Because I agreed to do Red Eye on Valentine’s Day. I plan to wear red. Or just a diaper while holding love’s bow and arrow. Take the high road on that one please.
Also, speaking of Fred, despite my plans to stay home hanging with my houseplant while working on new moves to fold in (seamlessly, of course) to my competitive ice dancing routine, I just put in a full day at Page Six Magazine, where I’m acting as senior editor for a bit. I worry the ice dancing will suffer, is the thing.
Also, I felt that moment where I realized the lobby, which has always been about Red Eye for me, is about to become about Page Six for me. Does that make sense? And then some day I’ll go to do Red Eye and it’ll be like going to do a show in the building where I work or once worked, as opposed to now, where I’m still flummoxed by the elevators. “I’m going to one, are you going to one?” a man asked me today, by the elevator bank. I just stared at him, dumbfounded, as if he were speaking a foreign language which I once knew. Then I began drooling. The thing is that I’ve always prided myself on my ability to discern up from down—left and right not so much—and so if I lose that one I will be directionally challenged in 360 degrees, which is really going to suck. Some other sense will just have to overcompensate. Hopefully a useful one, like my sense of humor. Or my sense of which peppers are spicy. Or my sense of which movies are going to suck, except I really made a judgment error when I dragged my mom and sister to see Out to Sea.
