2002-05-03 - 2:02 p.m.

I fear that if I buy peanut butter from the supermarche a couple office doors away, I will eat it with a plastic spoon and a sloppy passion* until it is no more. And that would be bad. But I really want a PBJ sammy today for lunch. So what's a boy to do? I'm sure there's a restaurant in Chelsea that has eight different types of gourmet (I won't even expend the energy to put the requisite doubt-casting quotes around that last word) peanut butter & jelly on the menu, but that's not what I'm looking for.

I'm wearing this teched-out, black Ace neoprene brace on my wrist to keep me from being such a limpwrist. It's a real problem. Nah, I just have repetitive stress syndrome from mousin' (or so I've diagnosed). It seems to be working. Plus it looks good with my Levi's jacket as I hold the rail to keep my balance on the train.

Not much else to say, I guess. Oh well. Shorty entry today.

Happy birthday, Annie!

*This prepositional phrase was roundly dismissed by my creative writing teacher junior year of college as "purple prose." I was describing a homeless man eating eggs on the scram. I didn't like this teacher. She didn't like what I wrote. But neither did I, so at least we agreed on something.