A flurry as of late of Nancy Pants references, much to the astonishment of Yours Truly. First the long overdue email from NYCbased David Hoffman (not so-named barkeep with heavy hand at Hamlin House) who had heard and then hunted for a song by a woman who names me in her song that sort of rambles about. Then that harkened up the song of way-yore by Kenny Kearney, "Nancy Pants," whose lyrics I will not quote here and now. Then a Friendster testimonial by Steve Bartoo, then another ref to NP. Fascinating, Jung-style synchronicity. And there should be no mental leap to the Police. Thank you.
Out last night following a full day of scholarly activity with Justy and Erin, flitting from bar to bar to bar in Williamsburg and at the first one one of the boy Marc Jacobs models lounged about looking somewhat extraterrestrial. Ended the evening by making the aforementioned sibs give me a whopppppper of a hickey, the hot new spring accessory trend that I am starting. Now. Go get one for when is the last time you had a well-placed hey get a loada this hickey. I rest my bruisish case. Now that I've informed New School U that I do not care to be innoculated contra meningitis thank you and now been free (ha!) to register for not one - but two - (ha!again) terms of Parsons School of Law/Art/Teaching/Snark I am free to leave this melodius metro area for the trans-statal crossing towards the Middling City and Kennedy.
Hickey/Vehicular Love.