2003-03-07 - 1:13 p.m.

Twenty-seven days, man. That's like almost a whole February. This huge lapse, biggest in my D-land career, I don't really feel guilty about. Work has been awfully awful, and plus I've been doing cool stuff in the paper journal, so I don't care. I still don't write down enough of my BRILLIANT ideas, but the world just might be better off for that.

I'm excited that we can't be more than a month, maybe six weeks, away from the end of what's been like the worstest winter in recent memory. Depressing as all get-out, though I did much enjoy that little President's Day downfall (20 inches) a couple weeks ago. Yesterday's storm, though, was like that drunk guy still raving at the totally over party. Everything moves so slow nowadays: trains, work, people on the streets. The only thing in high-gear is the news cycle.

Did you hear the one about the dude arrested for wearing a "Give Peace a Chance" t-shirt at a mall? This part is almost too unbelievable: he bought the damn shirt at the very same mall. Time and time again, sullen teenagers are proven correct: security guards are fascists, man - and this time, literally so.

Why the hell wasn't the t-shirt store raided by a SWAT team of rent-a-cops? We've got a long way to go before we achieve pure Stalinism. Quit being so half-assed, law-enforcement people!

I really had fun with Neil back in town over his Spring Break last week. New York and Michigan continue to play tug of war over him. I missed a long drunken Friday night of barf-hopping (one-year anniversary with my girl, awww), but I was party to a late late Thursday night at Don Hill's last week and a drunken brunchin' Saturday send-off on the LES.

One-year anniversary! After the two-year, I'm entertaining no more questions about how we met. For reals. If that yarn keeps spinnin' much longer, it's gonna involve three new pick-up lines, an instigatin' hobo, and a near-death subway station collapse.

So Nami and I got tickets to the Streets at Warsaw, less than two weeks away! Whoo! I have to stop listening to that album (so it doesn't start to grate) and then put in in the CD player one more time just before the show. That's my usual method.

I want sunshine this weekend, and at least 50 degrees. As for 50 Cent, girls, DO NOT give him a hug. He's warned you. I'd stay away even if you are into gettin' rubbed. That means you, Sarah. No matter what you think about 50, gotta respect Ghostface and his avant garde-ness for starting the backlash back in late '99 on Supreme Clientele.