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So yesterday I was meeting someone in the village and I noticed, as I was making my way there, that I passed a bunch of people with roughly the same face which is a situation I find myself in not infrequently. In this case, they all looked like Dianne Wiest.

So here is the question: what’s really going on when this happens? Is it that there are only a limited number of faces, which is something I think I may have blogged about before? Is it really that people of a certain type live clustered together or that I possibly stumbled onto a pocket of Dianne Wiests? Of course not, right? So then it must be that for some reason my brain is processing certain stimuli in a certain way and lighting up with all the Wiest potential and either seeing it in everyone or rather just noticing a certain set of similar features and grouping them together. It’s an issue of parsing and perception. Sort of like how once you become aware or sensitized to a certain notion you’ll suddenly see it everywhere and wonder whether it was there all the time and you’re just now noticing it or it’s actually suddenly all around you. For example, I think people everywhere are absolutely in love with me and so I see that quality in everyone I come across. Also, I think dogs and babies are cute and so I see cute babies and cute dogs everywhere, particularly in pet stores and nurseries. Or also I just learned that there’s this place where you can get coffee called Starbuck’s and wouldn’t you know it, now I see Starbuck’s on every corner.

I’m joking, though not very successfully, but this is a situation I find myself in often when I travel. I’ll be in an unfamiliar city and I’ll see someone who reminds me of someone I haven’t thought of in awhile (someone from my past usually) and then I’ll see a bunch of people who look like that person. For example, San Francisco many years ago was filled with people who looked like a guy named Frank. Brooklyn is often teeming with people who look like someone named Michael. And apparently I also used to date Dianne Wiest. But it’s not just people I’ve been involved with, obviously. And all these thoughts make me feel like I’m wandering around in a Charlie Kauffman film. Another film reference? Ok then: Everything Is Illuminated had a scene at the end which captured this face thing perfectly. Did anyone see it?

For a spill-prone person like me who is usually pretty conservative with paper towel usage (what a sad sentence that is, but it’s true. I even buy those sheets that you can tear in three pieces) there’s a comfort that comes from having bought in bulk. I currently have a bounty of Bounty.

A comfort that’s off-set by this action:

But lest you are thinking I’m saying I’ll just substitute one paper product for another, that’s totally not what I’m saying. I’m just pointing out the paper inequity.

Also, unrelated, I seem to have developed a tremor today. My hands are shaking a little. So, that’s awesome news. I’m going to assume I just had too much caffeine until something makes me think otherwise.

But on the upside, should the shaking cause me to spill anything, my ass is totally covered. Well, my ass is the one thing that isn’t covered, but you know.

Am I belaboring?

Don’t answer that.

Could I be any less focused right now? No. I’m trying to write this thing that’s due and instead I feel like my brain is stuffed with old socks. In fact, I wonder if it IS stuffed with old socks which would explain why I can’t ever find socks when I need them and why I’ve taken to no longer caring if my socks match. In fact, I think it’s time the world de-embraces matching socks as a goal and yes, I know de-embrace isn’t a word. I remember telling a coworker some time ago that a guy had seen my mis-matching socks (that whole thing sounds euphemistic, right? but it’s not) and this was back in the days when only laundry emergencies would lead to mismatching socks, not my general disregard for doing what society tells me to do vis a vis socks (I’m kind of a sock rebel, you see) and anyway, she said, “Well I bet he just thinks you’re the cutest thing ever.” She had a British accent, too, so it was really convincing. Then she spoon fed me some applesauce and patted me on my helmet.

What was the point of this? Oh yes, there’s socks in my brain. And thoughts on my feet.

It’s all very upside down.

I also have a headache in my brain so technically my brain is filled with socks and stress. What are stress provoking socks? Some kind of super tight athletic socks? Just thinking about it seems to be making it worse which means I think I’ve located the specific sock which is causing the grief.

Also, there is a curious bruise on my hand and I remember yelling ouch at some point but can’t really remember much more than that, which is a good feeling.

Must think good socks!

In general, I’m in favor of calorie counts being posted on menus (as they are in NYC in most chain establishments) however last night the whole enterprise bit me on the ass as I found myself in a truly embarrassing restaurant in Times Square poring over a menu and realizing the only thing I could order that I wouldn’t feel terrible about the next day would be the chef’s vegetables for 60 calories. How am I feeling today? Terrible.

Here is the thing: I find it hard to believe that small steaming terrine of oil with a couple soggy green beans in it was only 60 calories. I also find it hard to believe those were vegetables or that this restaurant had a chef. If it did I take issue with his vegetables. If anything, it almost seemed I’d pissed him off by ordering this item. When I bit down I tasted anger. Anger and regret and canola oil. Probably not even canola oil. What’s a cheaper oil? Vaseline? I think these vegetables were served in a terrine of Vaseline. A Vaseline terrine.

So then upon realizing this wasn’t going to do the trick of putting anything into my stomach since I hadn’t eaten all day, I asked for a side of bread. Glistening soggy bread sticks were delivered sans calorie count. But as a professional dieter, I know lard when I see it (on my ass or on a bread stick). I had to then attempt to peel each bread stick to uncover the virgin center, untouched by oil or man. Then I’d dip the small bread pellet in the sauce, which actually had a vegetable floating in it. A green pepper sliver. It all comes back to green peppers, doesn’t it?

I feel I had something else to say? Did I?

You guys, I’m so sorry for not blogging with the frequency you’ve come to expect from me. I’m ass high in video editing right now and also tonight I’m going to see Will Ferrell on Broadway which makes two events in two nights so you can imagine how wiped out I am! Just kidding. Or am I?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Also, I believe I had other stuff to say. Oh yeah, I’m working on my forthcoming McSweeney’s thingamaroo so when I have funny thoughts I now siphon them off to that column instead of instantly post them here which I know is a bummer. Except instead of siphoning them off and actually writing them, I just siphon them off into the corner of my brain where I put ideas and also old shoes and love letters and quarters. If it looks like my head is tilting to the right it’s because I need to take my brain to CoinStar.

Incidentally I’ve never actually used a CoinStar but my friends who were in a band called the Rome Apples wrote a song about CoinStar.

But I also have some things to say here that I just haven’t had time to say yet.

Oh! Also, new one up on Alison and Wendy.

Also, I love you guys.

I watched Heathers about a million times when I was a youngster and even wrote a paper about it in college so this news is pretty exciting.

In other less exciting news, where is Dustin? How are we supposed to vlog plus go to Throwing Muses when we’re only going to have time for Throwing Muses? Eh, that’s ok. My face feels red anyway (I’ve discussed this Rudolph syndrome with you, yes? Yes.)

Fuck You, Penguin

Does something bloom at about 10pm in NYC because this is the second night in a row my allergies are acting up at night. And by 10pm I guess I mean what feels like 9pm. In fact when I sneeze it’s really a nine o’clock type sneeze. It sounds like the theme song to Grey’s Anatomy, not Perfect Practice, if you know what I’m saying which I doubt you do. It also sounds like Frasier which I’m pretty sure was on at 9pm at some point. Maybe?

So why am I writing about my 9pm-but-it-was-really-10pm sneezes at three-in-the-morning- which-is-really-two-in-the-morning? Because my friend Scott who is a super duper computer guru helped me with some stuff and took control of my screen and said “Are you sick?” (we were ichatting with audio which I didn’t realize was a viable option because I’m still living in the past of one hour ago) and I explained that no, I’m just experiencing the kind of allergies one has when cats spontaneously bloom at 10pm. Cats and dust apparently. And those dander bushes, too. But the computer stuff took awhile. And then I wasted time doing I’m not even sure what.

So I’m tired is what I’m saying. And stuffed up.

You can read about it here: http://alisonandwendy.tumblr.com/

Also, I’m really finding those sets of teeth in that ad below to be both distracting and kind of gross!