For reasons quite all my own, I do not currently feel like keeping a public journal. As such, and I cannot believe I'm saying this, this is now a "friends only" journal.

If I need a place to say things publicly, I've got options. Right now, this space isn't one of them.

There is a tattoo parlor on 2nd Avenue somewhere below 5th Street that also sells jewelery. Some years back, while Effie was checking out a pair of earrings, I flipped through a book of their drawings and found a snow leopard descending a tree. In thinking about tattoos tonight, I realized what I wanted for my left arm and also realized that this is not the time for it. Ergo, the one I'm getting now goes on my left calf. As I thought that, I remembered the leopard. Et voilà.

First, the Panorama at the Queens Museum of Art may well be the single coolest thing in all of New York City.

Second, even late, these are some damned good brownies.

He's 13.

I bought a bicycle this morning, ready to ride. It's shiny and I like it.

I also bought (finally) a kitchen table, some assembly required. The table is together. The chairs will be done this evening whilst I sit on my ass and watch Firefly with my son.

States Ban Hunting of Live Animals on Internet

At first I thought it was a sloppy headline, fodder for CJR's The Lower case. Go on and click.

If we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams.
-- Yann Martel

I need a new tattoo. I want your suggestions for what it should be. Where will be somewhere on my left arm or on my left calf.

Happy Birthday to slinkr, a few days late because I couldn't go near LJ on her actual birthday.

Happy Birthday to pseudonymous.

And, of course, many happy returns on the day.

Yahoo has this on its home page:



If you don't really care to click, and who can blame you, let me highlight Mike Krumboltz's sage advice:

I don't recommend dining exclusively at chain restaurants, but it's a fact that free refills are as effective an aphrodisiac as oysters.

For the record, the road into my pants does not run through Applebee's.