"Dennis surfed. I couldn't surf. I never learned how."

All right, it's been a while. I haven't felt inclined to write much, but am updating if for no other reason than to assure Katie that I haven't died of stabbing or hairspray inhalation.

Everyone who knows me well knows that when I get bummed out I hide, which I've found to my horror is easier to do in New York City than basically anywhere else I've ever been. Supposing you can face the world long enough to leave your apartment for half an hour, anything you could want from Indian food to "designer" sunglasses is within walking distance - even in Washington Heights, an area described by a friend as filled with so much testosterone that I feel like if someone looks at me too long I'll get knocked up. (This is actually a pretty accurate assessment of my neighborhood).

But if you really want to coddle your inner hermit and hole up in the most antisocial way possible for a few days, all you need are a laptop, working wireless, and (maybe) a cell phone. There are any number of groceries, restaurants, and drug stores that deliver, of course, and most of them allow you to place your order online (for when speaking to another human being is just too much to handle). Did you know, though, that you can have DVDs delivered to you? And cupcakes? And Jacques Torres chocolate? And wine and/or liquor from the Artisan Wine Company? In under an hour? Really. I'm convinced that the exorbitant cost of living is the only reason New York isn't inhabited by several million post-SMiLE Brian Wilsons, all peering through their curtains for the delivery cars and courier bikes that have become the city's only street traffic. But that's a thought I'll have to finish later; right now I have leftover Papa John's in the fridge.