So far today:

1. Accidentally peed in home toilet.
2. Some time later, peed in cup for employer drug test.
3. Tracked down woman from OK! Magazine whose package was left at my address in Brooklyn instead of their offices at the same address in Manhattan.
4. Looked at collage of photographs depicting toy figures mid-fornication glued to a "country home"-style painting of flowers and foliage, found in someone's trash near Prospect Park.
5. Nectarine.

There are nervous tics you have that spring into action when you make eye contact or walk into a place you've never been, familiar movements, comforting gestures like checking your watch, cracking a knuckle, tapping out a brief burst of rhythm on your thighs.

Then there are the yawns, the ones that happen when you're about to walk past something you find threatening, something like a group of loud, gravel-voiced men whose attentions could turn on you if shown a sign that you're weak, that their presence affects you. The yawns that say, or really attempt to say, "I have seen this before, and it does not worry me."

And sometimes those fake yawns turn into real yawns, so that the pretty middle-aged woman on the train, the one whose distinct but simultaneous appearances as a mother figure and an attractive older woman intimidate you in equal parts, she notices. You feel like an idiot, having already stretched out your fake-yawn for longer than you should have and now segued seamlessly into the real one. You're forced to go through with it so that this woman assumes you have the kind of mouth that never closes, and you're confused about whether she'd be more likely to say, "I can think of a way to wake you up..." or, "go to bed now, you're getting cranky."

The Art Parade.

I want someone to see I Want Someone to Eat Cheese With with.

**Bug Alert**

WARNING: Firefox may crash if user attempts to search for images related to "flagrant dog shaft".

The Cutting Edge

If you read that title and thought that this post was going to be about me spending some ice time pulling off daring sk8 moves with D.B. Sweeney, you're only half right.

Kseniya just got an e-mail from always-ahead-of-the-curve Lycos [Remember them? They did something Internetty once, right? Something superhighwayish?] with the subject, "What the Heck is an Avatar?"

Lycos. Helping the elderly, a few library-trolling homeless, and our brothers under incarceration to raise their collective Internet knowledge to Somewhere Around 1996.