I am clandestinely typing this in the body of an email because I have no internet at home yet. Blogging on the sly. I hate the word 'blog.'

Long story, involving shared custody of a TV, not really worth telling, but I'm going home this weekend to internet (!) and TV (!) and civilization. Ironic that living in the city has made me more removed from daily life. Ohmygod, The Daily Show. I'll get to watch The Daily Show.

Benchmark of success: I will consider myself arrived when Jon Stewart interviews me about my book and does the requisite, "My favorite part was..." to make it seem like he actually read it. (Book TK.)

This has been a week of eats. Pizza at Mama Carmella's around the corner from my apt., and--dare I say it? yes--it's better than Scotto's. And also, it makes me think of Mrs. Fink.

Then dinner last night w. Katja at Freeman's, a country farm house-type restaurant at the end of an alley whose storefront looks like a Free People/French bistro--bicycle, pots of hydrangeas and hyacinths, strings upon strings of white lights. And inside it's all rustic, white-washed, walls lined with taxidermied everything, exposed light bulbs along the ceiling, and MASHED POTATOES WITH TRUFFLE OIL, which I ate on a separate plate, with a tablespoon.

Then lunch today at La Pizza Fresca, which is so good I pretty much want to rub the pizza all over my face. Doesn't compare to Scotto's/Mama Carmella's; different beast.

Tonight will be a dinner of doggie bags.