The last few days have been dominated by repeated consultations with my psychiatrists, pills, and lots and lots of professional and online advice for combating depression, none of which, curiously enough, involved staying up all night, watching the available episodes of Pillars of the Earth, listening repeatedly to "Some Enchanted Evening" and weeping at some unrealized vision of romance. Nevertheless, this is what I've prescribed. (And the last part makes especially little sense when Slim did, in fact, see me across a crowded room and decide I would be his wife which, however you slice it, is very romantic. And very sweet.)

Breaking: Best Tuna Sanwich In NYC?

Well, certainly my favorite: the sandwich was consumed at the Iris Cafe. It was really a salade nicoise on French bread. Tuna, sliced egg, butter lettuce, green beans, balsamic. Everything fresh, local and perfect. My idea of absolute heaven. Try it!

NB: They also have the best sticky-bun in the city, although apparently unavailable weekdays at 3 pm, not surprisingly.

Costumes

Not to put too fine a point on it, but sometimes I like to dress theatrically. Usually, in fact. And when I'm on a panel or anything, I think it's particularly important, since it both asserts and distracts from the fact that I'm a fraud.

Every summer (this will be the 3rd) I talk to the Columbia Publishing Course, and for some reason, I have always dressed with particular care for this occasion - maybe because I was in the course myself. The first time, I was coming from work, so was actually pretty staid. Just a jersey wrap-dress and some heels. Except this was in '05, right before the jersey wrap dress was ubiquitous, and for some reason this one had been very hard to find and quite expensive. Leaf green, with gathered shoulders. It was a darling frock, and a perfect canvas for the elaborate many-stranded art jewelry necklace I found at a particularly good yard sale and wore that day.

Then, last year, I wore my little suit. In fact, it was this day:


This year presents a challenge. I am seriously considering this early-40's rose lace dress, with white patent pumps and a Fendi-style pompadour. Too much? Should I do the suit again?

I LOVE almost every version of this song, from the popular instrumental to the excellent Marty Robbins. But there's a reason this one won the Eurovision!

"Friendship with oneself is all important, because without it one cannot be friends with anyone else in the world." -- Eleanor Roosevelt

I was thinking the other night about appearances, specifically in reference to those we love. When we meet someone, they are as defined by a pimple or a haircut or a sweater as by anything else. When you come to know and love someone, it is as though a lens zooms in and these same things become merely ancillary to the person underneath. Then, when you are no longer so closely joined, thing begin to pan again: once again, you can make a moral determination on someone based on his hair or his clothes. We look for them in someone's ex girlfriend, or an old partner. Failures in this realm become a petty victory; you lose all the blindness - and focus - of love, even if you've reacquired it with someone else. Why can't we translate that property?

From My Dad

Subject: ALERT!


BIG LEON HAS BEEN LOCATED. REPEAT: BIG LEON IS IN THE HOUSE.

(FOUND HIDING WITH YOUNG WOMAN WHO SELF IDENTIFIES AS "HINKA" -- NO LAST NAME AVAILABLE AT THIS TIME).


This is a relief. Big Leon is a baby doll with a sullen expression and a little penis that, when submerged in a bath, can urinate. For the past 26 years, he's sported a blue terry onesie of my brother's.

Here's to wretched weeks ending, and better ones beginning, yes? I was punched on the subway this week. Gramps went into the hosp. Lots and lots of other stuff. But! We're all still here and this too shall pass and here's a bunch of new chances to do the right thing - millions and millions of chances. On that note.