Wednesday, June 25th - As i write this in my office on a beautiful summer day, my intrepid girlfriend is talking on her cellphone while riding down busy, busy 7th Avenue through midtown on her bike. Today, she told me she was just going to quit worrying about everything, and sure enough, she's really doing it. Holy crap. I told her to call me when she gets close to the Eyeboogie World HQ at 29th St., so i can run out and wave to her like she was a runner in a marathon. Oh god, i hope she lives.

Green Chile Night last night was a success. It was actually supposed to be Chile Relleno Night, but they didn't turn out quite as well (no thanx to this bunk recipe). Tasty, but completely lacking in structural integrity. Fortunately, Jeff and Whitney were both too gringo to realize the shortcomings of my efforts, and thus seemed to enjoy it. The chile, howmever, was great, and much easier to make. So, i think i'll stick with that.

Still no phone.

Tuesday, June 24th - I've wondered a lot lately why i ever did this website, and alternately, why i stopped. The best reasons i can think of were "because i enjoy it" and "because, at age 32, i started feeling self-conscious about it." I started feeling like i was mouthing off too much. But then i like writing. I started feeling like i was pissing people off. But, then, you get the idea. Yesterday, i got a missive from my/our friend Jeremy Walton, who is currently residing in Turkey. The last time he was in Brooklyn, we went out to dinner and he excitedly told me about the trip he was going to make out there, to live in Istanbul and study the language. And he's doing it, god bless him. He spent a couple of paragraphs talking about the architecture, his daily routine, his struggles to find an apartment, and the weird contradictory nature of Turkish life. Much in the same way as i talk about what i had for breakfast on a certain day (today it was jalapeno corn bread from the L Cafe, a strange and rather poor breakfast choice), only interesting and pertinent. I sound like i'm beating myself up and i probably am. But, every few years i get an urge to change my life greatly and i think it's starting to happen again. And, at the rate things are going, my workplace is going to do it for me.

Monday, June 23rd - Today i struggle a little with being a writer. The air date on the first Culture show has been pushed back *again*, which hardly seems like a good sign. So, on a day when i thought i was going to have to hunker down and pull out all of the great final flourishes on our show, and make it the best ever, so VH1 sends us another fruitbasket with a "good work" card, instead i struggle to take interest in the first drafts of show #3, which may never air. The future of the show, and accordingly my mandate, have never really been this unclear. Throw in the first nice weather in way too long, and well, i'm just all about dicking around today. That and using big words and flowery speech. That's not a good sign either.

And now, it's one of those you-had-to-be-there moments, but i'll try anyway: My co-writer (at the show, not for this) April, who some of you may know, went on the roof of the office today to take in some nice weather over lunch. She sat still in one section of the sun for a little too long only to discover big blob tar had melted on to her shoulder. And it wasn't coming off. Have you ever had to remove tar from your skin? My guess is no, as there wasn't much on the web about it. The only advice that turned up at all was "let dry then peel off," including that an ice-pack might expidite the process if desired. But, it was decided that something more immediate would be worth trying. So, as an excuse to go outside once again, i gamely volunteered to go to Duane Reed to pick up some baby oil (rumored to be the remedy for tenacious tar), and when i returned i found April in her office, holding against her shoulder the only icepack-like object she could find in our office freezer: a package of generic FROZEN SQUID. But you'll be glad to know it worked. The baby oil, not the squid.

Words cannot describe just how annoying the other woman in the baby oil aisle was when i was at Duane Reed.

Coming soon: some pictures.

And they say no man is an island: i did an "interest" search on Friendster today for The Lockhorns. Nothing.