Of little importance.

Recent Developments:

• Old people backed into my car yesterday, and let me tell you, the old are just as untrustworthy as anyone else. They insist that the nice new bumper-exposing dent in the back of my car was not possibly made by them--despite how fucking hard their huge Oldsmobile may have smacked my car, also despite the fact that the would be backing up on a downward slope, they insist their bumper is too high to hit where it hit. Whatever. They will die soon. And I know that I was a Good Person. I also know they are assholes because they did not even go to check out my car when they hit it, nor did they leave me a note. I repeat that they will die soon. And I am the Bigger Man, though the Sicilian in me wishes them 4 flat tires in the middle of a crowded intersection.
• Vagilogue time draws near. I have so much shit to print.
• Overabundance of work, mere pittance of sleep.
• I hate Ezra Pound. I thought I liked him, but then I read some of the Cantos and decided that, not only is he a total fascist (which we all knew), but that he is also an elitist dick. Yes, switching languages and writing systems in the middle of a poem is kind of cool and interesting, but continually making highbrow references that do not further the message or the content is not cool. I refuse to forgive him, even though he begs me to do so in one of his dying Cantos. It is cool, however, that his middle name is Loomis.
• We have found an apartment! Off-street parking, gated pool, spacious everything, new floors and new plumbing, $380 a month for five people once Heather returns from Japan, and $475 until then--utilities included. I am so grown up.
• I met my idol from musicals of the 1940's on Friday night, and she is still just as funny and talented as she was then. Oh, Betty Garrett, how I love thee.