Today’s soundtrack: got the string around my finger
Today at 8:02pm: Shopping for plywood at Home Depot.


I liked it better when happiness was an ethereal thing, a true emotion. Now they’ve discovered it to be nothing more than a fortuitous biochemical event. Turn that frown upside-down! New & Improved selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors! Try our delicious happy pills!

I’m not on any medication that doesn’t come from a Virginia tobacco farm, but I wonder if I’ll have to take these happy pills in the future.

I bet in Korea they’re working on Angry Pills. You eat them whenever you’re feeling a little blah. I can just see the press conference.

The Fabulous Adventures of Dr. Ang Rhee


DR. ANG RHEE: We have succeeded in synthesizing the Angry Pill!

REPORTER #1: But Dr. Rhee, why?

DR. ANG RHEE: Because South Korea would like to make an important contribution to the global biomedical community. Are there any other douchebags out there with any other stupid-ass questions for me.

REPORTER #2: Dr. Rhee, why an Angry pill? Why would you invent such a thing?

DR. ANG RHEE: If we’re asking “why” questions I have a “why” question for you. “Why” don’t you shut the fuck up.

REPORTER #2: But I’m just asking--

DR. ANG RHEE: And I’m just telling you to SHUT UP. Nice shirt, loser.

REPORTER #2: My wife gave me this shirt!

DR. ANG RHEE: Well I can see she’s got just as good taste in shirts as she does in husbands.

REPORTER #3: Dr. Rhee, why would you spend precious time and resources developing--

DR. ANG RHEE: Because I hate you, next question.

REPORTER #4: What will you be working on next?

DR. ANG RHEE: My next project will be to develop a Shut The Fuck Up pill. I’ll send you all a whole bunch, do me a favor and take the whole bottle. Don’t forget to mix it with alcohol.

DO NOT READ BELOW IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN The Two Towers! I may inadvertently spoil it for you.


It snowed a whole bunch on Christmas! Holy cow there was so much. The city was whiter than a birthday card from Trent Lott.

Went to see The Two Towers Christmas morning.

- Surprise #1: Theater was crowded at 9:45am.
- Surprise #2: Movie was kind of disappointing.

It wasn’t a bad movie by any means, but to me it didn’t live up to the hype. Frodo Baggins is like the lamest protagonist ever. He spends most of the movie looking either dreamy or scared shitless or both. In this one he falls into a lake for no reason, almost stabs his own gardener and tries to commit suicide by dragon.

I can’t believe Gandalf gave the ring to this douchebag! He’d have been better off selling the shit on eBay. If the goal was just to keep people from wearing it he could have auctioned it off as a “golden napkin ring,” problem solved. The type of people who buy napkin rings don’t have burning desires to rule men and anyway it would just sit in some pantry drawer collecting dust.

Instead he hands it off to a guy named Frodo. Gandalf can fire lightning bolts out of his hands; Frodo’s three-foot nothing and relies on his gardener for muscle.


GANDALF’S BOSS: How’s that Ring project coming?

GANDALF: Er, it’s getting there. I handed it off to Baggins, this...hobbit in the Shire department.

GANDALF’S BOSS: You WHAT?

GANDALF: Don’t worry, Baggins is good! His uncle says--

GANDALF’S BOSS: That little bastard doesn’t even wear shoes! Holy shit Gandalf, you are SO fired.

GANDALF: But--

GANDALF’S BOSS: But nothing! I give you a big project and what do you do, you fob it off on a goddamn intern! Hand in your cane and your hat, you’re through. Finished.

GANDALF: But I--

GANDALF’S BOSS: I don’t wanna hear it, Merlin. Punch out and go home.

Gollum, on the other hand, is interesting. He seems to have trouble with pronouns but his schizophrenia is fascinating. He’s co-dependent and has two personality settings:

Mood 1 - Bowing & Scraping
Mood 2 - Murderous Rage

I think all of us know what Gollum needs: a couple of selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors would do him right. It’s too bad Gandalf can’t conjure up some Zoloft.

All of us have our beliefs and values that make us what we are. Central to my worldview is the belief that John Travolta is no good. If more people understood this we would have no war, no famine, no Battlefield Earth.

You know it’s true. He was no good in Get Shorty, he was no good in White Man’s Burden and he damn sure wasn’t any good in Pulp Fiction. And yet he’s richer than all of us combined.

Then again he’s also married to Kirstie Alley, which is its own sort of curse. A damnation in several parts. I think if I heard that squeaky voice shriek “Good morning honey” and I rolled over to see Kirstie Alley’s twisted mug, I’d head straight down to the kitchen and make myself a nice scotch-and-Windex.

Tonight is Christmas Eve. My girlfriend went back to her parents’ town and Shady went to D.R. with his girlfriend so I’ve got the place to myself. (D.R. = Dominican Republic)

Today I did some last-minute shopping although I don’t have many friends I need to exchange gifts with. Buying gifts is like participating in an arms race--you don’t want to get them, but you have to because the other person’s got them.

I am alone for Christmas this year, which is okay because I was alone for Christmas last year. I don’t mean single, I mean literally all by myself. Last year I was at a KFC in Shanghai and this year I’m spending it with fucking Hobbits. I’m not big into Jesus’ birthday anyway. Like my friend Handsome Dan once said, there’s a nice table waiting for me in Hell “right by the fire.”

Anyways I got my Christmas all mapped out. Tomorrow I’m going to see The Two Towers. I’m going to the 9:45am show because I like when the theater’s empty. No one goes to a movie on Christmas morning.

Last January I went to the 9:45am showing of Lord of the Rings. It was great ‘cause there was only seven people there and we all gave each other plenty of space. The other six people could have been farting the whole time and I wouldn’t have smelled it.

My only worry for tomorrow will be how to acquire good food. Not all restaurants will remain open which limits my options. I can count on Asians and Semitics to keep their restaurants open but the others are a crapshoot.

Diner’s a safe bet. Tomorrow I scarf diner chow and watch hobbits with people who celebrate Hanukah or Ramadan. The movie better not be bad, or Middle Earth is going to get my middle finger.

Today’s soundtrack: I’m on fire
Today at 12:32am: Sidewalk chatter.


The worst thing about being a kid was when you wanted to do something and your parents said “No” and when you asked why, they were like “Because I said so.” That’s the worst type of refusal because it’s so arbitrary.

That’s why when my kid asks why I refused his request, I’ll be like “Because you’re an asshole.”

I worry I’ll make a terrible father. I should point out I’m not even close to being married or having kids, and I suspect my sperm are mutated. It’s just a new neurosis I’m pioneering.


Poor-father phrases I can picture coming out of my mouth:


- “Boy, take these scissors upstairs. Quickly! RUN!”

- “It’s not that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, it’s just that I killed him in a drunken fistfight.”

- “I’m going to Cuba, be back in late July. Do good in school.”

- “How many times have I told you? After loading the Glock you always load an extra round into the chamber! What if 16 bullets isn’t enough?”

- “Watch Daddy make this State Trooper very, very mad.”

- “I expect you to be a good Korean student and organize some violent protests.”

- “I’m not saying I won’t love you if you do badly in football. I’m just saying you might be adopted.”

- “You lost another fight? What did I tell you? Go for the eyes, goddammit! What are you, some kind of ballerina?”

- “Be a good boy and distract the waitress while Daddy puts this ashtray in his pocket.”

- “I’m going to South America, oh would you stop crying. I’ll be back the first Tuesday after Never.”

I just have to get this stuff out of my system here in this journal so it doesn’t, you know, spill into my real life. Yeah man the girl that bags this fellow is a lucky, lucky lady.

I’m going to die alone.

Photo thingy still busted, sorry man.

Today’s soundtrack: holds on, holds on, oh Sherry
Today at 8:02pm: Showing the G4 who’s boss.


There’s work, and then there’s the stuff after work. What sucks is when the stuff after work is...more work.

Sunday morning started off right, I awakened to find my arm wrapped around B-girl and a smallish polar bear. She bought a little stuffed animal and brought it back to my apartment, “to replace you when you’re not here,” she informed me.

Since she hasn’t come up with a name for it, I’m calling it the Bi-Polar Bear. He has a little smile sewn onto his face but that’s because they modeled him during his manic stage. I’m waiting to catch him in his Shame Spiral. Nothing is funnier than a polar bear at rock-bottom--pieces of herring stuck to his face, a smashed bottle of Jim Beam and a dead Eskimo in the corner.

In the afternoon we attended the screening for Wendy’s short film, which I was in. She told me I had to go because one of her professors called me “a find,” whatever that means. Unfortunately Wendy’s film was being screened alongside all the other grad student films, so we had to sit through a good twenty shorts before we got to hers.

Consistent with the unfavorable arithmetic of talent, most of the shorts sucked. J’ever watch student films? They’re always fucking weird. I’m talking like, people with magic-marker spiderwebs on their face running around Central Park like a bunch of fucking idiots, kissing trees and shit.

One short featured a dead rabbit and an old man, another was about a homeless woman getting her finger cut off at Coney Island. A bunch of others looked like when Dieter had dreams on Sprockets. “Gott in Himmel! Dieter’s Dream!” Fucking weird.

It was even weirder seeing myself on screen. The short is only four minutes and I didn’t think I did anything special up there. If anything I kind of look like a dork. But I am all right with that. My Shame Spiral is actually a very tightly-controlled tailspin.

After the screening I had to go back to The Office. The freelance project for The Germans is starting up again. I worked until 1:30am. I work alone so I never talk at work. I say “What’s up” to the security guard on the way in and “Have a good night” on the way out. And I curse like a sailor when PhotoShop craps out on me. System 10 is like the fucking Y2K Crisis, 2002 Edition.

Ben & Eumi got married yesterday! There’s no room to write about it here and you don’t really know them anyway. They both looked fantastic though. They’re just about the only healthy couple I know!

Eumi was glowing and Ben just looked stunned (in a good way). I hope I look like that when my day comes. Perhaps one day I will watch footage of myself, like today, but it will be wedding footage. Un-Sprockets-like and romantic I hope.

I have to get up for work in three hours and there’s a polar bear in my room. It’s supposed to snow tomorrow morning and I think there will be a transit strike, meaning I will have to walk 60 blocks to get to work. If anyone says “Good morning” tomorrow I’m going to tell them “Go to hell.”

My picture thing seems to be broken. I can feel my journal getting boring.

Today’s soundtrack: Why do you come here, when you know it makes things hard for me
Today at 10:22pm: Chicken sandwich at Brooklyn Bagel Café.


2,099 MP3s. This morning I had exactly 2,100 but I deleted a Dead Milkmen song because it was pissing me off. Right now I have iTunes set on “Random.” Elvis Costello complaining about an ex of his. Do you ever pay attention to song lyrics? There’s some twisted shit in there.

Movies and TV used to be about good people doing good things (Errol Flynn as Robin Hood) or bad people doing bad things (Bela Lugosi as Dracula). Eventually they involved bad people doing good things (Brando as The Godfather).

It seems only recent that movies have been about good people doing bad things. There are too many examples for me to list. Society is bored with watching easily-understood morals. I believe evil fascinates us. Do you know the song “Lowlife” by The Police? It goes You pay for love, but the hate comes free.

The dating class is almost over, thank god, and then I get Thursday back. Only one more left and then I have to start writing it up for AsianAvenue. Tonight was class #5.

The psychotherapist in charge asked us to write a list of the things we love to do the most. He said we could write anything. I put pen to paper and didn’t stop moving it for six, seven minutes and had a fairly detailed list.

Re-reading it, I realized almost everything on there is something I can do by myself, in fact some are predicated on me being alone (solo international travel, for instance). That kind of scared me. Lam used to joke around and say I was like that song “Desperado” by The Eagles. It’s about a cowboy who fixes fences and won’t let anybody in. But maybe Don Henley wrote it when he was drunk and not feeling so good.

In particular I take a lot of meals by myself, which I didn’t realize until someone pointed it out. I have to admit there’s something slightly...sad about holing up in the seating section of some shitbox deli with a copy of The Post and sucking down a wrap, but that’s just how it is. Once you get to a certain age you stop caring about that stuff. For better or worse my schedule is independent of things like sunrises, sunsets and other people.

B-girl has a lot of good friends and a lot of people she can rely on (I think). Whether by choice or force, I don’t have that option checked off on my social conditions form. It only bothers me when I dwell on it, which is almost never. Anyways I like that B-girl is very social; it shows she is psychologically connected to things. I like making her laugh, her eyes get all crinkly.

Hey man have you been watching those BMWfilms.com? The Tony Scott one is pretty nuts, it always looks like his shit was edited during an earthquake. It’s got James Brown in it and Gary Oldman playing Satan (no shit) and some interesting lines. The car is hardly in it but who gives a good goddamn.

Today’s soundtrack:
Sammy boy, don’t you know who you are?
Why can’t you be happy at the Emerald Bar?
Today at 8:02pm:
Punch punch block block.
Punch punch block block.
Punch punch block ow FUCK!


Sitting here with headphones, furiously nodding my head to Stereolab’s “Spacemoth.” Mary Hansen died earlier this week, she was one of the singers. Really fucking pisses me off, she was riding her bike and got hit by a car. She reached me but I never got to touch her back.

Some people give you so much, for me it’s mostly musicians. I listen to their songs so many times and it made me feel good so many times. I would have loved to have become a famous author and wrote a really good book that some of these people might have read. If I wrote one fucking thing that Mary Hansen read and laughed at it would have made me so happy.

I listen to Stereolab every other morning on the train on the way to work. I shudder to think a couple days ago Ms. Hansen passed out of this world in a physically violent way and I didn’t even know, just put my headphones on that morning, happy I got a seat on the six.

In Hapkido my Sabumnim often talks about things like willpower, desire, The Way, et cetera. It’s a large part of why I study it. Today he spoke about knowledge and skill and helped me realize some things. I would explain the entire lesson to you but it would sound pedantic.

Do yourself a favor, take martial arts. If you’re looking to stay in shape you might as well take something that strengthens your mind as well. In my late teens I lifted heavy metal bars with weights attached and it was so mindless. I guess back then I really cared what I looked like on the outside.

What has made me a man since then? I’m not sure, but I know what made me an angsty teen.


Childhood Trauma Checklist

- bicycle stolen
- frightening encounter with a clown
- favorite toy/possession/record album broken
- first time seeing blood drawn as a result of violence
- falling of off something high
- having what is supposed to be a joyous event (i.e. birthday party, amusement park outing) interrupted by a severe and decisive spanking

- secret crush ends in publicly humiliating disaster
- failing at a task in which you are expected to excel
- death of a pet (bonus points if death was accidental result of your own actions)

- punching a former friend hard in the face
- deceived by a girlfriend
- first car accident
- (boys only) losing an important fistfight
- seeing someone you respect/admire doing something bad
- knowingly committing your first act of evil

etc, etc.

Dunno why I’m in such a mood tonight. Holidays coming up, too. Maybe that’s what it is.

I won’t get to go on one of my solo trips for Xmas (wait for me, Cuba) but I think B-girl and I will get some Q-time. She’s such a sweetheart. In the mornings I have to leave for work before she does but she insists on seeing me off at the door, even though she should be busy getting ready too. These little things, I can’t describe to you what they do to me.

Today’s soundtrack: You were always on my mind, you were always on my mind.
Today at 8:02pm: At my pad having Pad Thai from Thai Angel.


I want to go to Cuba for Christmas.

My parents took off today and won’t be back ‘til January. My brother’s returned to his home out west, might be back in June. Last but not least Businessgirl has to head back to her parents’ place for Christmas, so come the 25th it’s just gonna be me and the pigeons.

If Santa comes down my chimney on Christmas Eve he’s going to find me downloading MP3s in my underwear and smoking.

My whole thing is, I want to spend Christmas in a communist country. Last year I was in China and I’ve already been to Vietnam so Cuba’s basically the only game in town.

What I wouldn’t give to traipse down the dusty streets of Havana smoking cigars on the 25th of December and laughing like Ricky Ricardo. I heard it’s impossible to take a bad picture in Havana.

I guess I could go to North Korea but I’m worried I’d be wiped off the face of the Earth because George Bush had a bad day at the polls.

If I were to be vaporized in some type of military conflagration (i.e. nuked) I’d prefer it be in New York. That way my ghost could continue to take the ghost 6-train uptown through the smoking crater of Manhattan. Me and the other ghosts would complain when the train gets stuck in the tunnel before 51st Street.

Anyways getting to Cuba is a pain in my capitalist ass because I’d have to go through Canada, Mexico or Jamaica. Anyone with first-hand experience in this, please advise. No snakeheads please.

This morning I’m at work and on the phone with B-girl, seeing where we could get our schedules to line up to spend some time together. We’re both busy in general and the holidays are coming up so it took some doing. Both of us checking calendars and shuffling dates, it was like trying to hook up a timeshare in Aspen. A new sensation for me but I’m crazy about this girl and don’t mind fighting my way to the top of the Palm Pilot.

The latest: The live version of Willie Nelson singing “You Were Always On My Mind.” So simple, just a voice, a guitar and the romantic apologia of a tax cheat. If my voice wasn’t so annoying and nasally (think Woody Allen with a head cold) I’d stand under Businessgirl’s window and sing it to her. Oh wait a sec, I can’t play the guitar either. Ah dammit, I hate when fantasies require too much of a stretch.

Businessgirl recommended I download Norah Jones’ “Don’t Know Why.” I’m skeptical of most “popular” music but after I pulled the track down I was like, damn. The song is pretty killer but I wanted to ask Norah why she stood that poor bastard up. Wouldn’t kill you to call the guy and tell him you’re not coming, for chrissakes.

In the afternoon B-girl called me and told me she was coming, to meet up with me after work, surprise surprise. An unexpected glitch in the schedule. At five I clocked out and took the six downtown with a smile on my face.

Headphones on and picturing a double date: Me and Businessgirl, Willie Nelson and Norah Jones. We’re at a roadhouse in the midwest, a roofless black ’64 Cadillac parked outside. Burgers sizzling on the grill.

Norah heads to the bathroom to fix her convertible-swept hair while Willie goes to the jukebox to find some Patsy Cline. Me and B-girl start making out in the booth while the bartender chews gum and stares at nothing. Across the country, a six-train pulls into the Canal Street station. Someone gets a seat that would have otherwise been occupied by me.

Today’s soundtrack:
I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say
I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to be

Today at 9:02pm: Snoozin’.


My little brother came into town on Friday. I guess he’s not so little anymore, he’s 28 and still physically larger than me. We’re total opposites besides. He lives out west, in one of those square-shaped states that has mountains. Kid’s a musician and he tends bar for a living.

Anyways this motherfucker can drink. Apparently he drank Handsome under the table last night.

You know what’s a good fucking song? “Spread Your Wings” by Queen. I was pretty pissed when Freddie Mercury died.

I feel like I never get to sleep in anymore. This morning I had to get up early to take Bro back to LaGuardia. He was only in town for four days, two with the ‘rents, I see the guy like every other year.

After dropping him off I blazed back across the BQE, hoping I’d make it back home in time to still cash in on my sleepiness. It didn’t happen. Got back to my apartment wide awake, packed up some shit and headed up to The Corporation to bang out some work I’m backed up on. What a loser Sunday.

But it was a winner Saturday. Last night my brother and I got some chow with Handsome Dan, Mars, Mrs. Mars, Eggtart and James, whom Dan assures me has some form of Tourette’s Syndrome.

Afterwards we hit Karma, which I’m growing to love because it’s the only Manhattan bar I can think of that’s dead on weekends. (I hate crowds almost as much as I hate you.) They lay down background house at a reasonable volume and you can always get a couch.

We killed a few hours there before getting a second dinner at Stingy’s, which is always worthwhile, then I headed home because it was 2am and my thoughts were elsewhere. The rest of the group headed to another bar, where they apparently admired my brother’s liver.

While I was in Stingy’s, Businessgirl had left me a message from Boston, what a sweetie. A few weeks ago she even called me while I was doing that college gig in Pittsburgh. I chatted with her on my freezing walk back to the apartment. Life takes place at 2 in the morning on a sidewalk.

The worst thing happened on the train today. I was riding back from The Corporation and the six was pretty packed. These five Chinese immigrants got on. I had my headphones on and couldn’t hear well but I think they were speaking Fukienese. Anyways money sitting right across from me breaks out the nailclippers and starts clipping his shit, so loud I could hear SNIK, SNIK, SNIK over the music.

He’s brushing fingernails off his lap onto the floor and it’s fucking gross. I wanted to be like “Yo money you can’t be doing that shit in the train, that’s not how we do it here” but I can’t speak Fukienese. I got up to stand by the door so I didn’t have to look at it.

In between tracks I overheard this white hipster couple next to me like “Oh my god is that guy clipping his nails? That’s so disgusting” and they went on and on.

I guess if I was a good communicator I could gently convince the Chinese guy to stop that shit, then pleasantly explain to the hipsters how he comes from a different culture, etc. Instead I just wanted to fucking punch all involved parties. I just wanted to rock knots, blacken eyes and get off at Union Square and switch to the five with bloody knuckles and a clear conscience.

I need to spend more time at Hapkido to tamp down my vitriol.

I fell asleep dumb early today, around 8p ‘cause I was exhausted. I was awakened at 11p by the sounds of voices in my kitchen. I recognized one as Shady and the other as Shady’s friend Crazy S., which meant there was currently a loaded gun in my apartment.

Crazy S. is a local Chinese cat, a sick martial artist and he carries an NYPD-issued Glock. He’s got a badge floating around somewhere too. Shady’s got friends from all over, that’s why he’s Shady.

Today’s soundtrack: got me in between
Today at 8:02pm: I can’t remember a goddamned thing


The past dozen days has been a blur of arduous work, shockingly good sex, hasty meals, bleary-eyed subway rides and everything in between. Punctuated by long moments of laying still with Businessgirl. She’s so smiley in the mornings, you should see her.

(I don’t mean that literally, brother. If you popped up in my bedroom in the morning I’d beat you like a circus monkey. The cops would find you lying in a puddle of blood and coffee.)

The worst part was being stuck in an office staring at a G4 at two in the morning while Businessgirl sleeps alone in my bed. I raced home each night. My bed is normally freezing--my apartment is more frigid than Glenn Close--but this time it’s all warm.

Should I wake her up, interrupt her dreams of spreadsheets and databases? I put on soft music recorded in the 1940s and close my eyes. Sixty years and two hours too late. Then her eyes open.

I’m broke, but not the kind of broke our parents were when they first got here. I’ve got nothing in the bank but there’s a motor vehicle registered in my name. I don’t buy clothes often but I pretty much eat whenever I want, if not whatever I want.

Unfortunately I’m only 20% out of the hole on the car and looking at another four Christmases in debt. My car is small. $15,400 doesn’t get you a lot but as long as I can put you behind me in traffic I’m happy, and I can. You’ll never get to see what the front of my econobox looks like.

Today I was on the phone with The Germans and had some good news. I clocked sixty hours and pulled down _____ grand and they’re paying right away, meaning I can remove a chunk of the debt that floats north of my head. I’m still paying for my trip to China last year, among other things. I can put up with demanding deadlines and meticulous Teutonic instructions for ready cash.

Not sure why I didn’t see this earlier, but today at The Corporation I noticed Boss A and Boss B don’t like each other.

I enjoy this, because I am a bad person. Would really relish observing the two of them stuck in a survivor situation where they must battle each other for supremacy and fresh water.

Yesterday I was so psyched about the snowstorm. New York blizzards are best enjoyed from behind glass, preferably on the inside of a café. I was trapped at The Corporation but every time I passed one of those offices with windows I was treated to a view of swirling snowflakes. I felt like I was inside one of those snow globes. I pictured a small child shaking it furiously.

On the slickened sidewalk I was taking my coffee break, blinking through the snow and I saw a couple people almost fall. They stumbled and righted their bodies while I caffeinated myself. They kept walking and I stood still.

This morning Businessgirl left my apartment, but I knew she wouldn’t be back in the evening; she’s off for Boston with a packed bag. Gone for a while, I won’t see her ‘til Wednesday. Tonight I’ll be sixty years too late and five days too early.

Today’s soundtrack:
she treat me like a king,
I treat her like a doggone queen.
Today at 7:42pm: Stuck on a 7-train experiencing intermittent delays.


I’ve been swamped with stuff, that’s why I haven’t updated in a while. So, so busy. Freelance gig for this German firm. Working for The Germans is hard. They demand a level of commitment of you that makes it easy to see why Nazism took root in Germany as opposed to, say, Thailand or Venezuela.

The Germans told me it was a five-day project but it’s been eating me alive for nearly two weeks. Working ‘til 2am and all that shit. I should’ve said no--“Nein means nein!”--but I need the Deutschmarks.

Holy shit is it cold out, ridiculously freezing! Fuckin’ penguins couldn’t take this kind of cold, like if NYC had them you would see penguins just passing out on the sidewalk.

Weather like this makes me admire homeless people, those are some durable motherfuckers. The only reason I’m alive is ‘cause I’m homeful. I can barely hack the walk back from the station and there are motherfuckers out there sleeping right now. With a different shake of the dice they would be Navy SEALs.

A few entries ago I wrote that I would date an Eskimo but I changed my fucking mind. Because they might try to drag me up there for Christmas or some shit and that’s not gonna happen, yinnah mean.


SHE: So it’s over? Just like that?

ME: I’m afraid so, Nanooka. I just can’t take the cold.

SHE: But I moved into a new igloo for you and sold my snowshoes.

ME: Those are the breaks, Creamsicle.

SHE: Stop calling me that.

ME: Those are the breaks, Eskimo-pie.

SHE: I hate when you call me that too.

ME: Well it’s not like I can pronounce your name! Christ, the only time that thing comes in any good is if I’m playing Scrabble.

SHE: I hate you.

ME: I hate your weather.

SHE: My brother’s going to kick your ass. You better watch it or you’re going to wind up with a harpoon in your chest.

ME: Please. Right now your brother’s on a dogsled somewhere screaming “Mush.”

SHE: You’re such a coward.

ME: Say what you will. I need to go someplace where Fish Eyes is an ocular condition, not a fucking dessert.


Then again who knows? Maybe we would work it out and I’d quit my job to move up to the Arctic Circle. I’d open a small nightclub called the Klondike Bar and I’d serve drinks with names like The Sir Edmund Hillary or Twenty Eight Days of Darkness. I’d have a guy from Poland working for me as a barback and I’d call him The North Polack. Who knows.

Another reason I haven’t been updating is because I’ve been spending a lotttttt of time with Businessgirl. We had a killer thing happen where we were able to spend like three days in a row together. Not completely, I mean we still have to go to work and shit, but we got a lot of what she calls “face time.” I adore her.

She made me cookies over Thanksgiving. According to my personal principles, this means I would now kill in her service. I hope she never finds this out or I may one day actually have to kill someone and go to prison.


CELLMATE: What are you in for?

ME: Oatmeal raisin. The fuck are you staring at.


I love the way Businessgirl talks. She’s what people from Boston would call “wicked smart.” Also she’s funny and she snaps her fingers when she has a sudden thought. Sometimes I make a little quip and she can add on to it or complete it, a quality I rarely see outside of my best friends.

She has all these cute mannerisms but I’m going to cut this off here before I veer into gushing. I don’t want to be a gusher. Are you a gusher? If you are you should talk to someone about it. (Someone other than me.)