If no one remembers me, I never was.
I don’t have the heart to finish the entry I started with the above title. Instead, I will resurrect something I wrote when the war in Iraq started:
. . . I will still carry on my business as usual wearing an invisible bulls-eye for the same reason I rode the subway and walked in to work on September 12, 2001, when much of this City stayed inside:
“It is better to die on one’s feet, than to live on one’s knees.” –Delores Ibarruri**
So, fuck you, Mr. Terrorist.
**In the event I am the victim of an attack, somebody please take care of Paquita. She’s very loving and knows 10 tricks in voice and sign language and loves to hump arms. Oh, and Mom, those things in that top left dresser drawer are not mine. I don’t use them. Nay, in fact, I have no idea how they got there. Please kindly disregard.
Now, On to Other Things
If you’re looking for something to do tomorrow night, join me at the Cutting Room for drinks around 8:00 and then Portable Comedy at the Gershwin Hotel at 10:00 PM for, well, comedy, because I sure could use a laugh or two or nineteen or thirty. Plus there’s free vodka, and I promise not to cry or fart.