the one where larry david picks up a hooker to legally enter the h.o.v. lane.

must get off the sugar. must get off the sweet, sweet, white lady.

was going to hit up the chelsea hotel this evening for a gentleman's 30th birthday party, but decided that going home and having lentil soup would be a better evening spent--until, that is, my brother called and wanted to have drinks in the east village, and who am i to deny my brother my company? after a few bacardi drinks, i ventured home, spoke to kate moss, made myself a bowl of oatmeal with a variety of sugars swirled in, and now i'm ready to tackle this week's edition of the new yorker.

to say that i am excited about scarnsworth's upcoming visit to our lovely city would be an understatement.

already thinking about s.m.'s trip up here; please also give props to my girl for turning the ripe age of 29 in 25 minutes.

can't get "six feet under" out of my head--the characters have become like friends in my life. this is what i get for netflixing the entire series and watching it incessantly.

thursday? dinner in the park to commemorate the autumnal equinox. i so prefer "autumn" to "fall."