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2002-01-01 | 10:13 a.m.

My friend Charlotte wrote to me and said, "Your Christmas letter was very funny. You should really be a newspaper columnist, I think, of the Anna Quindlen variety." Well, I don't know much about Anna Quindlen, but the sentiment struck a familiar chord with me. Why the hell not? At least I could try. Put together a packet of something and send it to somebody. I always say I'm going to do this stuff and then I get down on myself and the impulse quiets to nothingness. What if I did something that hewed closer to the diary than to courage-of-my-convictions rhetoric? After all, if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I don't have the courage of my convictions. Well, okay, I have the courage of about 12 percent of my convictions. But that's not enough to take me to Sproul Plaza.*

So old girl, let's make this a New Year to remember. Put together 12 days and show it to somebody. Show it to Charlotte, for pete's sake.

Would people want to read about my family and my neuroses mixed up with bonehead political commentary, feckless advice, and menses-fueled rage? I couldn't really say. But if Norman Dog can find an audience in the alternative papers, why shouldn't I?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! ALL THE BEST IN 2002!!!!!

*Sproul Plaza being the area at UC Berkeley where all the zealots habitually congregate with megaphones, spouting their heartfelt beliefs. Or at least they did when I was there.

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