Sunday, 10 November 2002 | Bloated bird

Some things that I did with my weekend. Tore the heads off of shrimp. Attempted to remember all of the songs I play on guitar, which I never play. Mad Libs. Rode on the back of a bike just above the tire, holding my body delicately balanced, as to not fall off. Stood in a dressing room and tried on clothes, some of which I would never wear. Bought a DVD player and watched Amélie. Ate at a restaurant where the servers are drag queens. Saw two bands play. Homemade burritos. Went to a wine-tasting party at a store around the corner from my apartment. Danced by myself at an electroclash club around the corner from my apartment. Rummaged through a garage "store" around the corner from my apartment and bought a tin toy. Opened a few presents. Slept late.

The weather has been unusually warm. One of the past few days, as I was walking through a park around the corner from my apartment, I looked up at the orange leaves against a thick blue sky and wondered for a moment if I could make myself believe I was somewhere else. Then I saw white strips of toilet paper caught in the branches to my right and left, and saw a plastic bag floating through the air like a bloated bird. And I quickly remembered, No, I'm definitely in New York.

Regardless, I'm really happy here. I no longer constantly wish that I actually were somewhere else.