Ftrain, by Paul Ford

Spent a few moments reading about weatherman Al Roker, after watching a video in which a drunken little person dressed as an ewok humps his leg. He lost about 100, the full dollar, with the gastric bypass, change brought on by his father's deathbed wish that he get his fat ass in gear. It must be odd, to have everyone have an opinion on your body, and then to be a weatherman, and to have an ewok hump your leg. All of these things must be odd.

I am wearing a sweater vest. It looks pretty good, except it's a sweater vest. I look like a city social worker.

"John, I understand you, but the restraining order says that he can't come back to pick up the television, so don't tell him to just swing by the house."

I have a reading tonight related to a book in which I'm anthologized (that sounds like an operation, like the bypass--I used to get terrible headaches before I was anthologized; anthologization cured my catalepsis; I lost all taste for human bacon after I had myself anthologized), hence the sweater vest. Also the reading itself is just a gag (I'll be on for 30 seconds) so looking boring is an asset.

Fucking sweater vest. I wish I were someone else.