sundries

Was there anyone who didn't have a crisis today?

I just repotted our peppers. There are flowers coming and going on the other tomato plants but no tomatoes. I need to get on that. They are young plants though, so they'll produce more if it waits anyway. I just wish it would stop raining.

I burst into tears today when Black Boys on Mopeds came on the LastFM. And since then? I've been biological clock central, despite the fact that me? so not having kids. Sometimes I have these moments where the other lives I've almost had are nearly assaultive in their proximity. That was today.

When I feel like this, I tend to sing walking down the street. I always did this as a child, largely because I was bored. The block between York and 1st is very long, and I knew what songs would get me home. No one sings to themselves on the street anymore, unless they are wearing headphones and have forgotten the existence of others. One of the things I love about living in Spanish Harlem is that people frequently stop to comment that they never hear anyone just singing on the street anymore, and that it's nice. I don't have a great voice, but I have a good voice, and even quiet, I know how to sell a song. I always like it, it's one of the only ways in which I ever feel like we realy beong up here.

When I write fiction -- original or not -- I write these wholes lives for people. It's a failing of my fiction in a way, because I never just tell a story or get to the point. Rarely, anyway. It's a big problem in the original fiction. I act these characters, breathe life into them, more than I TELL A DAMN STORY. This is frustrating to me as a writer, and also a strange think to live with that I do not know how to describe.

Dinner is on. BBQ chicken.

Patty has revamped our office again and it's AMAZING.

I keep thinking about that Iranian boy I was friends with in 1978 and wondering where he is and worrying about him now. Our apartment building was evacuated once because we got bomb threats because they were there. That was later, during the hostage crisis.

Circling back -- I've got a lot of writing I need to do. Things I've been asked to submit, things I've been encouraged to submit and things I should just submit.

While it was never the intent at all, I've taken to calling my pinstripe suit which will probably arrive in time for the CoE parties my ( like you haven't heard this rumour if you so care )

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Speaking of suits, I love three piece suits, but they don't quite work on Keith Olberann, who is usually the best dresser ever. You wouldn't believe how many brain cycles I have for men who do and don't dress well -- on the TV, on the subway. So many men wear their suits just too big! No one seems to know how long their pants should be and god do I hate those shirts with the collars that button down into place. Loathe. Also, I am a firm, nearly obsessive believer that a well-tied tie should have a dimple right under the knot.

I am in a mood. I should write. But the chicken's near done and I've got a speck of work to do.

Hi.