Five minutes of channel surfing yields lifetime of knowledge:

1) Evolution fails. (Hey there, Suzanne Somers!)

2) Whores are poignant. (Photogenic, too, when secondary characters on single-camera dramas.)

Back to work.

This is so stupid.

I'm watching CNN's coverage of Bill Clinton's speech in California. Ostensibly, he's spearheading the anti-recall movement and campaigning for Gray Davis.

But he's riffing on the American dream, and how America will one day have a Hispanic female President, and he thinks it will be the girl behind him on the podium whose hand he just shook, and how all of us need to believe that we're smarter than we think we are, and that we can accomplish anything we set our minds to if we're diligent and pursue education, and how his life has completely defied expectations, and--god help me--I miss him *so* much.

I'm not naive. I voted for him twice and supported him during the impeachment and defended him at dinner parties, but I know he's megomaniacal and his own worst enemy. Damn it, I read Christopher Hitchens' scathing polemic, "No One Left To Lie To: The Values of the Worst Family", (Amazon.com: Books: No One Left To Lie To: The Values of the Worst Family) and agreed with large chunks of it.

That being said, I would have voted for him again: Clinton is a gifted intellectual, extraordinarily empathetic, and--oh, fuck it. This is the same debate that's raged for the past twelve years, and I've got errands to run.

Right now, though, I feel like an old friend just called me from out of the blue, and that I didn't realize how much I missed him until I heard his voice.

My brother will (try to) kick my ass for that one. Hit me with your best shot, baby bro.

Today I felt guilty that I didn't feel more.

I transcribed my Augusten Burroughs interview. (Details next time, but he's reflexively articulate and funnier than hell.)

I went to physical therapy.

I ran errands with my dad.

I--finally!--posted my online personal ad, god help us all.

I felt a quiet, dull ache, or maybe it was numbness, but the anticipated sobs never came, even as I watched children read the names of their dead parents.

I think this is because I contemplate September 11th's ramifications all of the time, regardless of the date.

And maybe, like most of the country, I'm finding a way to turn the page.

I don't agree with all of it, but today's most salient point goes to Christopher Hitchens:

Don't Commemorate Sept. 11 - Fewer flags, please, and more grit. By Christopher Hitchens

Good night and God bless.

725 Days Later:

I don't believe in nostalgia, but right now, part of me would give anything to discover that the past two years have been an ether-induced cold bloody dream.

Write here, write now:

1) Found out today that I'm going to be writing a column for digittante.com:
| d i g i t t a n t e | get right by art |

2) Am still trying to hammer out details re my Augusten B./ Bookslut interview. Was stressing a bit, until I remembered that I went through the same thing --phone tag and scheduling conflicts--when I set up my Sherman Alexie interview for MovieMaker, yet the actual interview was so much freaking fun:

MovieMaker Magazine | The Business of Breaking Down Barriers

3) Have successfully resisted tonight's random craving for blueberry pancakes. I am a golden god!

G'night!

Awesomeness!

I'm punchy right now, but giddy as an eight year old on the last day of school: I'm going to interview Augusten Burroughs (# 1 Bestselling author AUGUSTEN BURROUGHS) later this week for Bookslut.

I'm such a cheeseball sometimes, but I don't care: I love this stuff.