What Else Is There To

... Her Taste In Music Haunted My Memory And I Had To Stop At Tower Records On The Upper West Side To Buy Ninety Dollars' Worth Of Rap Cds But, As Expected, I'm At A Loss: [...] Voices Uttering Ugly Words Like Digit, Pudding, Chunk.

I've Never Written An Autobiographical Novel In My Life. I've Never Touched Upon My Life. I've Never Written A Single Scene That I Can Say Took Place.

I Totally Relate To Tom Cruise. He's Not Crazy, It's Just The Litany Of The Mid-life Crisis.

At Columbus Circle, A Juggler Wearing A Trench Cloak And Top Hat, Who Is Usually At This Location Afternoons And Who Calls Himself Stretch Man, Performs In Front Of A Small, Uninterested Crowd; Though I Smell Prey, And He Seems Worthy Of My Wrath, I Move On In Search Of A Less Dorky Target. Though If He'd Been A Mime, Odds Are He'd Already Be Dead.

It's Because You're Always Fighting Sentiment. You're Fighting Sentimentality All Of The Time Because Being A Mother Alerts You In Such A Primal Way.