I carry a small notebook with me everywhere, in case I get a really good idea (as I have a terrible memory). In this book right now are tons of scribblings of things I’ve been meaning to write about here. 

*I meant to tell you how amazing my election night was, and how overcome with emotion (the good, hopeful kind) as Obama was made our President.

*I meant to tell you I saw Tom Hollander, one of my favorite character actors on Southbank and that he’s not as absurdly short as I’d always imagined (although he was on a bike, so maybe he is)

*I meant to tell you how I’m preparing for my mother’s visit next week and all the things I have to clean/repair/hide/disavow knowledge of.

*I meant to tell you I’m probably going to meet playwriting legend Harold Pinter soon.

*I meant to tell you how repulsed I am that Ashlee Simpson has spawned a child and called it Bronx Mowgli Wentz. Any bets that she has ever actually set foot in the Bronx? Anybody? Driving through does not count.

*I meant to tell you how much I’m enjoying the new Killers album, especially the song “I Can’t Stay” as it’s got a lot of resonance for me right now. It just gets me every time.

I meant to tell you all these things, guys, I really did. But I’ve gotten sidetracked by the end of a relationship (3rd time is, in fact, not the charm) and a friend who really needs me right now. Taking care of my friend and looking out for myself are going to take top slots for a while. But I’ll still be taking notes. I promise.

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