It’s been 14 years since I started polishing the chains of the patriarchy by taking up shaving again (after a six-year boycott that really pleased my parents and my myriad backwoods dating prospects, I should add) and to this day I’m still no good at it. I use those supposedly foolproof ergonomic rubbery pink kind with the guards and I still end up gouging myself every time. The women in the commercials make it look like they’re doing ballet and when I do it I look like a monkey washing a cat.

I just came up with an awesome idea for a rom-com: Jennifer Anniston goes out on a blind date with some A-list actor (Gerard Butler? Is he passe?). They have a great time and go back to his place and when she goes to use his bathroom she steps into a time-space vortex and is transported 30 years in the future where she finds that they’re married and also that he’s a reincarnation of Hitler. So then she travels back in time to the present and has to decide whether she should kill him or not. But first she needs him to get her pregnant. It’s going to be called One Crazy Night.

Finally, I was walking up Broadway this morning and saw this guy walking down the sidewalk who was either shouting a lengthy insult at someone or proselytizing crazy stuff like “FAGGOT COCKSUCKER grar grar grar JESUS grar grar grar GET YOU” etc. And in the middle of his oration he stops, fishes an envelope out of his pocket, drops it in the mailbox, opens the door again just to check to make sure the letter went in, and then continues shouting GRAR GRAR GRAR and walking down the street. I don’t have much to say about this apart from wondering how it is that crazy people can remember to mail their rent checks and I can’t.

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