So, maybe it's Sunday night and maybe I'm walking through Rockefeller Center and . . . what's this? They're projecting poetry onto the sides of the buildings?
What Crime Did I Commit To Make You Destroy Me?
In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself
Also, it was General Conference weekend, which means lots and lots of TV watching and not much else . . . except Saturday night some person (maybe named Jen?) had a birthday party at a bar in the West Village (yes, perfect place to pack in the Mormons, good luck enforcing that one drink minimum) and I was so conflicted about what I thought of the party that I left it three times . . . that means I didn't exactly feel like staying, but I couldn't keep from going back to it.
But here's a shot of Jeff and Erin's blue, blue eyes.