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2002-06-20 | 10:52 p.m.

Woke up this morning from a dream in which I was happily groping a Rickmanesque British celebrity (with a very fine specimen of you-know-what, and I don't mean Voldemort, though it would be kind of funny to call it that) only to segue quickly--perhaps too quickly--into an imagined letter to Jan Bischoff, asking him about the amphetamines he was taking prior to his heart attack. Okay, here's the thing: He told us he was taking them before it happened, and being the sort of person I am I just sort of assumed that he had been taking them because he wanted to. But when I woke up this morning, still half dreaming, it occurred to me to think what if he was taking them because they were prescribed, like the ones I've been prescribed? Then I had a little (errr-er! errr-er!) nervous moment. Too much of this already feels like making other people happy--I have to keep reminding myself that there could be benefits on the user end--and I don't really want to bend over backwards to fit in, make other people happy, and suppress my personal chaos all so I can have a massive heart attack.

I mean, Jesus, if I want to start living like that, I'll just go ahead and have my stomach stapled. Maybe get my eyes lasered and some breast implants while I'm at it, then mull it all over in the tanning booth.

I told Stephen what I was thinking and he said Jan doesn't seem like the ADD type. Because he wrote that big scary book. But who knows? He can be a pretty ferocious procrastinator, and he has a tendency to hide himself away. Look, I'm no therapist, but there's SOMETHING about him that a therapist would latch on to.

I will write to Jan and ask him my questions, which he will not answer, because he already told me he doesn't do e-mail. I could call but ... eugh. Phone.

***

Why did the penguin cross the road?
Because he wanted to see the noodle!

I listened to 30-40 variations on that joke at dinner tonight. The kids understand, to a greater or lesser degree, when something is funny, and they laugh in the right places. But they don't understand what makes something funny to begin with. They can't figure out what differentiates a winning combination of elements from random combinations that are surprising, but not funny. So they just keep churning out these groaners.

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