Today’s soundtrack: I’d rather drink muddy water
Today at 7:02pm: eating ginger snaps and watching the trailer for Onimusha 3


I walked to work today, and after I got off I walked back. It’s about a hundred and twenty blocks round-trip. I like it though. Walking up Park Avenue is like walking through a concrete and glass canyon. And with a good iPod playlist, sixty blocks goes by like nothing.

I saw lots of interesting things on the way up; I always do on a long walk through the city. In fact I end up seeing so many interesting things I forget what they were. You see three interesting things, and once you see a fourth, you forget the first. It’s a function of urban environments and information overload, I believe. When that starts to happen it’s only the bizarrest of events that I can recall with ease.

Like this. The other night (okay, a month ago) I’m walking up in the west 30’s. I hate the west side but that’s where the 24-hour post office is. Anyways so I’m walking down 39th or something and the streets are dead, it’s like after midnight, and I hear this buzzing noise behind me getting steadily louder.

I sense the noise is closer to me than I thought and I turn around. There’s a blond female midget, tiny, less than three feet, wearing a red leather miniskirt and matching jacket, fishnet stockings, and she’s riding a little red miniature motorcycle. I mean the motorcycle was tiny, about the size of a child’s tricycle. But it’s a real motorcycle and get this, it’s a chopper.

So I step aside, and she buzzes around me, then buzzes down the block and buzzes around the corner. If I was a movie wino I’d stare at my bottle, shake my head and throw it away.

Anyways I want to start walking to work more, especially now that it’s been cold for so goddamn long that I’m getting used to it. Like an Eskimo, I suppose. At some point the Eskimos, after coming over the Bering landbridge or whatever must’ve been like hey, this place sucks, let’s go back to the warm part of Asia. But then it was too late and they just got used to it and learned to make igloos and snowcones and Klondike Bars.

Eskimos make Klondike Bars, right? If they don’t, they should. I don’t want to buy ice cream treats from some inventor from Cleveland, I want to buy them from an Eskimo.

I bet Eskimos never play tennis. Because if you give them a tennis racket they just tie it onto their feet and start walking around on them.

It’s been so long that The Corporation’s actually called me in that today I almost felt excited to get in the office and solve some problems. Can you believe that shit? Just goes to show, everyone needs a function. Lately I haven’t been able to write much so I’ve just been sitting in my apartment, working on my future apartment finance scheme (roommate’s moving out--more on that later) and rotting.

About a month ago I realized I was in financial peril, so I shook the freelance tree to see if anything would fall out. Nothing did. I made a round of phone calls to old clients but no one needed me. Then Providence smiled on me. Yes, that Providence, the capital of Rhode Island. The mayor called up to laugh at my problems.

I figured I should sell the car, because that’s what people do when they have money problems. My little hatchback isn’t much but whatever cash I could get for it would take care of the rent for a while. But then I struck upon this scheme which I’ll tell you about as it comes into being. I don’t know if it will work but I am going to pursue it anyway. It’s a gamble but it’s about time I rolled the dice.

If there are any Eskimos reading this, please say hello.

Real Eskimos only please.