No love from the Chosen People yesterday; I stood in front of a house for two hours and only spoke to the mail carrier, who said she didn't know whether the ground-floor apartment is usually #1. Really? Shouldn't they be pattern-seekers by nature? I assumed the lady of the house was home or would be back shortly because the air conditioner was on (another census trick!) but H reminded me that if the family weren't planning to return until after sunset, they could have left it running so they wouldn't have to turn it on during shabbos.

I did see more of those plastic freezy pop things at a playground. H has asked me to collect a sample for further tests at his house.

Today's Beauty Forecast: Dry skin unlikely, risk of frizz: HIGH!

I've seen a lot of interesting things from the buses of Brooklyn. For example, I bet the Brooklyn Job Corps Training Center is about the only place left on earth where you can get schooled in Desktop Publishing. And they seem to have a vast mandatory smoking area.

The most interesting phenomenon is you can go to neighborhoods here where you'd think you were in a small city in Russia, China, or Israel. If the streets and sidewalks are swept clean, you know you're in a Hassidc neighborhood. If women are carrying umbrellas in bright sunlight, you're in Chinatown, and if all the women have greasy, lemon-colored hair with black roots, dosvedanya!