Friday.

Went to the library tonight. Some nitwit installed a pay phone smack next to the medical ethics section, so while browsing for books on genetic engineering I had to hear this slob in a ponytail and shiny jacket yakking on and on and on about Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, Nicole Ritchie, et. al. He suddenly had a flash of astonishing insight: Maybe Paris Hilton's sex tape had something to do with the release of her TV show! (No way. Shut up.) Then he was on to other topics - girls he knows, but still has no hopes of ever ever ever sleeping with. "Y'know what the only attraction to that bitch is, dontcha? Six-figure income, man." As if you need a six-figure income to wear shiny jackets and eat at Taco Bell every day.

Walking home from the bus stop I was stuck behind a girl telling her boyfriend about a European vacation that she experienced through a haze of reefer: "We went to Assissi, which is just a hill, and I was like 'Whoa, that's just a big hill'....Then we went to Rome. Did you know the pope just died?"

Now I'm home and Dateline was cancelled for a Billy Graham crusade AGAIN. Mr. Graham, will all due respect, you've saved enough souls and stolen enough pension checks for three lifetimes. RETIRE.

Just a super-duper, splendiferous Friday night.