them to be into, based on what you knew about them 13 years ago, and you're just like, "Ah, that is so awesome for them! Tiny, wonderful things happen to people all the time, and it's fantastic!"?

As weird as it is, and as awful as it can be, that's one of the things that I really, really like about Facebook.

It took me literally three minutes to decide if I want 'so awesome' to be capitalized (which it originally was) in italics, or bolded, because they all mean different things to me, and I really wanted to make sure it didn't read as sarcastic. And now I'm like 'do I care way to much about punctuation?'

This was the second picture of the Google Image search 'Facebook is okay sometimes.'

Mascot Challenge 2011!!!

It's not that I don't know anything about college basketball. It's more like: The NCAA tournament is such a wonderfully bizarre, unpredictable sporting event, I don't know how a person could enjoy themselves if they actually sat down and tried to predict what 'should' happen. So I just try to figure out what mascots would win in a fight. I've been doing this for years - and fully committed to it the year the Wichita State Shockers pulled exactly as many upsets as I'd predicted, based on the awesomeness of their mascot.

And also: yeah, I pay almost zero attention to college basketball during the regular season. Currently, I'm 8th out of 71. But I have no shot unless the Gators take the whole thing. I really, really counted on the angry drunken Irish mob mentality to show up and defeat the Seminoles. So close to St. Patrick's Day! Damn my sentimentality towards my heritage. I should have known those bastards would be too hungover on Sunday to get much of anything done.

Winter 2010, Nutshellized

"Right behind lack of confidence, and right before lack of knowledge about general American History, lack of manners is one of my ultimate turn-offs." - March 10, 2010

One of my favorite things about GMail is how easy it is to play 'One year Ago Today'.

Last winter was so weird. I wrote that to J + S (our on-going three-way journal, coming up on it's second anniversary) after cutting off relations with one gentleman companion after he displayed an egregious intellectual error. A few weeks later, I was sort-of email dumped by a guy I hadn't really been dating.

The first incident occurred after Gentleman #1 made the mistake of asking whether the Pilgrims and Columbus were contemporary travelers. No, he didn't say it like that. I think he said 'didn't they happen at the same time?' Which, I guess if you look at them both like diseases, isn't completely off base. We were driving down the highway, and I don't even know what inspired the comment. I just remember being really, really startled. Like, dude, we grew up in Massachusetts. It's like, Pilgrim Central. And Columbus? Did you not attend elementary school? You didn't learn the rhyme about 1492? No?

It wasn't like I demanded that he pull the car over right then and there. But I never saw him again after that weekend - and we had been hanging out a lot. In retrospect, it was a pretty shitty way to handle the whole situation.

A few weeks later, I went out with a friend-of-a-friend. He wasn't much like the dudes I usually hung out with, and I figured it was worth a shot. We had two of the chastest dates I've ever been on. Tuesday night dates with plenty of beer and zero sparks. This was in early February. I'm forever getting involved with people at the beginning of February, and making that whole Valentine's Dilemma all the more awkward. Anyway, a week or so after our last date he sent me this relatively convoluted, totally indirect email about how 'something happened' with someone else and how he hoped I wouldn't be mad at our mutual friend, because 'he was the dud'. Dude, obviously you're the dud. You're referring to people as 'duds'.

Then I started sleeping with my roommate. That was actually the least awkward of all of the above situations. There was a while where I felt like I should teach a class on How to Sleep With Your Roommate and Have It Not Be Awkward. One time we even high-fived over the not-awkwardness. Lesson One: Make sure your roommate is someone you're cool high-fiving over vague social relations concepts. Lesson Two: Make sure there's a shelf-life on the roommate situation. Preferably, one of you should move out of the house (and the city, and the state) within three or four months. Lesson Three: Have other roommates. Lesson Four: Don't tell them.

Anyway, that's what was happening one year ago today. 2010 was crazy.

Things I Am Not So Good At:

Pouring wine, from a box on a shelf above my head, in the dark.

Why would a person keep a box of wine on a shelf above their head?

?

?

This picture was the fruit from the Google Image tree of: Red Wine Fail. What?

Sorry, I always looks for the picture after I write...whatever this is. And it's always a random combination of words - you know, what everyone got tired of doing when they were in fifth grade/2005? It still delights me, every time.

Notes on the Recent Past

Recommendations of Late:

R Kelly's new album, 'Love Letter'. If you are a Kells fan, this is him at his finest. If you are not an R. Kelly fan, something is the matter with you. Listen to this album, and remedy said matter.

Adele's new album, '21'. She's just fucking crazy.

Learning to make your own tomato-basil-mozzarella salad. I think grown ups call it caprese.

Occasionally substituting rosemary for basil because for some reason Whole Foods only sells basil in enormous quantities.

The movie 'Youth in Revolt'. I LOVED that movie. It's the best thing I've seen in recent memory.

Using a bag of frozen peas as a hangover headache remedy when you feel too barfy to take Advil.

Things to Avoid:

Drinking 12-plus mimosas in a sitting.

The movie 'Dogtooth'. Unless you want to be seriously disturbed by some Greeks for two hours. When it was over, I looked at Baylor* and literally said 'What the fuck just happened?' I get that it's incredibly daring and shocking and definitely causes a person to think, which is kind of the purpose of art and all, but...okay, there's one part where I was laughing because the Son character runs across the lawn in a particularly hilarious way that reminded me my favorite scene in 'The 'Burbs' (A movie I DO, whole-heartedly, unabashedly recommend. It's goddamned hilarious.) and then I cut off my laughter mid-chuckle, because suddenly he's stabbing a cat in the stomach with a pair of garden shears. I think I mostly hate it because no one else I know has seen it, and I just want to TALK to somebody about this mess.

Smoking a lot of cigarettes when you haven't in a while.

Licking a lot of envelopes in a hurry.

Wearing pants. Pants are the worst.

ps: I got this picture when I GoogleImage searched 'R Kelly Tomato'. I don't know WHAT this has to do with tomatoes, but it's R Kelly singing, wearing a t-shirt with a picture of R Kelly singing. Which is just amazing.

*Baylor's a dog, but he has pretty solid opinions on movies and shit.

Charlie Sheen's Reluctant Mistress

The other day, a friend and I were talking about Twitter. More specifically, about whether or not I should join Twitter, and, were I to join, what my Twitter-name should be. There's probably a more techno-elegant name for that. Anyway, he suggested that I "just pick a celebrity, and throw a 'not' in there. Like - NOTCharlieSheen.' A few minutes later, we had my new favorite band name: Charlie Sheen's Reluctant Mistress (it's too long for that Twitter-name business.). And over the next few hours, I had a lot of thoughts about Charlie Sheen.

It appears that he's been in the news more than usual lately, for the sort of Charlie Sheen-esque escapades you'd expect. Rehab! Sex Tapes! Divorces! Why is anyone surprised? Why are these women in his life AT ALL SURPRISED BY HIS INSANITY, EVER?

The whole reason 'Reluctant Mistress' is awesome, to me, is because it indicates that one should be somewhat-to-extremely embarrassed to reveal their romantic affiliation with the dude. Because homeboy is a train wreck.

Ladies - it's fucking CHARLIE SHEEN. Charlie Sheen. If you turned to me randomly, at any time of day, and said "Quick: name the celebrity you think is most likely to be snorting a line of cocaine off a woman's body at this very moment?" My answer will ALWAYS be: "I don't know, Charlie Sheen?" Three years ago, if it were after midnight, I might be like "Possibly Steve-O. Or Russell Brand. But if they are, Charlie Sheen is probably with them. Charlie Sheen probably started it." But now it's 2011, and Steve-O is all straight edge (probably for the best) and Russell Brand is all wifey-ed up with Katy Perry (eh...is anything really for the best when a Katy-with-a-'y' hooks up with a guy who exclusively wears skinny leather pants and a lot of eyeliner? We'll call this a draw.) But Charlie Sheen is still bankrolling porn stars to hang out with him at days-long parties, where he greets guests at the door in a wine-stained shirt and, apparently, gold teeth.

So, ladies who make the - likely substance addled, but presumably consensual - decision to make things official with Mr. Sheen...what the hell were you expecting?

Given everything, it's surprising to me that Two and a Half Men is still on the air. Not because it's stupid - it's really no stupider than 90% of the other shit that's on network television right now. My own personal problems with the show stem mostly from the fact that I hate to think that Duckie grew up to be some awkward, marginally employed loser with a borderline retarded, loafy child relegated to living in his brother's house with a wardrobe consisting entirely of ill-fitting shorts and belts that look like they're apologizing for being so...braided. And, I hate that creepy kid and the housekeeper character is terrifying. Charlie Sheen is the character on the show I'd actually most like to hang out with.

I have to stop writing now. I can't believe I just said that. Putting the wine DOWN.

If Pandora Were A Person...

10:25 p.m.. On a Sunday. The Sunday after Christmas. It is snowing. Sort of.

Pandora plays Mobb Deep's 'Hell On Earth'.

Pandora: What kk? What?

Me: Are you trying to get me pumped up right now?

Pandora: Yes. You look like you're falling asleep over there. It's time. For you to get pumped up!

Me: For what, exactly?

Pandora: I want you to get really pumped up --

Pandora plays 'Wu-Tang Clan Ain't Nuthing Ta F' With'.

Pandora: to MAKE YOUR LUNCH FOR TOMORROW! YESSSS!!!

Me: I have to admit, I'm legitimately excited to make to go make my lunch right now. Spinach salads better recognize!!! But why are you using all this motivational goodness up on me right now?

Pandora: I know you, love. Better than anyone else. And I care about your well-being in a completely proportionate amount. If I'd played that one-two while you were getting ready to go out last Saturday? Scary things might have happened. That close to the full moon and the solstice AND the eclipse? People might have died. Or at least disappeared. Wait, what are -- are you doing the butterfly right now? Hang on.

Pandora plays SWV's 'Rain'.

Pandora: Are you...is that a little better? I don't want you to stab yourself over there.

Me: That was exactly what I needed. Now I'm relaxed. Unpumped, a little. But still ready to continue chopping. Also, the SVW got me thinking about Taj, the lady in the group who got to be in SVW, marry Eddie George, and then was on fucking Survivor. Like, she is so awesome. Holy shit, I just Googled her to link to her name, and her Wikipedia page is unexpectedly inspiring. I was not expecting to read that and be like 'what an incredible story!' She is going to be so creeped out when I write her a letter asking if I can write her biography.

Pandora: Can you repeat that? I didn't catch it all, I'm playing pretty loudly right now. You turn it up a few notches when you're two to three glasses into the bottle. I'm not judging. I just notice these things. Hello, my whole appeal is in the observational data I gather and process. What were were talking about? Taj. Don't look at me like that! I mean it. I want to know. It's not silly. Tell me again. Oh my god, you're just going to tell me later anyway, spit it out. No, I'm not laughing. No. No (snort) I'm sorry, honey, now you're making me laugh. With your angry face. It's a perverse reaction, I know. Didn't I just get you all pumped up to make that salad? I can't relax for a minute? I'm listening to these songs too. Are you...what, you're not talking to me now? Don't test me, child.

Pandora plays an insipid commercial block, then threatens with the monthly listening limit warning.

"I *@/$!*>/* the Spiders on the Wall..."

I realize I'm probably a hundred years behind the times on this one, but this made my entire week.

I just wish I could have been in the room when Anonymous Stoner put all the glorious dots together and realized how amazingly twisted each and every episode of Sesame Street becomes when specific verbs are consistently replaced with a 'bleep'.

Fucking genius.

More About the Homeless...

(Yes, same tune.)

Maybe it's just been on my mind: the homeless and their technical status, or lack thereof. Whatever the reason, this morning it seemed like the Common was fucking littered with possible homeless people. I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I mean that the PHP were scattered, everywhere, in strange locations, in a way reminiscent of what occurs when my housemate's Boston Terrier gets into the bathroom trash. Okay, calling PHP trash is not the point. I'm just going to move away from that to get to the real point:

The crazy array of PHP this morning included one dude who was not only 'possibly' homeless, he also appeared to be 'possibly dead'. Like, as I passed by I tried to focus on his ribcage-area to see if it was rising and falling. I couldn't tell. I figured he MUST be alive, given that there were approximately 600 people around, including a bunch of dudes with hard hats on working on the historic cemetery wall against which his corpse-like personage was smushed. But what if EVERYONE assumed that? He looked like, seriously uncomfortable*.

What are you supposed to do in that situation? Call someone? The police? I don't want to call the police. Because if he's not dead, and he just passed out there, in the Common, all wedged against a wall...he probably had some weird shit happen to him last night, you know? He'll have enough to deal with when he wakes up, I don't want to cause an extra headache for the poor dude. His head probably hurts enough.

I am constantly haunted by the feeling that I skipped school the day They explained all The Rules.

*This bugged me out enough throughout the morning that I went back to check on him at lunch. He was gone. Which, I realize, means nothing. If anyone happens to learn the fate of the passed out Hispanic gentleman of medium stature wearing a grey t-shirt with a leaf stenciled on the shoulder, would you please let me know?

Rolling Like the Homeless...

Do you ever spy someone wandering around the city, and then find yourself unable to determine whether that particular individual is homeless, or if they've just been travelling for an extremely long time and are having, like, a really tough go of it?

.

It happens to me almost daily. It doesn't help that I walk through Boston Common on my way to work every morning - a place populated by peoples in various states of homelessness, as well as hippies, students, demonstrators of ranging passions, tour guides dressed in colonial garb, worker bees eating lunch, wild children, harried nannies, and lost tourists evidencing different levels of distress.

.

So I mean, there's really no way to know, with certainty, whether that dude is homeless, or if his luggage just totally sucks and he had to wrap his suitcase with twine somewhere in Iowa after the group of German house musicians he was hitch-hiking with parted ways. And that lady might be homeless, or she might just be having the worst time finding the airport EVER. And what is THAT DUDE's deal? Why is he sticking his entire head in that faucet? To wash it? To get water? Because he isn't able to do those things indoors? Or because it's been approximately 400 degrees for most of the summer, and one's hydration-situation can get pretty dire in a hurry? Oooh, although that's no reason to be sleeping on a piece of cardboard under a tree! Wait, but is someone filming you? Fucking Emerson kids.

.

So then...what is homeless, anyway? What are the parameters? Why do I obsess over this stuff? Especially when it completely, totally doesn't matter? Because, in the end, you can't determine that kind of status with any real certainty?* I guess it's better than obsessing over something I saw last night on E News. Or what Frances Rivera was wearing on the Real News, even though that is admittedly, really fun to obsess over.

.

You know what? All I can do is control my own actions. I'm just going to buy some really top-notch luggage and hope I avoid confusing people. You all can choose your obsessions accordingly. Just...don't let those Emerson kids record your image for too long, okay? I think they might be trying to capture your soul.

.

.

*I take that back, I think. Because if all of your shit** is in a shopping cart, that's a pretty reliable indicator of...domestic flexibility.

.

.

** If 'all of your shit' translates to 'garbage bags full of aluminum cans', then you have bigger problems than I'm ready to address right now. I'm sorry.

I Know Some People Would Rather Keep Gin In the Desk...

Quick, everybody: whatever document you're working on, just take three minutes and draw a monster on it with whatever 'Paint' feature your computer has. Seriously: a monster. Make it up. Just draw it right on there. Finished? Nice. How much better did your day just get?

.

You can use my example above as inspiration.

.

Actually I don't see why it has to be one or the other: Gin In the Desk v. Computer Assisted Doodles. Try both. I predict spectacular results. You might want to save it for Friday afternoon, though.

Great Balls of...Poop.

I was walking my dog through the park last weekend, and, halfway across the field, he stopped and took a poop. That is not strange, I realize.

After he was done, I took a plastic shopping bag out of my purse, did that thing where you make the bag like a glove and pick all the poop nuggets up out of the grass, and then turn the bag inside out so the poop is all contained inside and hope-hope-hope that you didn't get any on your hands, tied the gross little doo-doo package up, and carried it with us until we reached the trash can at the edge of the field. I realize: None of this is strange.

Except for the fact that it was. It was completely bizarre, foreign, alien. It was a tiny moment, the sort that's repeated all over the world a hundred times a second, it was not special. It is not important that I save all my plastic bags now, it is not globally relevant that I put some of those saved bags in my purse to take with me every time I take the dog out. It does not matter that I stopped to pick it up off the grass, the fact that I was the only human around to notice and still picked it all up does not make this a noteworthy event, save for this: It was huge.

It was - on a slightly different level- like the day I remembered, all on my own, that stores always stock the Q-Tips in the baby aisle, and so to avoid seething myself into an accidental brain hemorrhage, I should just look there first and bypass the cosmetics and bath aisles altogether, even though, yes, it makes SO MUCH SENSE to stock them in those places, as well.

Trivial as they might seem, those fell into the 'Watershed' category in my library of experiences. A few years ago, I would not have stopped to pick up shit when I could be reasonably sure that no one was there to judge me for my laziness, my lack of respect for shared public spaces, or my inability to get over the general ickiness factor of touching poop, even through a plastic bag. And, more importantly, I think, I don't pick up after my dog now because people will judge me if I behave otherwise. I do it because I'll be the one judging myself if I behave otherwise. Because people's kids play on that field, man, and how messed up of me is it to leave landmines of crap scattered across a field for a kid to step in, or slip on? People cut through that field on the way to the train station on the regular. Those people, many of them anyway, are going to work - work! Imagine what a terrible start to the day that would be! They'd smell like shit, and then the train would smell like shit, and then possibly their office if they hadn't realized they were the crap-carrier by that point...I could ruin the mornings of dozens of people I'll never even meet. Or, I could get the fuck over myself and pick up my dog's shit.

Growing Up is a sneaky little bastard, no? Attempt to cut him off at the pass, sure, knock yourself out. You'll run into him in the supermarket, Aisle 9, loading up on Q-Tips and Baby Powder. He's not so bad. Plus, they sell wine in the supermarket now! Take GU, go see what reds are on sale.

Dream Log

I had a sex dream about Jaime-Lynn Siegler once. You know - Meadow. From the Sopranos?

We were in a dormitory - what I imagine a boarding school dormitory might have looked like in a time before ascots were ironic; all dark wood and dim lighting.

Jamie-Lynn and I were alone. In the room, in the dorm, we were the only people on the entire campus. We didn’t talk about the Soprano’s. We kept our underwear on and kissed each other’s stomachs, and we stared out the window for hours without leaving bed.

When the sun came, the courtyard in front of her dorm filled up with cars. Every type of car. They - the cars, and people who drove them - held all sorts of events while we watched from the window. There were drag races and a demolition derby, and even a relay to see who could change a tire the fastest.

When they were done, the grass of the courtyard had been utterly ruined, and Jamie-Lynn pulled the blinds. She said she was starving, and we talked about where we should eat until I woke up.

Fruitful Discoveries, I Shall Share

Recommended: Bananas.

Not Recommended: Leaving an already extremely ripe banana in your desk over a long weekend.

Not Entirely Unpleasant Side Effect of Above Caution: Subtle banana scent adopted by desk, cubicle and surrounding environs.

Miss Heigl If You're Nasty

Just now I thought to myself: 'That Katherine Heigl seems like a smart, opinionated and somewhat unpredictable lady, and I want very much to like her, so I would like to know why she feels the need to go and make movies like '27 Dresses' and this new 'The Ugly Truth' thing that seems so dreadful it makes my brain sore, because that makes me feel like maybe she's an idiot who I've just talked myself into liking because she's funny and weird and doesn't care that people know she smokes and her skin is divine and she looks lovely in satin and that's a very hard fabric to pull off, especially in warmer climates.'

Then I was like: 'I am also a smart, opinionated and somewhat unpredictable lady, and I smoke sometimes and if someone offered me a million dollars I would make the shit out of a crap movie like 27 Dresses and this evening I left the house wearing a pile of extra long tank tops, leggings and some Reefs that the dog chewed most of the toe off of five years ago so maybe I should QUIT JUDGING Katherine Heigl.'