assuming I ever do anything that anyone wants to reflect on but me and a few intimates

You mean, unlike fucking Nicole Richie, who was just paid a metric shitload of money for her novel? Which, if the first few pages are anything to go by, ought to be called "Swill" or "Birdcage Liner"?

Who has done dick, nada, bupkis, but was paid to produce this, on no better basis than the fact that she's Paris Hilton's chewtoy?

Possibly we both underestimate the interest in Ms. Hilton's sock drawer, Deb. And yeah, she's stupid and too young to have anything to look back at. But she knows famous folks, which I don't.

The part that is relevant to you is that probably you let things go more than I do

I really don't. I am starting to learn how to though. Mainly because I am sick of giving the people who point, stare, and say stupid things control over how I live my life. But, I remember too much, I keep things that people say with me for years, and I let them haunt me.

And that maybe I ought to call my EXTREMELY hypothetical memoir "What's Wrong With You?"

I want to read it, and (I have said this before) I think it needs to be written from your unique perspective. Because I am fucking sick of "inspirational" stories.

The most disgusting thing about the Nicole Ritchie book is that people will buy it. Or at least the publishers think people will. Sadly, I don't believe they're wrong. This country is celebrity-obsessed, with the idea of celebrity itself, not even with whatever questionable achievements thrust said celeb into the spotlight.

Like this is news, I know. But there it is.

erika, that was a fabulous drabble, by the way. I'm going back to read everyone else's...

John Wayne Gacy: Somehow I missed that Nicole wrote a novel instead of an account of growing up with her dad or something, which might have a minor interest.In which case what has her name to do with anything? I guess I'm still waiting to see what happens before writing about my life, in any case. So far...I don't really think there's more than what you've all seen.

Nicole Richie wrote a novel? I can believe she wrote around her navel with henna, maybe.

Another drabble, I'm minorly inspired today.

Street Smarts

It was a new word everyday. The Company Commander posted it on the whiteboard and we wrote it in the back of our spiral notebooks. If they stopped you on the street, asked to see your notebook and it wasn’t written there, they pulled a “streetmark” (new word, just for bootcamp) out of the back of your notebook. Once you lost all five of your streetmarks, it meant a trip to MT—Motivational Training: running in circles, carrying rifles over your head. Very quickly, you realized translating the words wasn’t what it was all about, it was all about behavior.

Oh, very nice, Sail.

Thanks, Anne!

Drabble:

My classmate Rajan spoke English better than I did, but it wasn't his first language, and idioms often puzzled him. Once, he was nominated to be the one to persuade our teacher to postpone a test from Friday to Monday.

"He'll never agree."

"Sure he will. He likes you. Butter him up."

"What?"

"Butter him up."

Rajan's face was interesting to watch as he struggled to fit words to context.

"That's what you call being friendly and persuasive, asking nicely? 'Butter him up'?"

"Yes."

"Makhan lagao. Do I have that right? Is that what you mean? Really?"

"Yes."

"That's disgusting."

(laughing like a drain)