WAITING FOR THE MAN
to do his f-ing job


They've torn up each and every street I use to get from Yoga Studio A to B to C on my bike. And they never ever return to repave. Every day they've wrecked another one or two or three or four. So for months I've been negotiating giant chunks of concrete in the so-called street and/or scaring stroller ladies on the sidewalk. And today I got yet another flat. On the back wheel no less. You know it has to do with contracts and campaign contributions. Thanks, Mr. Daley.

Apart from that....
I spent the afternoon in the rare sun traipsing around Roscoe Village with Blaine scouting locations and doing some scene run-throughs for the big All Hallow's Eve shoot. He actually requested The Smirk more than a few times during "rehearsal." I explained that we no longer call it that (it's now a Bemused Smile). I also had a very pleasant meal with him and Bunny at The Cult. She said the Cult Leader was just on TV for levitating someone. Apparently painting, playing music, lifting ten-ton weights, writing poetry, spawing restaurants and running events, enjoying photo-ops with dead luminaries like Mother Teresa and Ladi Di, and convincing millions to give up their worldy possessions and wear saris with gym shoes and Balinese print bags emblazoned with the words "Bad Girl" just wasn't enough.




ON THE TURNTABLE:
Glen Campbell's Greatest Hits (in particular."By the Time I get to Phoenix" and "Southern Nights")
Velvet Underground: VU

ON THE BED:
Million count purple pillowcases

BETWEEN THE LEGS:
Fat City Cycle Monster Fat (really beat up and really, really slow)