Tuesday, Jun. 29, 2004 - 4:50 p.m.

3:20 p.m. As I sit at my desk looking for something to do that doesn�t involve any more movement than a scant swivel of my chair I decide to reflect on the many special and wonderful advantages to having an on-line dairy. Firstly, it saves endless cellular minutes apportioning the trivial incidents that occurred throughout the day to a boundless list of confidants. Secondly, it�s a uniquely simplistic transport of innermost thoughts and feelings and deeply personal awareness, whether heavily veiled in allegory and metaphor or loosely draped in humor and fable. Thirdly, the assumption of a reader to draw inference or make judgment based on a diary entry, at best, frivolous in tone, with the uncanny ability to use the dairy entry, as conclusive and complete evidence of the writer�s values and opinion is worth the laugh alone.

3:28 p.m. Perhaps my mistake, if there was one, was to crave the applause and admiration of friends and loved ones by freely doling out, like charity, fine quality apple-green fliers luring unsuspecteds to garloo.diaryland.com. Everyone and anyone within my sphere that I felt owed me homage or could benefit from having someone worthy of idolization so close in proximity was blessed with a my web address.

3:36 p.m. Perhaps my mistake, if indeed one was made, was to trust my readers to let me expose myself in my own little way in my own sweet time. Allowing me to ever so slowly begin to remove my left glove as I roll it over my 24 inch bicep methodically down past my elbow salaciously revealing wrist then hand before seductively, with the appearance of abandon, gently tugging at each finger tip until the glove floated, featherlike, to the floor. Instead, some readers assumed that once the music began and curtain lifted I stood naked, legs akimbo, junk swaying to the beat of a polka or a Bette Midler tune, holding only a glove which I use to shield my eyes from either the glare of the lights or the audience.

3:42 p.m. Perhaps the readers mistake (not pointing any fingers) was to expect too much from a simply diary. For the fact is, it is just a diary. Yes, yes, yes, brilliantly written by an exceedingly handsome impeccably dressed man of the millennium but a mere on-line diary despite anything to the contrary.

3:48 p.m. For some reason I have received a burst of energy and challenge my assistant, Knoxville, to a game of Jinga.

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