Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

Mom, Dad, Tom and I roundtable Mom's declaration: "Dad has the clap?" "Yes." "No I don't have the clap." "He sleeps on his back with shorts on and he's going like this, clap clap clap, with his legs. It's really loud." "Your mother exaggerates. I was just dehydrated." "Maybe duct tape some throw pillows to his knees." "You could just duct tape my legs together." "That would be easier. Except when you have to get up to go to the bathroom." "He can just hop like a frog." "If Dad puts cymbals between his knees he can join a monkey brass band."

Attended a one-man-show called "Hoaxocaust" last night. I'm glad I went; the production, hopefully a work-in-progress, has given me cause to limber up my floppy brain cells. Although probably not in the way that the playwright intended. The whole affair was a fiesta of cognitive dissonance. Let's start with two statements made by the production team in a Q&A after the performance: 1)  The play was written in part to highlight that only a paltry few know enough facts to successfully argue the holocaust happened. 2) The play's holocaust content is tailored for a "graduate-level" audience— who presumably know enough facts to successfully argue the holocaust happened Thus, we can conclude: The target audience of this play is those paltry few. So there is a rather obvious problem with the producer's stated goal: "We are hoping to show this play to a broad audience." But here's the more important oxymoron: If I...

There are two gigantic problems with this sms I just got from my mother, and I'm not even counting that she always signs her texts. 1) Ruthless and brazen newsflash! She has been selling my historic mementos and possibly treasured personal effects. 2) Her advertisement describes attire I wore at one point in my life as "vintage." Vintage? I just graduated from high school a couple years ago, give or take twenty!!!! And here's one more thing I just thought of: 3) She wrapped up a big box of my old track and cross country trophies and gave them to me for Christmas. Now I know why: She couldn't sell them, probably even after substantial mark down.