Today’s soundtrack: I’ll be your savior, steadfast and true
Today at 9:02pm: Standing in the “No Standing” zone at JFK Terminal 9


Hey man a few entries ago I complained about how cold it was in New York. Well forget what I said before, ‘cause now it’s fucking cold. It’s like Six Degrees of Separation, but the “six” is on the thermometer and the “separation” is the outer layer of skin falling off my fucking face.

Today was actually nine degrees, but the 1010-WINS “real-feel” temperature was two. Do you know what two degrees feels like? It feels like the wind is cutting through your clothes and skin and blowing directly on your internal organs.

On the sidewalk it’s so cold I want to stop walking, scrunch up my eyes, lean my head back and just start crying like a two-year-old. Waaaaaahhhhhh

I want to put the cold air in boxes and set up a mail-order service. You’re in Africa, Thailand or Venezuela sweating your balls off but you mail me some scratch and I Fed-Ex you a box of frigid air. It’s more economical than air conditioning and costs almost nothing to ship.

Maybe you can return the favor and send me a box of hot air.


ROOMMATE: Hey man you got a package.

ME: Killer! My hot air. (ripping package open) Ahhhhh.

RM: Lemme get some...Whoa!

ME: What?

RM: That smells like a fart!

ME: Well it’s not a fart, it’s Venezuelan hot air.

RM: You got ripped off, man. Someone mailed you a fart.

ME: (sniffing) ...Fuck.

After work and hapkido I picked the ‘rents up at JFK and we went to dinner in Flushing.

My pops is like a drug dealer, but the horse he’s trying to get me hooked on is Marriage. Always talking about it, asking me if I want some, asking me if I need a hook-up. I’m thinking the social pressure on him must be pretty intense.

He says he’s got a couple friends who have unmarried daughters in their late 20s/early 30s. These are offspring who, like me, couldn’t get with the program. And if they’re as twisted as I am I want no part of it. If I ever met them I would try to turn us all into a bankrobbing crew or something. We would spend the money on mescaline, trips to Cuba and therapy.

Anyways it looks like mom and pop are moving to Cali. They said the people are nicer but the chow ain’t as good. Mostly they’re in it for the weather. So next Christmas I’ll ask my pops to mail me a box of hot air, and maybe then he’ll understand why I’m not married yet.