Thursday, Jan. 22, 2004 - 2:35 p.m.

11:08 p.m. Taking a quick glance at the clock I realize I’ve been listening to Alex drone on and on for 73 minutes about some guy in her apartment building whom she can’t seem to make any romantic headway. Anxious to get her off the phone I take back control of the conversation and say, "Alex, fuck, cut to the chase." With a nervous self-effacing tone in her voice she asks, "Do you think he might think I’m gay?" Twenty minutes ago I would have answered differently but it hasn’t been 20 minutes it’s been 74. I reply, "You’ve got a full beard and mustache, a tattoo of Popeye on you forearm, carry your guitar in a hemp bag and you went to Smith for Christ’s sake. Do I think he thinks you’re a lesbian? A…YES!" She shoots back, "That was rude." Changing my tone to include concern and sympathy I say, "Honey, three little letters for ya, W, A, X, meaning, next time you get a Brazilian you seriously should think about getting a Canadian as well.

11:11 p.m. CLICK!

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