So I have been out of touch, or at least not blogging. Yesterday I spent working out by jogging and reading in the park, Werther, mostly, which was perhaps appropriate given the perfectly cloudless skies and light breeze, sunlight lightly diffused for the right unsweaty warmth, and kites being ineptly flown, but still, I am getting to the age where I appreciate streamers.

Ummm.. so the plan at that point was to swing by Alric's for some Robert Rodriguez. After my jog and somesuch, I got sidetracked to Joephet's for greasy Popeye's dinner (bonus thigh!), and was of course unable to extricate myself. A three-piece meal became a nap, a TV show or three, some ramen, a few puddings, and then some reading and some sleep. But all is well, of course.

Umm.. this morning was a rising, and then brunch with Alric on his turf. They apparently put something extra in my omelette, and had to take it back. And short of jism, I don't think much would have kept me from eating it (paying is another matter, of course...): I am also told that my hilarious Holocaust jokes are inappropriate. Apparently, much of my material is not well-suited for movie production, and I am utterly implausible as a human being. After some more chattering, I dropped Alric off at Times Square and proceeded to wander around, rather aimlessly, still rather over-loaded with stuff from the previous evening: I was vaguely scouting boxing gear, just for the thrill of it, and dropped by JHU, where there were way too many temptations to be had. I decided that my mission for the afternoon would be to find Lois Lane #106, in which Lois becomes a black woman for a day, to experience what it is like to be a black woman for a day. Yes... But sadly, I had no luck--neither at St. Mark's or the other place which I was unable to actually find. But it's just a matter of time...

I caught up with Kenneth at some point, after being buried for a while in the Strand, and we were off to dinner in our usual several-stage mode of attack, though this time I was not smoking, miraculously enough. So we got caught up on the comings (heehee) and goings, and I was roped in to a project involving a merlion and the ASS. But this is a perfect excuse for webwork, which I have never really settled down on. I was also duly informed that I speak Chinese like a scolding old man. His apartment is well-situated and economically furnished by IKEA, which makes me wonder again about my bed plans.

My present reading kick is on Western views of China, along with Barthes' Empire of Signs, as the historico-theoretical framework from which to begin my anti-imperialist writings on dating.

And now caught up with Joephet chattery. Jelcs misses him to when he's not around. She wants to be like him when she grows up, I suspect.