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MONDAY, 1 MAY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA |
My Secret Pokémon Power is that I write HTML using SimpleText. Suck my code, you GUI-hooked amateurs.Gads, but do I feel like Sally Field at the Oscars? I downshift my prolific, oft-times pointless diary thing and I am bombarded by two things. Bombardment #1: Hundreds, if not dozens of emails from readers all about the globe asking after my health, and would I kindly make a speedy recovery at least to the point where I can write again. This makes me feel all oogalee-woogalee inside. Mygod, y’all actually wait for this crap? For heaven’s sake! It’s spring! Go outside and play in the sprinklers or something! Make your life more exciting than mine, for the love of Mike. G’head. I dare yaz. It’s as easy as taking off your clothes and rolling in the grass. Just make sure you have a friend to help you find tics when the fun is over. For the record: I have not been ill. I have not been abducted by aliens, kidnappers or dominatrices. I did not lose the use of my fingers in a freak baking accident. And, for better or worse, I have no plans to stop writing all my most innnntimate thoughts here for a bunch o’ whacked-out strangers to read quasi-daily. In the words of the immortal Sandra Bernhard, “Without You I’m Nothing.” I have had a houseguest. My dear, dear, dear ole chum from my San Francisco years, the Divine Miss W., whom I just plunked onto a plane at PHL about an hour ago to send her back to the Wrong Coast. It has been a long weekend indeed full o’ gardening, drinking, chatting, drinking, dining, the shopping, drinking, to do the shopping more, cavorting, laughing, drinking and having cocktails too. Miss W. is a counselor for Catholic school lesbians in California, and as such, she has a knack for delving past image and imagery and getting right to the meat of things in an alarmingly direct and time-saving fashion. “You’re right at the meat of things. You stay there baby. You stay right at the meat of things.” —Who’s Afraid of Virginia WoolfAs such, I tremendously enjoy very a lot siccing her on ladies and gentlemen of my acquaintance with these instructions: “Find the deepdarksecret and bring it to the surface.” Fortunately or un-, I don’t know many people in Philadelphia whose lives I wish to turn upside down by having Miss W. point out a few ugly truths about themselves to themselves. So she only practiced “white magick” over the last four days, sweet doll that she is. The best society of Philadelphia is in her debt. Did I mention we went the shopping? Oh yah. Well, new shoes make me very excited, okay? Bombardment #2: I have received — from three different readers no less — Q-Tips, in response to my weak rant about them the other day. I am so touched. Got the third box of Q-Tips mailed to me today wrapped in lovely tissue paper and ribbons from a dear reader in Florida. WWSFD? (WHAT WOULD SALLY FIELD DO?) Of course, if y’all are going to be so thoughtful as to respond so dynamically to everything I write in these pages, then I’m going to have to be more careful about what I say. I mean, Q-Tips are great n’ all — I’m certainly going to have the cleanest ears on the block for some time now — but I can think of more useful things… Where IS that $50 bill I had on this dresser the other day? Hmm. I seem to have lost it. Damn and blast. I really needed that $50 bill, too. Where can that $50 bill have got to? At. (Now, see, if each of my loyal readers each sends me $50 each because of the above passive-agressive whine, I’ll have around $100 (±) ! And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s this: Time does not equal money. Cash equals money.)So I apologise for not being my usual prolix, brilliant self for the last week or so. My darling houseguest is departed, leaving me nothing to do now but whack off at the computer again, so y’all shall be appeased. Tomorrow, it’s back to the grind. And everyone’s invited! 
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