November 25, 2003, 11:57 p.m.

Strong his arm and keen his scent is.

back & forth

Tonight's veggie cottage pie was a total disaster (lentils should know better than to be crunchy). Attempts to get out of the house and acquire the papers used for sorting pocket change were more successful.

Current guilty pleasures: The Pirates of Penzance. Ah, leave me not to pine always makes me cry. Smuggled smarties straight from the tube. The pilot episode of The X-Files, since MH had never seen it.

Broke though I am, Current Retreat from Punk-Rockitude: I <withering scorn> bought </withering scorn> winter-season cards this year instead of embarrassing myself once again by failing to find time to hand-print and -color in time for the New Year. They are Edward Gorey, at least. Last year (if you remember) I carved my own stamp of a sheep playing an organ (after a Spanish illumination, reproduced in the color section of the medieval volume of Duby's and Ariès's History of Private Life). A SHEEP, kids, playing an ORGAN.

I have been stewing in my own lustful juices since my return to this country. Again goes up the cry to set me up on a blind date. I cast my nets at some far and beautiful men today on Friendster, the which obligingly broke several times today.

This looks like the week I finally join a gym. I received a flier with a special offer on it the other day.