Whoever had the brilliant idea to dry cranberries like raisins should be given some sort of prestigious international award.

I live in a cubby of a studio in a ramshackle Victorian with thin walls in an iffy neighborhood. My neighbors are listening to terrible techno and having a banal conversation. This means I am also listening to terrible techno and being subjected to a banal conversation. Right now the thought of their stereo shorting out from the rain is dancing merrily through my head like a happy little care bear. Please, faulty wiring, please...

I work corporate jobs to finance my ill thought out adventures and occasional do-gooder jaunts. Usually I think of it as subverting the system - cover my tattoos, put on the corporate costume, play nice-nice and cash the check. I'm working so much the past few weeks I'm afraid the joke is on me. Who's subverting what when you're on salary and working sixty hours a week?

Lately I've been jonesing for consumer durables. In Nicaragua I rode a $7 bike or bummed rides on the crossbars of my friends bikes, lived off of street food, took chicken buses to the surf towns. Now I'm convinced I need an iPod like I've never needed anything else in my life. And a few more pairs of trashy retro heels wouldn't hurt either.

If one more person describes me as a cynical idealist I might start screaming and never stop.

My new favorite line from a song is 'when we're boarding the plane, hold my hand on the flight'. But I think that's just because I've been in one place too long - even when I'm stationary I usually take roadtrips and weekend jaunts. And I always wind up flying by myself so the idea of someone holding my hand on a plane is novel, really. That said, I'm a great traveller. I like turbulence, it rocks me to sleep.

I will not, under any circumstances, touch chalk. Which is why it's a good thing I rule at pinball as pool is pretty much out of the equation for me.

There has only been one good Christmas song ever written - 'Fairytale of New York' by the Pogues.

I am so far behind on answering emails all my friends are convinced I'm either dead or have fled the country again but instead I'm writing this. Go figure. Now you all know me 2% better.

When I was nineteen I had cancer and almost died. I am used to this fact, it's not tragic or odd or shocking to me. I always forget that it is to other people and occasionally drop it like a bomb. I did that to someone in my office the other day when they asked about a faint scar on my neck. Which means I got the sad, oh-poor-you-what-the-hell-do-I-say-to-her-now look from the slick real estate guy. I either need get better about that or the world needs to get over it. I don't know which. Or I need to just post it in journal entries like this. Had it, over it, fine now, got a few weird scars and marks. Don't we all.

Or maybe I'm just the only person who feels more comfortable once I put a few dings in the door of a new car or scuffs on a pair of new shoes. Once you screw things up a little bit you can relax some.

I don't know.

All I know is that I don't know nothing. And that's fine.*

Which means it's probably time for me to go to bed.

*Okay, that's not my line. I cadged it off a song. But if you know what song then kudos to you.