The background music, the ongoing soundtrack of my late nights for the past five years has been provided by Playstation. Various video game orchestral swells have accompanied many a late-night writing period, or play loudly underneath my brain as I finish a book.

Right now World War II is going on behind my head. It sounds like gunfire and loud German shouts.

Oh, and there goes my neighbor, taking out the trash. Because it’s almost midnight. Time to drag those recyclables out.

I’m very excited to have booked another show at The Knitting Factory, August 20th. If you’re in the area and would like to see Call Us Crazy: The Anne Heche Monologues, we’re doing it one last time at 7:00 in the AlterKnit Lounge. See? You can get tickets here. But don’t accidentally go here.

Can I ask what’s with all the “MILF” spam I’m getting lately? MILF, for those of you lucky enough not to have to know this, means “Mom I’d Like to Fuck.” For some reason, every day I’m getting tons of MILF spam. Last month it was all anal, all the time. Before it was animal rape. Then incest porn. Now it’s MILF’s, which is much tamer than the stuff I was getting before. I just got spam offering me a free blow job. My favorite one lately was from Direct TV. If I paid for installation and service, they’d send me a free three-piece barbecue set. At the bottom of the screen it read “Set includes tongs, brush and spatula.” Count to three, people. For six hundred dollars, I can buy me a free spatula!

So, yes, all of this means I had a pretty uneventful day. Started with yoga. Then I wrote. I wrote some more. I emailed. Wrote. Lunch. Mail. Read. Wrote. Cleaned. Cooked dinner for friends. Watched Driven, which is the worst film of all time (it’s not that my tastes are changing, I just happen to have friends that truly enjoy watching horrible films and laughing loudly at them). Now, behind me, Germans are getting shot as someone’s trying to save Private Bryan.

I used to get involved in video games, but since I work from home now, if I even got slightly into one I’d never stop playing. It’s why I haven’t bought Silent Hill 2 yet, or sat down to play any more Tony Hawk. My left thumb sheds six layers of skin and becomes one sore pink obtrusion and my eyes dry out like eight week-old onions. I just don’t let myself get near it, or it’s all over. It’s bad enough I still find myself surfing the net, which on a dial-up is like slowly flipping through a magazine you’ve already read.

I’m officially just babblng.

I’ll pull out a Cal story. That’s always a good closer, right? Hmm. Cal. Let’s see… Hmm… Pretty much mentioned how he poops on things, right? Here’s one. I think maybe when he sneezes or coughs, a tiny turd flies out of him every once in a while. I just find these tiny little poo balls in places where he sits sometimes. Since Cal lost his tail in some unfortunate accident before I ever met him, he’s got a sensitive backside. He yelps if you try to pet him back there, and you can feel how his tailbone is crooked where it snapped. Maybe it’s causing him to have a lack of butt control. Or maybe he doesn’t even know he’s got a turd slipping out until it’s too late. But why doesn’t he try to cover it, like when a cat usually makes an accidental mess?

I really want to delete that above paragraph. I’m making you think my house is covered in surprise turds. That’s not true. I’m just wondering out loud here.

I’ll shut up now.