Because dancing naked in your underwear is for Scientologists.

The kids are at pre-school summer camp today. Madeleine went with Quinn to introduce him to the staff and go over the syllabus. According to her. I believe it had something to do with it being Ride the Trolley Downtown to the Carousel Wednesday. So shit. I came home from tennis and the house was empty and so I ate all the leftover pancakes. Things to do when you're home alone: eat cold dank baked goods - check; sit on the toilet for a long ass time reading the comics - check; finish a cup of coffee while it's still warm - check; clean, pay bills, finish editing story, read intelligent websites about deforestation - hell to the no.

Now I'm sitting on the front porch watching the garbage guys and my 70-year-old lesbian neighbor talk about her pet pigeon. Which is why we don't live in the suburbs anymore. We've got a middle-aged couple living across the street who keep to themselves. Which is my way of saying they're virtually mute. I say hi, she says meep. I say How ya doin Tom, he says half smile, half shrug. It's all right. Not everyone runs off at the mouth like mi when confronted with new social situations. Jim and I had a discussion about how we would behave on Letterman (after watching Julia Roberts totally bomb and make Dave ask her stupid questions about her hair). Jim said he would answer in grunts and shrugs. Hm, that's so surprising. I would tell embarrassing, revealing stories in quick succession, so that during commercial breaks Dave would wander off-stage to talk to Paul while I tried to collect the dirty laundry I'd scattered about.

And there you go. Time for lunch. Oh yeah, peanut butter and jelly crusts, I hear ya. Come to mama.