Friday, October 15, 2004


My current social life consists of a series of phone numbers and enigmatic subway directions and addresses written on the corners torn from mead notebook pages. Each piece, unique as a snowflake, is as fragile as one, whether jammed in my pocket or held in my hand, threatens to flutter away with the wind at any moment, taking all my interpersonal relationships with them. If pieced together correctly, and combined with just the right amount of charm and amiability, those scraps of paper could be a treasure map, leading me to an island brimming with good times and substantial interactions. So what’ll it be? A flurry of snow or the discovery of pirate booty? Cast your votes now. While I wait, I’ll ride the elevator back and forth to the 9th floor with an unintelligible British man and the Mod Squad x 10 and keep on wondering if there’s a difference between someone being tragic and someone being a tragedy. (I suspect there is).

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