-- Wednesday, February 16, 2000 --

1:35 a.m. Well, hello again. Welcome to another day at this fun and fabulous web site that is suddenly, giddily popular. It is driving me crazy. I could never say "giddily" in person. I should put my hands on either side of my head and squeeze and squeeze out some really clever stuff, but tonight I just don't have it in me.

I've run fresh out of wit. The pressure has gotten to me. I know these are the important entries, the SATs of my future hit counts, but I'm running out of stuff. My photo reserves are low and it's been raining. If you want to see the kind of photos I wish I had for you right now, you should feast your eyes on these beauties over at Viv's pages.

(bye ... I know a certain number of you will never come back. sigh. You're in a better place. I dab my eye and go on.)

Did I say rain? Make that a downpour. Something of a deluge. A roof-pounding, leak-springing hard rain a' spilling. Houseplants and bath towels and soup pots are arranged fetchingly about. Raindrops should not be falling on your head when you are sitting at your desk.

But, into every life.

I saw the end of that supremely lousy show: "So You Want To Be An Idiot and Make Me Weep for Humanity" last night. I really can't get the little I did see out of my mind. The creepy guy in a tuxedo. The virginal bride facing a fate worse than a volcano ...

Oh my. I've always been absolutely, totally fascinated by gold-diggers, which is what this show was all about. People who say -- "Hell, yeah! The money is worth it!" How miserable could I be, they think, if I have all that money as salve?

Actually, a cooler show would be: "What Would *Y0U* Do For a Million Bucks?" Go against your principles? Try to outrun your gag reflex?

Of course we know that the bride from last night has a black belt in self-delusion and a masters degree in rationalization. And how smart can she be if she signed the pre-nup? Doesn't that sort of spoil the spoils?

Well, I didn't marry for money. Nosiree bob. I married for love and laughs. I'm still not even on speaking terms with money, if you want to know the truth. The last time I had lots of it I bought rugs. Not carpet. Rugs. Persian rugs make me very happy. I once had a really big snowy white flokati, but it came to a nasty end. Puppy.

I think it's because I always look down when I walk. For a variety of reasons. To find things. To avoid stepping in things. To calculate how much longer I can get away without vacuuming. To try not to fall and break my ankles again.

Do you see what I mean by the end of wit? Here it is, the middle of the night and I'm talking about floors. Could things get any worse? I'm staring down at the empty bottom of the topic barrel. Yup. It's time to raid the pantry and find something fresh and wonderful for your reading enjoyment.

Scrabble scrabble. And voila! Here's just the thing! How about we all go over and visit with Carol,* who deserves a big round of applause today for single-handedly standing between Bob Dylan and the Grim Reaper.

This is great -- it's just like ordering ten pizzas for the guy next door. She'll be so surprised to see all of us ... everybody be real real quiet and we'll all yell surprise! We're the traveling mob from the Diary awards, and everywhere we go they say: whoa.

* (This is the future breaking in. It's now a year later online and Carol has stopped her journal. For the second time in the year, by the way. If she starts up again and if I'm back this way again, I'll hook the link up to the electrodes and reanimate it. Otherwise -- history marches on.)