Went to New York City (I refuse to call it “the city,” as most people here in the southwest corner of Connecticut do, and as most people called San Francisco in its outskirts, because I feel like that’s playing right into its hands) for the Morning News party (I’m the finger in the lower left-hand corner). On the train, Dennis talked about this hair-straightening technique that permanently straightens your hair, as in for the rest of your life. A friend of his who went to the party just had it done and I forgot to ask her about it, forgot all about it until just now. I forgot a lot of things. But I mean, aren’t we talking about altering genetics somehow? Some kind of nanobot surgery or something?

I met a lot of people that I’d been keeping tabs on electronically for years. I was able to hear maybe 30% of what people said. When I stood up to read a story, I did the thing I do whenever I’m making a movie with friends, which is completely block out the rest of the world and do whatever the script says, no matter how embarrassing or dumb. Earlier, I dropped a heavy glass tumbler that did exactly what its name promised, instead of shattering. Later, I stood on the iffy streets of Brooklyn in my socks. There was a moment when something shuddered inside me, and the rest of the weekend took on a sinister bent. I tried to play the laptop DJ and put on that Beyonce song but everyone got mad because it was “too soon” to play that one, we had to save it for later. In the morning, a parade sponsored by the local animal shelter went right past Rosecrans’s window. There were dogs dressed up as alligators and hula girls and a mariachi band, plus someone on stilts.