Fluff feather pillows daily

What does it mean when you repeatedly dream about marriage and bed linens?

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“Was I? Oh no. What did I say?”

“You said, ‘if we get married, will you fluff my pillow every night?'”

“Huh.”

“My answer is no.  Just so we’re clear.”

“Oh, we’re clear.”

Observed today while waiting for traffic lights to change

A Jeep with my dad’s initials in the license plate

A cat crouching under the Jeep

A child with a bagel around his pointer finger like a ring

A cab driver pouring a cup of coffee out the window

The “not going out of business/losing our lease/becoming a Chase Bank or a Duane Reade” signs in the windows at Fish’s Eddy

Soggy papers in a leaking AMNY box

A girl sprinting to beat the light (she didn’t make it)

This is what we talk about when we go out for Italian

“You never called spaghetti ‘pasgetti’ when you were little?”

“No.”

“What did you call it?”

“I called it ‘spaghetti.'”

I also pronounced “available” with a Y until I was nine, put “Please Do Not Disturv” signs on my bedroom door, and thought an emergency vehicle that drives people to the hospital was called an “amblee-ance,” but I left all that out.  It’s not lying by omission if he doesn’t ask, right?

This is what I’ve been listening to this week:
Naked Eye by Luscious Jackson
Time by Sarah McLachlan
Live Your Life by T.I.
Just Like Heaven by The Cure
We Looked Like Giants by Death Cab for Cutie

A fifth-grader ago

Remember when Puffy or whatever he used to go by and Sting performed “I’ll Be Missing You” at the MTV Video Music Awards?  What was that, like ten years ago?

More like eleven.

And now it looks like all the nominees for Best New Artist might be younger than I am.

At least that makes me too old to get caught up in a battle over promise rings.

This is what I did yesterday afternoon while it rained and rained and rained and rained: