If you ever need to refer to me and my bf, Harold, as a couple, the name is Hairnet.

I can't believe I never thought to ask this question before. You know the joke about Republicans, "They support the death penalty but oppose abortion!" Harold said it the other day, and called it an indefensible ethical position. My question should have been "Do you oppose both or neither?"

I think there's a Serf City blog entry in here somewhere on the topic of Stand-Up Politics. Sometimes the joke is so good it obfuscates the point.

So I've put in two days of training and two shifts for the census as a questionnaire assistant. My coworker, Ewa (Polish, but so far not nearly as fun as last year's Polish coworker, Anna, at the tax office) and I sit at a Pathmark grocery store and watch people use the Coinstar machine. Saturday, one of the store employees who was sitting on our bench taking a break barked, "I don't want to fill that thing out, what's it for?" She was wearing a big white somewhat bloody butcher coat, literally festooned with union pins. Ewa started in with the script they want us to do, about all the federal largesse that's coming your way if you join in the fun and get counted. "That doesn't matter, where I live, the money all goes to the same people. The Jews." And I fell in love with her a little bit! ("Who does she think started her union?" Harold, who also promised me a cut of his Jew-money, asked later.) I took over and told her the constitutional reason we take the census is to keep the congressional districts properly apportioned. "What happens if I throw it away? Will I go to jail?" she asked. I told her she wouldn't go to jail, but if she didn't mail it back, they'll send her another one, and if she doesn't send that back, they'll send a person to her address to try to interview her, up to three times. "So if you want to waste as little tax money on the census as possible," I concluded, "mail the form back." And I didn't even have to suggest we might be sending over a Jew!

Gratitude. I was sitting in a basement cabaret Monday night watching Justin Randolph, Greg "My Director" Cicchino's boyfriend sing an adorable set, and it hit me that when I envisioned moving to New York, this was my idealized vision of what I wanted. At first, I thought no, I want to be successful, I want to have a lot of friends around me, etc., and fortunately, I stopped myself and enjoyed the moment: I was in a New York cabaret with professional colleagues who are now friends. I made myself feel the same appreciation last night when my sweetheart introduced me to his "regular" bar, across the street from Grand Central Terminal. (Not station, you rubes!) 'I'm in New York, looking at Grand Central, with a wonderful man who loves me, well, right now he's in the men's room, but he'll be back in a minute, so let's just say he's here.' And I felt the moment and how much I hoped that I'd have it some day and wallowed in gratitude. It feels good, the wallow.

The census just called--I train Wednesday to be a Questionnaire Assistant. Coming soon to a card table in a library near you! Well, near me. They want you to work in your own zip code. Hey, one of my New Year's resolutions will be met--this is going to be the Year of the W-2! (The other one was to practice better sleep hygiene.)

Gratitude!!

There was a contestant on "American Idol" named John Park, who when asked for something people didn't know about him, said, "English is my second language." He explained that he was born in Chicago and lived there until age six, when he moved to Korea. He came back to the U.S. when he was a teenager.

So...no language from ages zero to six? As I implied, he got voted off.

Seriously now, when Spencer and Heidi wave their arms and get plastic surgery and buy crystals and stuff to try to get your attention, just turn away. Enough of them. Only, one last thing--did Heidi request the "Permanently Worried" package at the plastic surgeon's? I admit it, I watched "The Hills", this was once a very cute, bubbly, girl.

I had an experience Thursday night I just don't know how to explain. I was at a lecture. On the seat to my left, I had my back pack, and to the left of that was an empty seat. A man leaned over from behind me and said, "Are these two seats free?" I said they were, and shoved my pack under my chair. He wended his way down the aisle, sat in the seat next to mine, and in the seat to his left, he put his back pack. Not another human being, his pack. Why did his back pack have higher status than mine? Hitzy suggested it's his girlfriend, "Packy", and sure, if it had had a face painted on it, I could understand. Even if he'd only asked, "Are these seats taken?" But he specified, "Are these two seats free?" Or if he'd been carrying explosives, of course you wouldn't want the bottom of a chair to deflect the blast, but none of those perfectly logical explanations seems to be true!

Wait, what? Who's . . . Eleanor Roosevelt's dead. She had to have died ages ago. Who? Oh my goodness, pardon me, Mister Ebert!

I went to a meet-up yesterday, which one doesn't matter, picture the usual suspects. After we'd chatted for about an hour and gotten fed, we each introduced ourselves. For any of you who aren't living on Planet Earth, I'm a playwright and producer who mounted God Bless You, Mister Scrooge! in New York last fall. This surprised most people, "Did you do anything to publicize it?" one woman asked. Ouch! But then this other guy, when it was his turn, said, "I've been talking to Janet here for an hour and didn't realize who she was, I really regret not being able to see your play, but I plugged it on my website." So in my own little way, I experienced celebrity!

A rock has been thrown into the pond and nothing is exactly the same.