Sittin' here in the laundromat with the local preteen hoodlums. But what preteen isn't a hoodlum, after all? Problem with these, though, is that they have the TV channel stuck on The Hughleys. Might as well be Everybody Loves Frasier's Home Improvement. Bloody television.

Not really moved to write much today, but I figured I needed to get a letter out before we took off for Texas next week. Just visitin', not running back a-skeered. Might be a little skeered to see open spaces & pickups, though. Ain't used to such anymore.

In truth, we're both very much looking forward to the visit, our first voyage since the DC rally. I think it's good to get out of town at least once a month. Particularly in NYC. You don't ever really hit first gear around here, just shift around between 2nd and 5th. Texas, particularly Weatherford, is all about 1st gear. That's part of why we can't live there anymore, honestly, but it's nice to visit a gear you haven't seen in a while.

Speaking of the rarely sighted, I saw my cousin Petra for the first time in a year or two. 'Cept she was on the TV. I know I sent out an announcement that she'd be on Alias a while ago, but I got the week wrong. She WAS on last Sunday, and did a fine job as the sick guy's girlfriend. Though the show itself is kind of...well, a piece of shit, really. James Bond plus the X-Files plus the A-Team or something. Whuggh. Bloody television. I guess being on shows like that is sort of the actor's version of playing 4-hour sports bar sets. Shudder...

Dammit, I wish these stupid kids would stop fighting. They keep smacking each other until they stumble over into my space, at which point I have to give them the Adult Glare to get 'em to quit. Bloody kids.

Not much to report, really. Still working at MAC (More Accountant Crap), though I'm still not terribly clear on what it is they do for a living. I'm done destroying anything what might be subpoenaed, I guess, and now I'm putting crap in boxes for a move this weekend. Whatever these people do, they must make a shitload of money. I read somewhere that the corner where the NYSE is located has the highest rent in the country. That's across the street from my office, so yeeeeesh.

Found out that Federal Hall is also across the street. The Bill of Rights was passed there, and George Washington took his first oath of Presidential office right on that spot. Pretty cool. Also cool is the Bank of New York, which is kind of a Fritz Lang-ish structure right next to the NYSE.

I'm quite sad that art deco didn't hang around longer. I mean, every architectural style gets old after a while, but it takes longer for me to get tired of art deco. I guess the Chrysler Building was probably the peak. Damn, that's a purty thang. The deal with art deco is how futuristic it still looks, even up against many modern structures.

I did watch a thing on Frank Lloyd Wright the other day, and I think he & I could've hung out. He didn't like people much. I can dig that.

I must take this opportunity to inform all fellow misanthropes that you HAVE to read With Charity Toward None: A Fond Look At Misanthropy by Florence King. It's the wickedest. Be careful, though, there's a With Charity Toward None that's about Ayn Rand, which would suit at least ONE of you (ahem, ahem...), but likely not the rest. And I'm not getting into that now, nosirreebob.

Dammit, these kids took off & left me alone with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Which would suit at least ONE of you...

The laundromat owner (whose name I don't know, but it ain't J.J. Topsy), is cleaning the lint filters on the dryers. Damn, people generate a lot of lint.

Okay, I'm boring myself here. Time for something gimmicky:


Top 10 Signs You've Started To Get The Hang Of The Whole New York Thing:


10. You walk into a McDonald's that has a pianist and an Orchid Room, and you merely say, "Hm."

9. You pass a Gaping Hole In The Earth and have to remind yourself what used to stand there.

8. You forget what your back pocket is for (wallets are kept up front).

7. You say "How-ston" instead of "Hew-ston" without thinking about it.

6. You pass a subway performer and think, "He was better last time."

5. You go a whole weekend without getting lost on the subway.

4. You overhear a conversation where a guy says, "Oh, I like all kinds of music..." and you say, "...except country music," at the same time he does. What the hell's the matter with people?

3. You get indignant when the MTA proposes a fare hike, and sign a petition.

2. You ask for a soda instead of a Coke.

1. You see a touristy fellow poring over a subway map and ask, "Where ya goin'?"

Oh, cool, Aimee Mann's on this episode of Buffy. She popped up on The West Wing a few weeks ago, too. I'm glad I'm not the only one obsessed.

Found out I've been working in J.P. Morgan's old office. I snuck out onto the balcony roof yesterday. Damned good view from 26 floors up. Gives me a better view of the better views. That Woolworth Building's got a top window I just gotta see one day. Though the Wifely heard that the triangular windows at the top of the Chrysler Building are all glassless and the place is only used for storage. Seems a shame. What a fucking office that would be.

Vanessa The Dim finally bailed on me yesterday, parting with the observation that "Women should NOT be doing this work." Fine, I know you have a conscientious objection to work, so go have your babies & inflict them on people in quiet auditoriums. I'd be happy to pay your welfare, which I'm sure I will be doing soon. It's the fucking Circle of Life, ain't it?

But now I'm working with Hector, who's quite cool. He's about fiftyish, Dominican, and he & his wife have just relocated here after a 12-year stint in Miami.

"Miami is no place to live," Hector tells me, "This is a place to live." Yeah. What he said. The thought of a fiftysomething couple selling all their belongings and moving to New York for no good reason makes me inexplicably happy. I guess it gives me hope for Man's struggle with inertia, one I know well. (fight the La-Z-Boy power!)

The Wifely's been funnier than me this week. We're watching TV and this Extreme Ops commercial comes on. She starts up:

"Whoa, dude, it's like...there are like these terrorists, man, and like..."

I choke a bit on my Jello.

"...Like, we thought that maybe if we SKI REALLY FAST, that we could, like, scare 'em or something, and, like, they would like go 'Whoa, these kids are dangerous, man!'..."

The Jello has moved from my throat into my nose.

"And, like, we could like SKI INTO THEIR HELICOPTER, man, and they would be like, 'Hey, man that's my helicopter, man' and like, 'Dude, don't hurt us!'..."

The Jello is free.

I dunno, maybe you had to be there.

Our idiot neighbor, Jake, cooked seven packages of chicken in the kitchen last night, one for each day of the week. And a big pot full of beets. He keeps trying to get me a job at his company, and I keep trying not to tell him I'd rather eat a baboon's red ass. Sometimes I need a stick.



You know, I started this letter on Tuesday at the laundromat, & I'm just now finishing it on Saturday, riding the R train to 8th Street, where my new barbershop is. Norbert's all right, gives me the 1940s cut I crave nowadays.

Then, since I'll be in the Village, I'll check out some record shops. Though I'm never quite cool enough for records shops in the Village. They give me the Eye. I know the Eye. I gave it to people when I worked at Sound Warehouse. 'Cept those people were looking at the John Tesh discs. I'm just digging through the old faerie Genesis LPs. Shut up. I know I'm a dork. Really, shut up. Don't hurt me.

On my way to the subway station, I passed a group of old men sitting in their garage, cranking the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Under the Bridge. Made me want to stick around and see what happened next, I'll tell you what. But Norbert calls, & I'm a bit too shaggy for visiting relatives, so I'd better take care of it.

The air's a bit nippy out, and it seems Autumn will be coming to a close soon. Always a damned shame. But I prefer anything to summer, so I'm not truly bummed out. And Christmas in New York's a sight to see, I'm told.

Though I really couldn't be called a Christian anymore, I still like Christmas. Or rather, what Christmas has become. You know, all that stuff Christians hate. But I do think that there should be a time each year when everyone just stops and does something nice for those they love. I think God digs it, and even if he doesn't, I do.

And now, Jesus:



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the matthew show