If everyday were like Sunday, I would be highly reclusive, well rested, perpetually clean, lethargic, have no social skills, and have a freakishly organized house. I passed up a day in the world and two attractive get-togethers to hang up my freshly washed clothes, wash dishes, and arrange my newest pictures in photo albums in front of Scully, Doggett, and Reas. A thunderstorm passed over at some time that I didn't note, I ate one meal and a string of haphazard snacks, and I let that Kronos Quartet CD play on repeat at least twice. I'd like another Sunday tomorrow, please, but more than that would probably be a bad idea.
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FROM THE ARCHIVES:  
People We Like. I've got a new photo in The Morning News: the co-owners of Frank White, an unusual coffee shop in my neighborhood. — 07.17.08 Charles Atlas will make a man of you! "Against Atlas' better judgment, I declined performing all of my exercises in the nude." (accompanying shirtless photo of the author taken by me.) — 07.17.08 Cat on a Leash. I am totally buying a leash for Coleman asap. — 06.25.08 The Brooklynites. Great photos of a wide range of people from my favorite borough. (Thanks to Kurt [a talented photographer himself] for passing this on.) — 12.19.07 Killer Boob. My childhood (and current!) friend Sarah talks about her experience with breast cancer on her well written and charming blog. She's an American living in Belgium and happens to be one of the best people I know. — 12.19.07 |
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