I've been trying for an eternity to get a group together to play a board game with me, Settlers of Catan. And the more my attempts are thwarted, the more I become psycho-obssessed about playing the game. Last night I thought the groundwork was laid and I was sure that we were going to play. But then plans were made to meet at a bar (wrong off the bat) and then we moved on to a new bar--a smokey one at that where I copped an attitude with the bartender about the proliferation of smokers. We're in California fer chrissake, I don't have to put up with this! So I sat sullenly against the wall with my game under one arm, sipping water with my nose in my Myers-Briggs personality book.

read this column in which Kevin Smith disses Reese Witherspoon. Very Funny.

A friend of mine recommended a few books to me, and I haven't decided if she's trustworthy for that sort of thing yet. She doesn't like Sarah Vowell, didn't like Adaptation, liked the Hours...Jesus, I don't think that we have a thing in common, and yet, I'm forging ahead with one of her recommendations, Michael Cunningham's A Home at the End of the World. I identified with this one sentence, so I wanted to share.

"Adam alternated between listening to me and staring at the people sitting at other tables, with the unabashed directness of one who believes his own unimportance renders him invisible."

For an unrepentant starer, I find this to be an interesting and somewhat profound description of my favorite pastime.