n lieu of any actual narrative, here is a short list of things that make me sad: Tan pantyhose. Air freshener. Old people eating alone. The verb “to blog.” Firecrackers that fizzle, and so nobody claps or—worse—people actually boo, which makes me feel terrible for the firecracker, because the poor guy had one shot (that’s it!) to dazzle and amaze us with his explosive beauty and he failed at it, and while this is somewhat crazy it has dampened every Fourth of July I can remember. Mirrors. MySpace. Bookstore bargain bins. Misspellings. Tara Reid.

And, for balance, a short list of things that make me happy: To-do lists. A-line skirts. Diet Dr Pepper. Kitty cats and puppy dogs and baby seals and all that shit. A nice, thick steak. Cilantro. Key changes in power ballads. Button-down shirts with stripes. Gauzy skirts with polka dots. Bike rides. Fudgsicles. Peanut butter and honey on toast. Salmon sushi. Hmm, I could keep going, but I’m getting hungry. Then again, goodbyes make me sad. How do we reconcile this? Ah, yes, intrigue:

To be continued?...