In a soon-to-be recurring series, I will ask myself the same 10 questions every time.
1. What are you wearing?
Clam diggers with pink, preppy little tennis racquets all over them. A sturdy brassiere donated by my mother--no man could bite through it. A collared white shirt with gemstones for buttons. A necklace purchased for ten dollah on Broadway, in SoHo. A pair of short, white athetic socks. A red Swatch.
2. What's the nature of today's hypochondria?
A bit of a rash on my arm might turn out to be something mysterious and tropical. I expect a heart attack within a few days.
3. What was today's workout?
189 flights of stairs on the StepMill (a very bad name for the unit, as it resembles an escalator that keep revolving into itself). That's 79 stories higher than the Twin Towers. For some reason, as I climbed onward and upward, I thought of them.
4. How do you do what you do and stay so sweet?
5. What's that burning smell?
My wasted youth, and an overcooked yam.
6. If you were an animal, what kind would you be?
I am going to eat you if you ask that again.
7. What are you drinking, and why?
The sweet nectar of oblivion. So that I don't accidentally encounter any Harry Potter spoilers while I read.
8. In what ways hast thou offended?
I thought bad thoughts about the woman at the supermarket today who pulled out her coupons, whipped her cart back to the cash register, and insisted she had not not gotten the two-for-one deal on the English Muffins. Her mottled, beleagured husband waited in the aisle, as henpecked as he had been for the last 25 years. Shuffles, the bag woman, was there as as well. She was bagging.
I also have not filled out the request for money from GreenPeace.
9. What's the next big thing?
Jesus' visage appearing in florets of chilled butter at the finest New York restaurants.
10. Music selection?
Rob Dickinson, Fresh Wine for the Horses
Do buy it. You won't be sorry.