My cell has been dead since the night of the 21st. If you haven’t said it by email after that then I haven’t heard it. Sorry. Oh– and– before that: no voice for weeks. Sorry. In a terrible/wonderful turn of events I can only text.

In preparation for Hollywood:

Pitch:

And then T and I killed the tofu and ate it.

Some graffiti:

Yogic show-off cat:

Eats Freud, is not edified.

These books fit perfectly into this box:

Gunpowder and corn muffins:

Afterpneuma. Miraculously, this red glow in the bookstore basement is produced by a product called “the book hug:”

This is my co-worker dramatically posing for me on the day we got to send Diablo Cody’s b.s. memoir back to the manufacturer:

Bye bye, Diablo:

And now with my little love:

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