6:46 p.m. - August 28, 2005
Exploration of race relations, American ignorance, and the ins and outs of taxi driving in 10 minutes: My next book should be a study of such efficiency.
Speaking of: My book goes to press the last week of September. As one with few friends, I will toast myself while flipping the bird to passerby.
Manic. I am raving. Surely caused by the mildew spores I inhaled when I opened the refrigerator. [Aside: Do other people do this, too? I refer to opening the refrigerator to scan contents not 2 minutes after returning home after a long absence. I was not hungry or thirsty, so why did I head there? It's like dogs and crotches: Fat people just can't help it any more than dogs can.] Gruesome sight: Mildew all over the interior. I have no idea of the mildew source since I left only my Brita jug and an unopened can of mandarin oranges (favorite late-night snack during the summer), along with the odd assortment of (1) jar of raspberry jam, (1) bottle of A-1 sauce, and (1) stick of margarine. I cleaned out the fridge but am mystified what could have caused this nastiness.
Nothing like coming home to immerse myself in chemicals. I smell delightfully like Formula 409 and Tide detergent, my most comforting scents after the one I've named Jason's-sterile-thoroughly-disinfected-fresh-clean-bathroom-smell. If I could package it responsibly and render myself immune against lawsuits alleging chemical overexposure, I would bottle my cleanser and retire wealthy. Who says chemicals ought not be combined? What one chemical misses another targets and the third chemical removes the residue left by the previous two. It's a holy pairing in my book.
Each time I move my hands towards my face I get another whiff and feel high. Who needs to inject drugs when one has cleanser?