So I am almost done with a full liter of Asahi Super Dry, the bestest beer in the world, and I have also made myself dinner, for the first time in ages, and it was adequate--over soupy blackened garlic arroz con gandules, eggified black bean sauce chicken nuggests with suntan peppers. This afternoon I went a-shopping for DVDs and such, buying Joephet a long-awaited present he was not around to receive. On the fly, I met Rob Chin and escorted him successfully in the nick of time to JFK and his flight home and away from college--apparently he and I talked last night at three in the morning, though I have no recollection of this in the least.

On the stressed-out ride on the stalled E from Queens Plaza to Sutphin Avenue, we witnessed a near-middle-aged white man with recent hairline studying Intermediate Chinese a la Routledge, who was not so much middle-aged as a little overweight with an overcompensatory hairline receding. He was hitting on in that inimitable, cocky subway way on a woman, red-haired, her hair styled and slicked back almost like a topknot untied, but without the forelocks shaved. In any case, this guy is doing the full-court press; the last time I witness this particular strategem I was heading home with Ei a year ago on the L train, and the woman, after giving her number to her insistent stranger-suitor was smiling and adjusting herself afterwards. Our man Morris was not so lucky--he left with the woman at the stop. Alack, he was a full-foot shorter.

That at least explains the Routledge.