dickie

If tomorrow (by which I mean the 2nd of April in the Sun) you are overrun by stinky zombies, I apologize. But this will mean that my mathematical voodoo curse has been such a smashing success that the living will, for once, feed on the flesh of the undead (all the while jamming line integrals into said zombies' brains).

Good Luck!

The demon behind me has taken the form of a vertical line.

It's rare for a wonderful idea to crystallize at the bar.

It's rare for elegance to take the stage in spontaneity.

It's rare for everything to fall into place,

for a nickel to fall stock still on edge,

and delightful.

But I could've sworn it was true yesterday. Dammit.

Apparently I'm watching Ghost Dad on the Uptown Movie Network, home of the hottest urban movies out there.

Tonight's fortune cookie reads:

Striving for the best will bring you loser to the best.

You'll likely notice the mistake. Of course, the correction reads

Striving for the best will bring you, loser, to the best.

My niece Lucy is walking (she's a little kid)!

Addendum and Corrigendum: "dickie's life." It's bad enough that the woman at the gas station called me a regular, and referred to the beer as my "usual six-pack," but it's another thing to realize that she's the woman—who works at the barbecue—that I have a crush on, and that the thrill is gone.

If we learn anything from Bad Lieutenant, we should learn

a) That miracles do happen in baseball.

and

b) "YOU RAT FUCK! . . . WHERE WERE YOU?!"

This poor woman I know somehow manages to say the most inappropriate things. Today she asked how my break was. I said, "okay. How was yours?" Then she said something else and then "too many parents." I didn't have the heart to tell her that that was fucking horrible.

They installed an icecream vending machine at work!

It's got a window and everything. A vacuum hose picks up the icecream!

50,000 confirmed.