Call it the mile high and middle of America post.

Wow it feels like it has been a while, busy last few days. Right now I am trying to answer the question that Biggie keeps spitting at me; “What’s beef?” Apparently I should be watching a videotape of my favorite CBS shows. Let me explain two interrelated things. First, I prefer writing at you than some communal television—I think that this is well documented. Secondly, I don’t have any favorite shows on CBS.

I can’t wait to get to Dallas—why? So I can leave. I really am not all that found of the TX or the TXns for that matter. You can call it Regional Racism if you must—some do.

The bottom line is that I should be reading pages upon pages of first amendment cases now. I cannot just seem to get motivated though; that and I lost the cap to my high-liter. It is made by Bick, you know.

I need about 20 new CD’s. If you want to contribute to the fund to me purchasing more music,, please contact me directly via that Bell guy’s invention—as of two days ago I am now officially homeless. I have no address. I have no place to call my own. I am a wanderer sans direction, floating along the nimbus clouds of shelters and soup kitchens. I spend my days hording blankets for the coming winter months and taking advantage of public toilets for a warm summer shower in the sink. Children cringe at my appearance and respectable ladies want nothing to do with my forlorn existence. I was once a first rate food addict, a connoisseur of all kinds of gastronomical delights. I am now the gastronome of the gutter and garbage heap.

But I fear not for the future is with me. My mockudrama does have an ending that is already written. The problem with the ending is the terror. It is always the goddamn terror these days. I now digress from my normally nonsensical musings.

So yesterday I wake up around 1 and hear cheers and other assorted sounds of raucous. I can’t tell you how unalarmed I was. Remind me to tell you the story about the suicide lightning. Anyways, I turn on the TV when I realize that the glorious racket is that of the NYC bicycle races. I know full well that the start finish line is only two blocks east, but I am in a borrowed apartment,, one that has a TV, so I turn on the TV. This was a mistake for the simple fact that I didn’t get off the couch for the next 5 hours or so.

Back to the race, I am watching it with a mild attentiveness until it gets closer to the finish. So, the finish is nearing and then the coverage cuts away to my man, Tom Ridge, master of the terror alerts. Surprise, surprise—the terrorists are coming, everybody grab your musket (pardon the double entendre/phallical euphemism.) This is of course the first time the terror system has been used as such with a specific areas raised and others not. Here comes the flight cowtendant. The big surprise is that the terrorists want to blow up the NYSE. NO SHIT!! Well at least now we know—I have no idea why that would be a target but I can tell you that I am none to pleased with it, considering it’s stone throw proximity to my apartment.

I have decided that I am going to fight the terrorists. I will…become…a…superhero. For confidentiality reasons I am not unable to reveal my identity to you, unless of course we become secret lovers.