Was in the presence of a stunning Latina last night. Staring at her shoulders and back. Also met Fiona Apple. She’s either shy or was averting her eyes from the sight of me, couldn’t tell.

Dude, how many days did you wait until you fired up some porn when you got your HDTV? Tempted to now, but Hilly’s in a Really Bad Mood.

Did I already mention that my advice for Wes Anderson would be to rent Gallipoli before he steals another two hours from my life? See, it’s not only visually beautiful, it’s spiritual, too. Has something to say. Unlike the Darjeeling Limited which looks good here and there but sucks donkey balls.

I’d almost be disappointed if they’re weren’t a lot of racist crackers at NASCAR races in scary ass parts of the South.

You know, you could go purchase some Metamucil of your own right now, much as I’d like to spot ya some of mine.

Damn. Hate having to remember me dancing the night before. Played air guitar and air drums. Feel like a jackass now.

At New York Athletic Club earlier, in this little private room next to the Colonial Room. Think you not only have to be a member but a war veteran to go in there. In the corner by the card table they got pictures of maybe 40 vets on one wall and on the other, a big display of Nazi memorabilia, swastikas—stuff taken from German soldiers, but still weird. No plaque explaining what’s up.

Sure I’d bone Samantha Power if she walked into my room right now with a bong and a fistful of Viagra. Probably bone just about anyone named Samantha.

Hey—no real reason to write “El Ay.” Save yourself some time by writing “L.A.” or even better, “LA.”

Interviewed a Mistress Brie once. Told me she took a dump on a famous rock star at Pandora’s Box. Off the record statute expires after ten years with that kinda stuff.

I once told Sloane right after a normal chat one night that she made me pre-ejaculate in my pants. Other than that, no conflict of interest.

Here’s my attitude since you asked: women get scared and lonely, have needs, issues, feel abandoned and stuff. Daddy and so on. So be nice to em, give em a hug, tell em it’s okay, cheer em up. Sure, fuck with their minds a little—they like it—but then later on give em a nice back massage.

Thinking about changing my name to Firefox. Mozilla Firefox.

Dude, I can’t find Nat’l Geographic Channel.

Boulder sucks. Everyone is perfect there. Perfect hippies, everyone’s cool and groovy and is in great outdoor shape. Hey, we’re going rock climbing, you in? Fuck you, Tripp. And fuck you Sandy, pseudo-communist. Those pics say it all. No way you get to score either of those chicks with the innertubes. Sure, they’ll dance with you at the String Cheese show, but you’ll get nada. Now go whip one up in your tent.

You’re a scallops guy if they’re done right. Like saying you’re not a chocolate chunk or olives guy. But you will eat crabs which are like giant bugs.

Basically you guys have gotten to the point where you can’t live without music. You’re addicts. No music and you’re all sad. I want my music, where’s my music, oh I need my music, my precious music.

Sorry, nothing gay about liking Judy Garland. She’s for everyone. Was James Mason or Gene Kelly gay for being in movies with her? No. Were Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin gay for singing with her? She was a member of the Rat Pack. Takin’ her back from the gays.

Can’t stop watching this. Pretty crazy at the end when they break out the rubberbands: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ce8nfWyX7P4

I think I’d like to ban the use of “mmm-kay” and “for realsy”.

Sick of these puritans, all this schadenfreude. Spitzer was tired of boning his wife or vice versa, he was stressed, needed some, got some—what’s the big deal? What kind of country are we living in? If you had his hectic schedule wouldn’t you like a Penthouse Pet to swing by your hotel room once a month, pay her a grando? For that he has to step down? He got a little addicted to really good quality vagina.

Never knew Ted Turner was that insane. He’s on Charlie Rose.

Agree with you she has aura of 70’s anchor slut. Not so sure she has a big old hairy bush and wears see through underwear. But I’m with you on never listening to a single thing she says, which is good because she’s on CNN. Wonder why she’s got that banana tattoed on her ankle. Any theories?

Feel pretty wise and think I got a solid grasp of reality, good “feel for the moment,” good at reading people’s minds, pretty good at Jeopardy!—but worry I got “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing” going on.

Wait. You think Clinton is a sex addict cause he fucks anything that moves but Spitzer isn’t cause he plans ahead? You may be right, but I think they both got the “me need pussy now” trance.

Woke up this morning feeling GREAT. Practically skipping around the pad. Know why? B12 patch. They cost $29 now.

Almost finished with the regular classic big container of Metamucil which I purchased by accident. Very psyched cause now I can get some Orange Flave. Sure does work too. Whooooshhhh! No grunting.

Dexys were great? Question: When, how did all you come to rediscover Dexys Midnight Runners? Don’t tell me you were saying this 10-20 years ago, cause I never heard you ever even mention the band. What started this? Smell a rat.

Had a better Penthouse Forum-y experience back in ’93. Skinny slutty girl in leather miniskirt on the street, with a sewing machine. Hot. Pass her once, twice. She’s in a phone booth, yells “you douchebag!”, hangs up. I ask her if she needs any help. She’s broke needs $5 for gas. Me, I’m moving out of the Belleclaire hotel down to my friend’s apt on Spring Street. She offers to take all my stuff down there in her car. Ten minutes later we’re in my room screwing. Sudden Penthouse Forum sex is the best, way better than working it in a bar etc. Case closed. Saw her one more time.

Led Zeppelin is masturbation music? That sounds like a declaration of war.

Seriously it’s a basic human need, smooching and boning girls, plural, so go for it. In 50 years scientists will prove it. Another interesting fact: harder to be a vet than a human doc cause you’re dealing with so many different species.

Real fired up that Love Boat’s on netflix finally.

You had me until “soundscape.” And sorry, I usually instant delete e-mails from you with the word “instruments” in there.

Ahhh, finally it’s here, 2 a.m. best time of the day.

Can’t believe I’m 40 and never been with a Penthouse Pet circa ’83 caliber chick. Watch Hampton come in now with, “Oh I have!” No you haven’t.

That’s it, think it’s pretty clear we’re descended from apes.

Question: I always have my cell phone in my right pants pocket. Should I be worrying about sperm count? What about brain cancer?

Are you kidding me? They have bumpers instead of gutters for kids now, at bowling alleys? Why, gutterballs are bad for self-esteem? I’m disgusted by this.

Those B12 patches are only $25 for four now.

Whatcha singing? Looking in full length mirror, strumming tennis racket guitar, dick and balls tucked?

If the Chinese lady who works at the deli knocked on my door right now I’d—no I wouldn’t. She’s probably 50. Looks 46. Had a good two minute convo with her. No idea what she was saying. Something about eggs.

She’s in Milan now. So peaceful and relaxing here. Heaven. Speaking of Woody Allen, do NOT rent 2 Days in Paris. Possibly the worst movie of all time. Makes 2 Girls and a Cup look like Crimes and Misdemeanors.

Was on Bleecker Street, stepped out of Life the nightclub, got some smokes, a girl asked me for directions and four minutes later we were in a basement and she was fellating me. Then we heard voices, got scared, left, said goodbye, and I returned to my date inside the club.

Nope, nothing. Droooop. Too worried about getting dismembered and wrapped up in a rug. And no, this girl I met was not a hooker.

Elizabeth in the A & E Pride definitely in the spank bank. Jane is NOT. Bet that novel has inspired a lot of upper middle class families: Hey let’s be like Pride and Prejudice, we’ll have some excitable brainy daughters, I’ll play the shrill busybody yenta, and you be the knowing, slightly detached, bemused by it all father.

Here’s a pic of Dabney.

Happened again. I’m doing the dishes on a Sunday afternoon—why do I feel so freaking happy for no reason? Oh yeah! Slapped a B12 patch behind my earlobe yesterday.

Spent a few hours last night with a war correspondent who’s been all over the Middle East—Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Afghanistan—since 2002. Turns out we’re winning. Never doubted it a second.

Prolly not so good for your soul to whack it twice a day while watching pornography. Values. Morals. Not good for you. Sinning against yourself and others. Makes the devil happy though.

Mucinex is not a pill form of Metamucil but it does a fine job of expelling phlegm as well as gas and burps.

Just in line at bank, snapped at real estate guy jabbering loudly on his cell. After he started making another call I turned around and asked if I was really gonna have to listen to that one, too. He shrugged, as if to say, Sorry pal, it’s a free country. Then I interpreted the shrug out loud and said: “Oh I see, gonna go ahead and make the call, cause you’re you and we’re in NY and you got this important call? Okay. Pffffft.” Did that a few times. Pretty big guy. Felt safe in there but a little nervous he was gonna be waiting to slug me outside.

Went to a dinner party tonight at a new restaurant, Brasserie Cognac something. Woman down the table making an effort to meet me. Woman next to me hollers “Oh HE’S of no consequence whatsoever!”

Dude the topic was about please and thank you. Can we stick with the fuckin topic? Manners.

I can’t seem to stop eating today: toast and scallion cream cheese, half a bagel and regular cream cheese, honey dew melon and grapes, a dozen pigs in a blanket, chips and hot salsa, ice cream, candy, salad, steak, creamed spinach, popcorn, olives. No booze or smokes and 30 min of sedentary exercise though.

Well, was just doing some screaming in Hilly’s bedroom, the good kind of screaming.

I know it wasn’t like being a POW but I did get urine poured on me out of a Pringles can and was often punched pretty hard in the arm and thighs and verbally harassed and terrorized like everyone else here except YOU—and the lousy fricking loser teachers did nothing. After I got urinated on me, no sympathy, no nothing. And this place was twenty times more expensive than University of Kansas. For what? To learn how to blow pot smoke out the window via a lacrosse stick and get smacked around every time you left your room?

This B12 patch is still working.