in my cd player... Ivy Apartment Life   on the page... George Saunders Pastoralia   into... blurting things out; investigating opportunities that fall in my lap; lemon yogurt; finding a used copy of Woody Allen's Stardust Memories; the word 2000 conversion to XML/HTML   sid, nancy, patrick... My mother, with those quirky film tastes that include The Last Seduction and Sid and Nancy, told me this weekend that she really enjoyed American Psycho. I told her that if she would have picked up the book when I was reading it at the age of twenty, she no doubt would have locked me in a dungeon. She just laughs this off... "But that Christian Bale... so attractive, even as a serial killer." Moms!   torn... Julia, Carl, and I entered the New York Diner at 2:15 a.m. on Sunday morning to find the Patrick and Landon sitting at opposite ends of the trailer-like restaurant... separate tables... both motioning for us to sit with them. For the longest moment we just couldn't reconcile it, and then realized it was, like most things, a huge misunderstanding.   pioneers... Laine called me last night just as the telecast was ending so that we could bask in our winning taste for The West Wing. We compared our tales of being there from the very beginning, sticking through it, seeing every episode. Sometimes pop culture is so appealing.   capture envy... My road journals never quite captured the moment like Mark Mordue can: "Travel becomes deception, refusing, sometimes, to pass through you as easily as you would appear to be making your way forward. It lingers in you. Sometimes it causes you to disappear from your own life and world altogether. You never go home. The road erases you."