It's not that she didn't know, it's that the 1300 women in CT/Manhattan and the couple of gay guys are the only ones with any independent reality in her mind. They're the ones who matter. Why would you stop to consider the reaction of people who aren't real?

I've kind of started forgetting to check my mail at all

I managed once to get mine so jammed up that my mailbox couldn't be opened individually--the postal service person had to open the whole thing and take my mail out for me. So I'm better about it now. That was shameful.

I am embarrassed by how much I've allowed my mail to pile up. Part of the problem is that I have a huge mailbox, so there are no immediate consequences for not dealing with it right away, and when it does become something I have to deal with, it's an overwhelming amount of paper to sort through in one sitting.Y'all have inspired me, that will be my project this week, taming that mess.

I occasionally forget to check my mail for long enough that friends and family "remind me" to go look.

I suspect they do this for the comedy gold that is me receiving a totally anonymous package with two small fire extinguishers wrapped in bubble wrap.

Took a wrong turn running some errands, then decided to just keep going and make a u-turn in one of the parking lots at the intersection rather than someones driveway. Then I watched about five cars pass this limping dog and I pulled over. Poor doggie was an easy catch, and must have been out for days if not longer, it's fur was absolutely muddy and full of mats. Thankfully a woman pulled over behind me and called the police, because I doubt I could have held onto the dog (about the size of a lab with long blonde fur) while I got my phone. No tags, but hopefully it was lost and not abandoned. Real sweety, too.

Spent the weekend with my sisters. WE talked a lot about food -- while eating lots of food.

I've been reading through mark bittman's blog on the NYT . Can I take this week off to play in the kitchen?

Since 95% of my bills come via mail, and I now have a mail slot in the door, I can't imagine not dealing with the mail.

Doesn't mean my desk isn't a gawdawful mess, though.

How can wilson honestly write a column for the Times and say that she expects her article to be 1,300 women in Connecticut and Manhattan, plus "a couple of gay guys"? WTF?

The whole thing completely weirds me out--I actually knew her slightly many, many billions of years ago when she was that local girl who was writing something for Liquid Television; I acted in the ensemble cast of an interactive theater piece she wrote that was basically Freaks and Geeks turned up to 11 (except for the whole part where F&G didn't even exist yet--hell, My So-Called Life hadn't even aired yet because at that point they were dithering between Claire Danes and Alicia Silverstone as Angela).

She wrote four or five plays that did modestly well locally before leaving for LA and then NYC, all about serious social misfits and all deeply weird and obscene and snarky and oddly compassionate.

The year I did the one play, I ended up going to a Thanksgiving Day picnic out on the Marin headlands with her family and a bunch of other actors and crew members who had issues with their birth families, and it was odd and lovely.

I wish she'd stayed in San Francisco and been content to be a local micro-celebrity; her NYC persona has felt for years like this glittery, brittle, low-rent Camille Paglia parody of all the shallowest, snarkiest bits of her, and all her really likable and endearing qualities are just buried.

Of course, I only knew her slightly (though, during that one play, it was five-hours-a-day-six-days-a-week intense) for a short time and only had a couple of friends in common with her, so grain of salt and all that.

So she went sort of mary ann ( from tales of the city). I'm sorry to hear that.

I've never gone back to re-read the Tales series, despite my love of Mouse and desire to go back and spend more time with him, because the end of Mary Ann depressed me so deeply.