Fuckin' Bangin' It, that's how I'm doing. The workaholism is kicking in strong, as I'm finding myself more and more involved in grassroots stuff for the Howard Dean campaign. It feels good to have something to work at. I also have -- cross fingers -- some paying work in the pipeline too, which would be a boon and a half. In spite of the recent round of tax cuts, my finances are still looking pretty shaky. I'm sure some sort of check is in the mail. Yeah, right.

Last night we wished Andrew a happy birthday. I had some wine with Kate before and we talked about life and all that jazz. She wanted to make sure I'm ok wrt Sasha and everything. Like I said, I know I'm not through all of it, but the indicators are good. I'll live. I tried to obliquely encourage her to think about starting her own indie litereary mag. Maybe a more concrete proposal should be floated...

Easy E is now in the 24 club with the rest of us. It was a grand old time. Capodiche showed up and reminded me about the Gooseberry, the 2003 summer drink of choice; gin and grapefruit. Try it out. We went back to Eleni's house and had a little party on the roof. "Do you party, man?" It was quite something to just hang out and laugh and feel the warm night air just right. Biking in the city at night in these warm halcyon days feels like some kind of New York dream. Freedom, terrible terrible freedom.

I got a monkey call at about 1am; full support in these troubled times. It's nice to know my people are with me in spirit. It gives me the spunk to sit up and fight a little. Good thing, too.