"are you allowed to intermingle within a star sign? you know what i mean--if you're an aries, are you allowed to date an aries?"

"i think so. i guess i used to date another pisces."

"how was that?"

"it was one huge emotional train wreck."

"see? yes, there must be a rule."

how shall i grade myself this christmas? you have to buy people presents--like it or not, whether the true meaning is to be together or not, you have to try, and think about someone: what would they like, how do you get them something nice without contributing to the mountain of crap that they already own? you know it when you came up with something good. it's small, it's simple, and it's elegantly perfect.

i didn't do so good this year, and here's how i know why: everything i got people seems pretty cool to me. i wouldn't mind having any of it. ah, and there is the problem! josh, you did it this year; you got people things you'd like to get yourself! i was shopping last minute, and i found myself in a bookstore, and i thought, "why not just do it all right here in this store? everyone likes books." well, yes and no everyone likes books. but it's done. i done it.

i knew it when my dad was looking through in the shadow of no towers, which i figured was interesting, topical, and weird enough to occupy him. he became obsessed with a drawing on the second or third page, of dick cheney riding on the back of a bald eagle like an airplane, slitting the eagle's throat with a boxcutter. in uncharacteristic fashion he kept looking at it, and then took it around the room to show everyone. "look at this picture. and he's killing it." this was disapproval. i didn't think.

me, i'm not big on gifts for me. but everyone says that, don't they?

so, if i'm being selfish, i might as well be childish, too, and present here my wish list. dear santa, if you have any pull with The Flaming Lips, Belle & Sebastian, Interpol, Camera Obscura, or The Weakerthans, i would very much like to see these bands play live in 2005. new york city is the place. i have mostly been a good boy all year.

tomorrow, on new year's eve, i shall take care of the flaming lips. santa is coming through already! santa, you awesome red whore for attention, i know you'll do right by me. and remember, i don't want any of that junk you'd like to get.

so i understand that the spin doctors have found a way to divide us with christmas. the "news" tells me so. oh what, you write x-mas?--it's your kind that are ruining our world--out of my sight, i cannot stand you!

anyway, i find it appropriate, sitting here on christmas with the whole entire extended family all around me talking, that i am typing something. it's okay; it has no hidden meaning. they do not have a dependence on the in!-ter!-net! like yours truly. they're talking about "cougar basketball." i don't know anything about the cougars, or their basketball, but it makes me happy to listen to it--unfortunately though, i don't have a contribution to make. but it still makes me happy.

my report from "here" is as follows: in ohio, there is much snow. and in indiana there is also much snow. the difference is that in ohio they plow it away. i am not sure why they don't seem to do that in indiana. just different states, and different personalities, i suppose. either way is fine. plow it, you can drive. don't plow it, hey it can be pretty. s'okay.

happy holidays to all the little osmiums and iridiums and rutheniums of the world. many hugs. be well.

to finish up everything before i'm out of new york for the holiday, i stayed up all night dotting i's and crossing t's and massaging 6's and 7's. as i was skulking around the subway station this morning at about eleven, going home, i was thinking about how when you stay awake all night, the next day you feel like a separate creature that belongs somehow to the previous day, and that this new dreamlike day doesn't quite exist, and you feel like you have secret knowledge over all the rest of the world. it's like, here i am, a ghost, and you people can only see part of me.

ever have an experience like this? i was just at the grocery picking up a few things. (like something more than just beer, i promise.) i went to get special k, and there's this woman featured on the box, and there's pink writing all over it, and the edges of the box are pinkish, and they're giving away a pen if you send in the proof-of-purchase and i swear the pen looks kind of like a tampon. and i thought, am i a pussy just because i like special k?

went to see ted leo and the pharmacists last night at bowery ballroom. after the show we were having one for the road, and ted leo was standing next to us talking to some friends.

the show had run pretty late, and the staff was getting ready to close up. the lights over the tables went out, giving everyone the universal signal to go home, and the really big bouncer guy came over by us and said, "we're closing," using his big self to urge us towards the door. ted leo said, very earnestly, "oh hold on one second," and then turned to his friend and said, "are you going to be here tomorrow?"

the bouncer keeps moving us to the door and says again, "we're closed. good-night." ted tells his friend, "i'll see you tomorrow," and pretty soon we're all out on the sidewalk, headed home.

i like that we got kicked out with ted leo.

for the past week or two, we have been staying in a temporary apartment, about which i have complicated mixed feelings. (ah, who am i kidding? i hate it like i hate the hiccups.)

as we move out, i present the view, with the N going by for good measure.

today is the office christmas party. the miscreants in charge of it have sent every uncomfortable signal possible that it is to be an in-and-out affair. they inform you they won't be providing any booze, for some B-movie-quality reason like "um, i think someone stole some last year," and then they move the starting time from a friendly 4pm to aw hell with it noon.

such a profound misunderstanding of human nature. i mean, i am slave labor and really cannot be fired, and the prospect of getting drunk at noon at work in front of the boss is really the only thought that could get me out of bed this morning. merry christmas to all, and a happy hanukkah as well.

the only problem is, where am i gonna get green label jack daniels in new york city?

welcome to the poorly-written post surrounding the pictures from the trip to new orleans. we were there for a week around thanksgiving, and got back last monday.


me, walking down the path

how fast can one's blood thin? well, it can thin in a couple hours on the airplane, which i had originally thought was impossible. leaving new york, it had been unseasonably warm, perhaps in the sixties, and i'd been perfectly happy with this. upon arriving in louisiana, i found it to be cool, perhaps in the sixties, and i spent much time grumbling about when it was going to warm up, or the wind was going to stop blowing.


the saturn bar

most time was spent pretending to live there again, which involved returning to the friday night tradition of touring the unparalleled dive bars of the city with roy. only now ms. mia gets to go along, rather than hearing about it via a three-hour phone call the next day.

all such tours must involve the saturn bar, a st. claude avenue institution of unassailable credentials. since being there a year and a half ago, i found the cat population in the bar to have increased five-fold. when asked about it, the proprietor said he thinks he's blocked off the hole they're coming in through. see, doesn't that sound like a perfect bar?


tollbooths for the pontchartrain causeway

selected as the required tourist bit, we visited the plantations west of the city in st. james parish. i thought laura was well kept and classy, with a good tour. there was a dignified history lesson, the tour guide wore regular clothes, and no one said "naw'lins" even once. if you are not the type to visit disney world, and you want to go to a plantation, then please go to this one. and they need it because the house burned earlier in the year. of all the ones that could burn, why this one?

by contrast, oak alley is beautiful but unfortunately ruined by the kitchy gift-shoppy atmosphere. if you wondered where the shorts and fanny-packs were during the laura tour, well here they are. but like i said, the house is beautiful.

but that was our only tour-stuff. i sometimes really miss new orleans, and i tried to do all the little things that i occasionally wish i could these days. like go watch the turtles sun themselves in the park. or go see my old house. or even visit the internet cafe where i used to write to mia. nothing big. little things.


after the thanksgiving day race in new orleans, beer

but i have one final thing to report. perhaps the most amazing thing of all was this: after running a five-mile race in new orleans you get beer. in new york you get water and a banana. in new orleans you get beer. i cannot emphasize this enough--you get beer. in new york, the race starts on time, and people with bullhorns yell at you if you get out of your designated area, and in new orleans if you show up on time you are literally, very literally, the only person there. like, no sign-up, no tables, no starting line.

and you get beer.

ever read back in a notebook you jotted something in a long time ago? i just found this, that i wrote sometime:

special men with eyes--yes eyes--look around the doorway at me. they say hiiiii. green lights are going. i push some buttons and say i'm ready.

what the fuck was i talking about?

tonight i heard joy division on a jukebox. and yes, sad though it is, i am excited enough about that to have nothing more to say.

for thanksgiving, ms. mia and i flew to new orleans for the week. like many people, i am not the world's greatest flier. living in new york, however, has the advantage of a direct jetblue flight to new orleans from jfk, and jetblue, as you may know, offers complimentary inflight televised morphine in the form of VH1-classic.

so i would personally like to thank the ramones, i would like to thank the clash, i would like to thank the sunglasses at night guy. i would like to thank david bowie, joan jett, and the grateful dead. and especially i would like to thank mick and keith for being nice enough to sing "mixed emotions" while landing at new orleans international. it just wouldn't be the same without you guys. you're swell.