Look close, because maybe he's a haircutter, like my friend from high school who always had the cops at his door, thinking he was dealing. See, a lot of people came in and out of his apartment.

Well, there's this smell. And mention of joints upon arrival and exiting, such that it is pretty clear. Truth of the matter is, I'm not going to call 911 unless there is an incident or annoyance that I can't ignore and that makes me nervous for my sake. Don't know which apartment. If I knew, I might call in a tip. Don't want that sort of problem around me, that's for sure.

Mind you, in the past month, I've called in 2 domestics. One in my bldg and one a sobbing woman in the parking lot. And according to the arresting officers who came to check out the source of the call (me) both have been justified. It's sketchy. Pisses me off, in any case.

You're a good neighbor.

To be noted (oh man, 1.5 scotch is hitting now) I'm abstractly not opposed to pot. Personally, sure, due to personal experiences with folk. It won't happen in my house. I just don't appreciate my neighborhood turning into an illicit market. Around here, that breeds problems.

I went to the chiropractor, and now feel all unadjusted, even though I think it's just me.

The Colbert Nation website has Colbert/O'Reilly slash fanfic!

I have now lost count of the number of times I've said, "Just when I thought I couldn't love Stephen Colbert any more..."

I'm not vacating. I'm hosting family. It's a whole different vibe. Ah well, at least I'll get to see vacating types.

It's funny how much Franny is looking forward to seeing her cousins and vice versa. I forgot what that was like, that kid thing where vacation time is the best time there is.

When things look bleak, women buy shoes.

D'uh!

Great reading for first thing in the morning: My life as a Penguin:

By now the penguins have gathered round the bucket and a few have wandered over to size me up. They stare, they circle, they stretch their necks. "The neck-stretch thing is: 'I just don't know what to make of you,'" says Rowell. Occasionally one will tilt back its head and bray like a donkey. One of the small Africans leans in and tugs on my trouserleg with his beak. Two others take turns pecking my right shoe. A fourth penguin ducks under my arm and tries to take my pen. Penguins have an insatiable curiosity which, when you are its subject, borders on harassment. It's like being threatened by a gang of eight-year-olds.

Oh, Theo, that article is fantastic. And I'm so desperately tempted to take this as a tagline:

Barring a last-minute monkey uprising, 2005 looks set to be the year of the penguin.

except that (a) my present tagline is still all new and shiny, and (b) I feel honor-bound to defer to the true penguin people and concede it to either billytea or DX.