Biscuit: Tasty Doesn't Get You A Date To The Prom

There are so many things I could talk about. My undeclared and unnecessarily lengthy vacation from the world of writing about jack squat is over, and I could talk to you about Christmas, some very positive changes in the workplace, how I have less than two weeks left to write a book about the clap, New Year's, the most adorable children in the cosmos, the nigh-indescribable beauty that is a sleek, black nanopod, or my 10-year high school reunion and how I was the only person there who smokes or drinks.

Those topics, however, would all be interesting, and in lieu of THAT, I am going to discuss the two most uninteresting things ever: other people's dreams, and nose hair.

First, last night I had the longest craziest dream about zombies and how they were everywhere and eating people, and it was honestly absolutely terrifying. Especially when the zombie with a blond pageboy took me down with a kick to my chest and I had to fight my way back out of a heap of ravening fleshmonsters. And the dream kept going and going, even after the snooze alarm. I'd wake up, look around at my room, terrified I would find zombies, not see them, and relievedly lie down again, only to find more zombies inside my head. Note to self: stop dreaming about scary zombies.

Second, why in fucking unholy fucking FUCK did none of my friends tell me about my nose hair issue? Usually I'm very good about keeping that whole nasal area clear, but with one thing and another, holidays, presents, etc., it must have slipped my mind. When I was looking at myself in the mirror this morning, checking out my white beard hair (yeah, I'm getting white beard hair too, in two cute little patches to either side of my chin), I suddenly noticed the obscene forest I've apparently been sporting lately. It took me a good five minutes to get them all out of there. It was horrifying. Genuinely horrifying. I was too embarrassed to look at myself in the mirror. I expect my friends to let me KNOW about this kind of thing. Broccoli in my teeth? Tell me. Big long nose hairs curling from one nostril INTO THE OTHER ONE? PLEASE for the love of all that is good in the world, TELL ME. Note to self: get more mirrors.

Clearly I need more coffee.

As recently as, oh, say, yesterday I was reading about Ariel Sharon's collapse. I try to keep current, try to know what's going on in the world.

Imagine, then, my horror when I saw the headline, "Sharon in ICU after stroke," and god only knows why, but my first fucking thought was, "Sharon Osbourne had a stroke??"

Coffee. And perhaps a steel wire brush to scrub my brain.

You know how it is. You go on a break and then you come back and suddenly ALL THESE THINGS HAPPEN and you're like OOO I'll blog about it. So it is with me.

So: Sleek. Black. Gorgeous. Nanopod.

The first song to play on such a device is a very important decision for a proud new nanodad. It sets the tone for the rest of our relationship, you know? So I thought and thought, and then I realized the perfect solution: I'd let the 'pod decide.

Risky, sure. I mean, what if it had bad taste? What if it picked a boring song? Every time we hung out, I'd be all, oh, ho hum, you're such a boringpod.

So it was with great trepidation that I clicked that shiny little center button and told it to just...just Go. Go forth, play music, and I will trust myself to your high-tech hands. And then the song started.

Material Girl.

SOULMATEPOD.

So let's play a little catchup, shall we?

Step One: Transit Strike. I walked to work and back 5.6 miles each way for Thursday and Friday, after a botched attempt to work from home on Tuesday. I was happy to do it; as I explained to my friends who were apt to call the TWU a bunch of "terrorists," they do a fuck of a lot for this city, and I was happy to do that for them. Most people seemed to disagree with me, which means that most people are cold, calculating, heartless bastards. But I don't have any fun pictures of this, so let's move on.

Step Two: Christmas 2005, back home in the big C-O. I had a ton of fun and bought a bunch of new jackets from the thrift stores there. My niece and nephew continue to be utterly amazing, and little T. S. has the cutest way of shouting my name from across the room and then running over to hug my legs. Mal had actually drawn a life-size picture of me, from lots of tapped-together sheets of paper, before I even got there, and it's hanging up at work. The last batch of photos are blurry on one side where there was a thumbprint on the lens (damn you, digital cameras!), but otherwise they're good. You can see all of the adorability here. I dare you to look through those and not say "Awwww!"

Step Three: My 10-year high school reunion. Pictures for this live here. And yes, these still have that stupid thumbprint. This happened on my last night in town, and I made Danica go as my date. It was tremendously weird, for lots of reasons, among which are a) apparently I was the only attendee who smokes or drinks, although this did lead to a very close relationship with the waitress who would spot me across the room, nod, and then appear at my side a moment later with a vodka tonic on a tray. Also, b) most of my time was spent talking to a guy who hugely intimidated me for most of high school, but all of a sudden he seems tremendously nice and friendly and I have no idea why I was so scared before. Lesson: It's nice to be grown up.

Step Four: New Year's, which happened the night after my reunion, but before any actual sleep occurred, as I basically got on a plane after the reunion, got to New York, and went to a party. I'm wearing one of my new jackets! And yes, at one point Ross is also wearing my new jacket because people go outside and get all cold or some junk, so I let them wear my clothes. I really like that I totally look like a dirty man dancing with Dawn in the last few. We tore up the floor, yo.

And Step Five: Today, when I went to jury duty. It was actually a lot of fun for me, and I really liked the bit about seeing how a courtroom works in real life. Although I have to say I felt REALLY pretentious, waiting for jury duty and reading a biography of Cicero at the same time. I have to go back tomorrow because they haven't finished picking a jury for the case I'm associated with, so they still might pick me, which would be pretty neat. I don't have any pictures of this either, and I'm very disappointed we didn't get to watch the instructional video. There was apparently some sort of technical difficulty, so all I saw was the first few seconds, of a medieval trial-by-ordeal, where actors were trussing someone up to toss them into a lake. It looked really funny, and I'm very sad to have missed it.

There. We're all caught up now. Enjoy.

CUP OF COFFEE + PACKET OF SWISS MISS = GHETTO MOCHA

There's a deli on the corner in Soho where I get my lunchtime panini. Now, despite the fact that it's 4:15 and I'm just now getting lunch, and their panini selection is a little subpar at this hour, I'm really glad I just went.

The radio was just playing "Got To Be Real," by Cheryl Lynn, and I kid you not, the entire line of half a dozen people, plus every single one of the people perusing the drinks case, were tapping their feet and vaguely shifting their weight back and forth, wiggling in that time-honored I'm-not-really-dancing dance. It was all I could do to not burst out laughing, even while I tapped my fingers on the counter. And honestly, it's moments like that where my heart gets all big and I actually have some hope for the future.

'Cause you know that music, makes the people, come together. Or something like that, anyway.