Tonight I discovered I’d misplaced my cell phone. I drove back to work to look for it and when I didn’t find it there, in the car, in my apartment, or in my car again, I knew it lost and that in the moring I’d have to drive down to the one Cingular store open at 9 am to replace it before I got on the plane to Boston. And I hadn’t packed yet, and my apartment was a mess, and it took all the strength I had not to fall apart, and yes, I know that’s a disco line, but I called on my inner Gloria Gaynor and managed to do an evening radio interview, which somehow cheered me up. And then just before 10pm I got a call from the FedEx driver who’d found my phone in front of my office building, and who, thank fucking God, lived just a five minute drive away and let me come by to pick it up. So this is why this entry sucks. It’s okay. The real world sucks considerably less now that I have my phone, am almost packed, and have the finale of America’s Next Top Model on TiVo.

I am still doing a crazy amount of radio. I look at my calendar planner and that Fishbone song with all the radio call letters goes through my head. I have a nice review in Time this week. You should also get the new Elle, too. It still doesn’t make up for the lack of updates, I know, but I wanted to let you know I know about the magazine stuff in case you email me to tell me about it. I’m going to be in Boston this week. I’m going to be in New York. I’m going to see Monica! The Musical on Sunday night. I’m going to write in more complex sentences again someday. I miss you all. I’ll tell you stories soon. That is all. For now.