Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms.
Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small – and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.
Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one! It got on at 42nd and off at 59th, where, I assume, it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake, as almost all hats are.
It wasn’t… personal.
What is that supposed to mean? I am so sick of that. All that means is that it wasn’t personal to you. But it was personal to me. It’s *personal* to a lot of people. And what’s so wrong with being personal, anyway?
Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.
And of course the line that has become part of the family:
A HOTDOG is singing. You need quiet while a hotdog is singing?!
I love New York City in the autumn. I love the movie You’ve Got Mail, so I’m thinking when C and I travel down in a couple of weeks we should definitely combine the two. I’m thinking the Starbucks for C and the Barnes and Noble for me.