1a. I promptly forgot about the city when I got back to Portland and saw the pink sky over Casco Bay.

1b. Yes, I spend a lot of time thinking about being in Maine and being in New York and being in places in general. It’s habit by now. At least I don’t bite my nails.

2. One of the (many) things I miss about zine publishing is the schedule: one or two issues a year, 32 booklet pages. For me that is a perfect level of casual-writing output. Frequent enough to be serial, spaced far enough apart to allow for rethinking, revising and general ruminating. The truth is, if I didn’t get paid to type things on a website every day I probably would not type things on a website every day.

2a. This is one of the (many) reasons I don’t type things here every day, or even every week.

2b. Or here, even.

3. In case anyone’s still reading, here is a picture of some sled dogs I met last month.

3a. Things sled dogs eat include: raw venison, raw smelt, hard-boiled eggs with the shell still on, raw carrots.

Anyway, I’m fine, in varying shades of purple. The lesson here is always wear a helmet when bicycling. I was wearing my helmet and if I hadn’t been I might not be typing this right now, and just think how sad you’d be. Also, eff you U.S. health care system ($1,200 for a CAT scan “just to be sure” on the noggin front? Deductible votes no!) and thank heavens I’m a filthy hippie who knows how to take care of myself (ginger for inflammation; arnica for bruising; loads of B vitamins; hatha yoga to prevent stiffness; small quantities of organic beef for iron; an acupuncture session to hit the reset button). Free advice, there you go, no copay necessary.

* * *

I’ve spent a lot of time lying on the couch, giving myself a crash course in American rom-coms. There is no helmet for that, as far as I know, but there should be. It should’ve been called He’s Just Not That Into You Because You Are a Terrible Movie And He Resents Having His Intelligence Insulted For Two Hours, and 27 Dresses Plus a Free Shotgun For Shooting Your Eyes Out Afterwards.

On the other hand, How To Lose Friends and Alienate People was very good, Kirsten Dunst notwithstanding.

It is nice to have an excuse to lie around and watch movies, even if some of the movies make me angry and my DVD player is held together with Scotch tape.

* * *

Comrade Trying to Schedule Plans: So what’s your deal?
MPS: I’m going to raise commodity prices by establishing a system of “domestic allotments” that will create artificial scarcity conditions
MPS: OH WAIT NO that was FDR’s deal

Gchat: How to lose friends and alienate people.

* * *

Current obsession: traffic islands.

* * *

Fetal joke: Something about the Senate voting down ACORN funding on account of the prostitution video thing and the Senate’s continued funding, via payroll, of David Vitter. (Joke never carried to term. It will not be missed.)

* * *

So what do you think? Brain damage, yes/no?

A few years ago I tried to popularize the term ‘braffed,’ a word to indicate a situation that has been overwhelmed by irritating mediocrity. Example: “Argh! My boss rewrote my presentation and put three typos in it!” “Man, you got braffed.” It never caught on, but once I tested the Ruined Music email list software by sending myself a message that read “Test test, you got braffed,” and in a stroke of misfortune, sent the message to the entire list. I braffed myself!

Zooey Deschanel
I want to think I’m wrong on this. Maybe if I hung out with Zooey Deschanel we’d discover that we have sooooo much in common, and we’d run around the Lower East Side shopping for adorable vintage bracelets, and she’d convince me to cut my hair in thick chunky bangs, and then we’d drink kombucha and giggle and swing our purses as we skipped down the street and then a unicorn would fly overhead and vomit glittery stars and we’d hold hands and promise to be BFs for F. It’s possible.

Then again maybe not.

Conor Oberst
Hey Conor. Yeah, look, a lot of people didn’t like George W. Bush. Most of us were able to deal with this without resorting to tripe like “Does God suggest an oil hike when the president talks to God?,” but then again most of us are not bugeyed professional daydreamers in Prada suits. Aw, I’m sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Quick, someone get Conor an absorbent sweater, I think he’s going to cry.

Sandra Lee
I have seen this lady on television maybe three times in my life, on account of not having cable (move to Canada you goddamn commie), but three times was enough to convince me. Plus surely you’ve seen the mashup clips that are circulating on the internet, this one being the best/worst (pet peeve: ‘expresso’), via Salad & Candy:

***BONUS: A Person I Have Already Punched in a Bar***

Sufjan Stevens. Except it wasn’t in a bar, it was on the sidewalk outside a bar, and it wasn’t an angry punch, more like a friendly one. Also he was very drunk so I don’t think he felt it.

…identify ‘em all and I’ll buy you a hot dog and a box of sparklers.

Q: Why isn’t the train coming? What do I do? What’s going on?
A: Deal with it.

Stand responsibly behind the yellow line. Enjoy the gust of wind that presages your train’s arrival; watch the rats and garbage scatter.

No reason to think Ukrainians aren’t self-reliant, but here’s proof.

Am. Lit. Hist., West Village

You may build as many condominiums as you like, but the Giglio will still be paraded through the streets of Williamsburg every summer.

This is the Brooklyn from the novels. I can’t say for sure if it’s real. I do know that the park on the right was named for my relative.

The caption on this painting in Columbus Park reads: “1980. Life in America, my grandfather found, was indeed unknown and unpredictable. Picture unknown.”

Cathedrals of the Financial District.

Belowground, barely distinguishable: the remains of an old Dutch cistern. Aboveground, reflected: Goldman Sachs.

“To Joe! Merry Christmas! I hope we keep in touch more in the future. I am really going to need family on my journey. I love you very much and will always admire you. Have a great Christmas and a very Happy New Year! heart, Audrey.”

…inscription on the back of a painting, garbage can, Clinton Street.

The task: Turn this spam headline into something entertaining: Police end funereal striptease acts.
The format: Short story, comic, photo essay, pop tune, whatever, as long as it is bloggable
The prize: A box of awesome from tryharderland sent straight to your door!
The deadline: Friday, July 3

Want to enter? Of course you do. Go here.

Item! Tri-named virtuoso John Dermot Woods has a sweet offer for those who pre-order his forthcoming novel by July 15.
Details go a little something like this:

My novel (with drawings), The Complete Collection of people, places & things, is being published by BlazeVOX Books next month. To celebrate we’re offering the book for $12 with free shipping (that’s 25% off) to everyone who pre-orders by July 15. AND, the first 50 people who order will also receive:
- a signed and numbered silkscreen print, to commemorate the book’s release
- a personalized copy with a signed, limited edition book plate

Take advantage of John’s generosity right here.

Item! I once played a newsboy in a production of Irwin Shaw’s Bury the Dead. My only line was “Extry, extry, read all about it!”
Delivered with gusto, and a little tweed cap.

I would like to dedicate this list to the hapless intern who could’ve used it.

Approved for nickname clearance:

• Relatives, including and limited to parents, sibling, aunts, uncles, first cousins.
• Anyone who was my doubles partner on the Waterville Senior High tennis team.
• Anyone who contributed to my zine. Oh, and Mike and Trey (who I think just ran ads, but count anyway).
• Anyone who lived on a hill in Worcester between the years 1995 and 1999 AND took classes with my favorite professor OR lived in Hanselman in 1994 or 1995 AND doesn’t suck.
• Anyone with whom I have been in a band (that has played at least one show in public).
• Anyone who has spent more than half an hour on the roof of 510 Clinton St. AND knows at least three people who have been on the lease there.
• Anyone with whom I have spent more than one hour in a coffee shop within the past two years, on more than two occasions.

Not approved for nickname clearance:

• Everyone else.

While I’m at it, NO:

• “Where’s your lamb?”
• “How does your garden grow?”
• Blah blah blah “contrary”
• “Why you buggin’?”
• “Along comes”
• Blah blah blah hyphen confusing wah wah punctuation in name it’s too complicated, little dash-shaped mark, cannot process

YES:

• “It’s a grand old name!”

• The red canvas tote bag someone bought for me on the street outside the Bedford L stop
• Favorite Nivea lip balm
• Six (??) pillows
• Two large, authoritative-looking binders
• Two small, calcified piles of cat vomit hidden behind the furniture
• Three dust- and hair-covered cat toys hidden under the furniture
• An empty cardboard box, a very satisfying size and sturdy too, but no real use for it so in the recycle bin it goes
• A spare inhaler, only just expired and therefore (according to my expert medical opinion) still fine to use
• An ungodly number of pens

• A week-long break from any activities involving typing or thinking or both at the same time
• A burger, medium-rare, with no condiments except charred onions
• Some quality time with the acupuncturist, followed by a nap
• A hovercraft

Meanwhile, here is a picture of my cat pretending to be shy: