How quaint. Run along, now; you don't want to miss another cocktail party.

"Every day I have a moment when I say to Chris, 'Maybe we should cash in. I'll make handmade lotion, and you'll write music and sell it on the Internet.'"

Is it a full moon or something? I've had the strangest interactions while walking around today. I've almost been broadsided by a guy with a handtruck not once, but twice. (Helpful Hint: when leaving an apartment building with a handtruck, back out -- don't barrel out the door and swing around, pushing the cart ahead of you, when you are looking over your opposite shoulder.) I also had to walk around many clumps of slow-walking people. As a slow walker myself, I don't normally have problems of this kind. But today a lot of folks seem to be in slow motion.

Also, I got oinked at. Not meowed at. Not hissed at, growled at, or smooched at like I'm an errant dog. Oinked.

And I almost forgot. A big drop of water splatted me on the forehead. At least, let's hope it was water. And I stepped in a yucky puddle. Ew.

And this is so patronizing I can hardly discuss it. However, the webmaster is clearly having fun naming the urls.

Often, I think on how empty my life would be if it wasn't for food. Take now, for instance. I'd be just another minion at just another publishing house, keying in text corrections and wearing worn out clothes. However, the whole experience is elevated by virtue of the fact that I am eating delicious apples and cheeses. Yes -- a LOT of cheese. There is no tolerance for daintiness here. Brie and cheddar, baby, and a crispy Macintosh. It feels so sexy. Fat ass be damned. This is living.

FYI

The guys who staff the phones at the Salvation Army are some smooth operators: Twice I called, twice I got asked out.

I just needed a furniture pickup, but if you're in need of more, call 1-800-95-TRUCK. Ask for operator 226 or 227.

Have a nice day.

A correction

Per the Chicago Manual of Style, it should be "Jesus' Clown."[ No extra " 's "]

Please update your records accordingly. Thank you.

You're gong to have to prepare yourself; I share an office with a photo researcher now, so there will be many more cute/annoying animal photos coming down the road.

Wee haw! We will be recording soon. I'm hoping we can bust out an EP before the summer is over. Perhaps the Republican National Convention will pick "Jesus's Clown" to be their theme song!

A Moment of Cuteness

A Moment of Hopefulness

Speaking of awestruck . . . I saw Neko Case this weekend, backed by the Sadies and looking spiffy in a fine sparkly blouse. Her voice was unlike anything I could have prepared myself for: Clear, potent, flawless, swooping up cleanly for those yodels. Shit, Neko! You're writing some great songs. I like that you write about animals and drench Bowery Ballroom in lots of reverb. I like that you play with your hair, twisting it into a bun and shaking it out in-between songs. I like that you're really good. Thank you!

A Moment of Unclarity

I know Elvin Jones had been ill for a long time, and his passing should be no surprise, but I'm hurting. For weeks now, I have been in a prolonged awestruck state listening to his drumming, specifically on "India" from Coltrane's Live at the Village Vanguard. Something about it has gotten under my skin.

Listen -- he plays the riff differently each time. I try counting and can't always pinpoint where it begins or ends. It lulls me into some other place. And then of course, Coltrane (and Dolphy, yes?) bust a gut. But instead of spiking and plummeting, it's as if they are skating in circles around Elvin.

I don't know how I'll ever get there, but someday I hope to make music that feels like that.

RIP Elvin Jones.

And Now . . . a Word from Michael Moore

"Fahrenheit 9/11 is not the Disney brand; we put out family oriented films." So true. That's why the #1 Disney film in theaters right now is a film called, KILL BILL, VOL. 2.

And Now . . . a Word from Confucius

The noble person places demands on himself, while the petty person blames others; the noble person thinks of what is i or righteous, whereas the petty person thinks of what is li or profitable; the noble person holds to virtues, as the petty person holds to objects.


(Just a time out from the Sageliest of them all. Carry on!)

Dear Lord,

Give me strength so that someday I will write a song that is half as great as one of Paula Carino's. Please help me use my imagination to make melody, rhythm, and wit converge in an ecstatic rock bacchanale. Please help me learn how to play those fancy chords with lots of energy and look pretty while singing. And also, may my lip balm come out good like hers. Thank you Lord, amen.

What do you think of this? I saw an ad for it and can't quite wrap my mind around the idea.

I'd buy one, but only if it was fashioned out of real Campbell's Soup cans.

So, you're jonesing for a new acoustic guitar? Let me recommend Curt, who will build you one for a fair price. Isn't the guitar cool? Isn't Curt cute? And what a groovy-looking workshop.

Whoops, looks as if I lost all my links. They'll be back soon.

The old comments might be gone for good, though. I'll check into it.

Today we inaugurate a new look, a new feel, a whole new can-do attitude!

I woke up in the middle of the night as the storm was rolling in. I wandered into the dark living room and looked out the window at the little lights all across Delancey and downtown. Then lightning struck over Delancey and sent a flash bouncing against the walls of the apartment. I was shocked to see how lightning strikes like a snake: unfurling, hitting, retreating in an instant. I opened the shade in the bedroom so that I could see it as I was falling back asleep.

Then before I knew it, the bedroom was bright again, everything was quiet, and the kitten was tapping my face.

Having prolonged lunch until my head was fizzing, I just went on a bender at the taco joint. I hoped to keep it down to one mile-high veggie taco, but no, it wasn't enough. I ordered a second -- chorizo, please-o. Then frozen yogurt from the tragically named yogurt joint "Smoochie's Lite & Creamy." Something must be wrong, because usually I can't eat this much. Is it for the love of spring that one is inspired to eat one's way across a whole city block?

The best news today is that, after not seeing him for years, I spotted Scotty the Cat back at his outpost. I had heard horrible rumors that everyone's favorite flower store cat -- the "Dean of 23rd Street," if you will -- had run away, had been run over, passed on, and/or retired to Belize. But there he was today, back on the beat, squinting in the sun. He wasn't too eager to socialize: he's a good 3 years older than he was when I last saw him, and perhaps not as game to jump up on shoulders. But it sure was nice to see an old friend.

Yesterday's second post seems rather naive today. Thanks for your indulgence.

What will you be doing tonight? I'll tell you what I won't be doing: watching those crazy moptop Friends cry over finally having to become grownups. Instead, I'll be listening to the new Sam Phillips record. Who's heard it?

Advice Needed

I'm putting a question out there, and I hope someone will be kind enough to dispense some advice. What are the preferred methods of wearing a vintage full slip as day/nightwear? As a tunic over jeans or capris? On its own, with snappy shoes? Pantyhose or no? More important, what are the bad ways of wearing one? The things that make you say yuck, what was she thinking?

I have a delightful new item in my closet, but I need help.

Good morning!

Just a few strays today.

1) My new favorite restaurant isn't a restaurant, really: just a cubbyhole on the south side of 23rd St. at 6th Avenue. Two huge, delicious tacos (veggie, chorizo) for $4.50! I took them to go, and they stayed impeccably wrapped and fresh after a 45-minute trek home. I can't remember the name of the place, but THANK YOU ALAN for taking me there!

2) The fitness center just opened in the basement of my building. I am very excited, not for the prospect of biking, skiing, running, and going nowhere, but for being able to watch TV while I'm doing it. I have almost a decade's worth of The Simpsons to catch up on -- I remember them back when they were the intermission on the Tracey Ullman show. Some of us remember them from even earlier than that . . .

This morning I lured myself out of bed for a morning workout by thinking about how I will be able to watch the Today Show! Whooee, I'll be on the pulse of the zeitgeist! Unfortunately, I never actually got to see more than a few minutes of Scary Couric, because the whole time I was trotting on the treadmill it was commercial after commercial. Target, Kmart, dog food, xanax, Hallmark . . . in case you haven't realized after the last ten minutes of bombast, Sunday is Mother's Day, and it isn't all about flowers anymore. You can just as easily paint her walls or hook up a new electrical fixture while she's upstairs sleeping late. And when she wakes up, it won't be Jesus-Christ-what-are-you-doing-you're-getting-paint-all-over-the-floor or for-God's-sake-get-down-from-there-you're-going-to-electrocute-yourself, but instead a wistful smile. Jeepers: I certainly wouldn't want my little ruffians (if I had any) touching my walls if they're not going to remember to spackle first! Let's all do ourselves a favor and stick to flowers.