For example, here is one thing I adore about Sascha that I know I mentioned to that reporter: We do lots of silly things together without feeling awkward or self conscious, for example, when we are in a crabby mood and we do the crabby dance. The crabby dance consists of sidling back and forth making little grumbly noises and snapping at each other with our hands.

Where could I find another guy to do the crabby dance with?

Also, he loves cats even though they make him allergic, and he has excellent taste in pop-culture, ie. introducing me to T.A.t.u. and Buffy. And he goes to the gym and eats his vegetables even though he doesn't want to. And he makes me not smoke.

Sascha and I are in the NY Observer today!!!

The article entirely consists of Sascha saying incredibly nice things about me. Apparently I didn't have anything nice to say about him during the interview. What is wrong with me? Well, just so you all know, Sascha is FABULOUS and WITTY and INTELLIGENT and CHARMING and I'm INCREDIBLY THRILLED about marrying him!!

There is another interesting architecture article in the Times today. I hate Roger Dean's paintings, but I love this house. It reminds me of the Gaudi houses in Barcelona and of the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Oak Park.

On Saturday at Coney Island (the day that Bee., R.H. and I went to both Coney Island and Times Square in the same day), I met a guy named Z who has a picture of Buckminster Fuller tattooed on his neck. This picture of Buckminster Fuller to be exact.

When someone has a picture of Buckminster Fuller tattooed on their neck, it makes you take an interest in Buckminster Fuller. I've read some excerpts from his book Critical Path, and although his writing style is very charming, it is hard to tell what he is on about. I think I'm going to have to read the entire book.

We saw this wonderful studio building made out of shipping containers in London’s Docklands when we were down there to check out the Longplayer project with Christie. Today, there is this article about building with shipping containers in the New York Times.

I like the long skinny proportions of the containers, and I like that they are recycled. I am amazed to learn that some of them were originally built with mahogany floors.

Here is a link to the architect who was featured in the Times. This all reminds me that I have never been to the Cooper Hewitt. A shocking lapse.

I wrote a haiku about my keyboard today...

Grey Plastic pebbles
in the information stream
make my fingers hurt.

Here is a great essay about that one Nike ad...you know, the one with the chicken? According to Bee (and I looked it up, she's not lying), the ad depicts an actual sport. It is the coolest sport on earth, and it is called Le Parkour.

I was a little sad to learn that the sport doesn't actually involve a chicken.

This Nike ad had a similar effect on me to the Sprite "Lowrider" ad, which shows a gang of kids riding around their neighborhood on kickin' gold plated lowrider bikes. Both ads are mysterious and intriguing, and really well made. They both show you just enough of a subculture to leave you hanging, and then make you feel like you could maybe get a little part of that subculture for yourself, just by buying a soda and a pair of shoes. It is quite a tease, especially for yuppies like me who aren't part of any subculture and desperately wish that we were.

Ironically, both of these ads were designed to sell things that I really disapprove of. Which makes me suspect that they were designed to appeal to people like me and make me think that giant corporations are on my side after all. So, in case my praise of their advertising makes you think that perhaps you should purchase their products, let me be crystal clear: Nikes are made in sweatshops, by children, and Coca Cola products will fuck up your blood sugar levels and rot your teeth.

Sascha wrote the following in Frankfurt and didn't know what to do with it. So it is today's guest submission.

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Flying home to Leontine today, I experienced the feel of being an international pariah. I didn’t much like it; neither did I know much what to do about it. I suspect this is how Iranians feel.

Here in Frankfurt, for instance, flights to the US are cordoned off beyond a second layer of boarding-card control and metal-detectors from the rest of the international flights, “due to US security regulations.” US flights are stuck at the end of a third-rate concourse, abandoned by all but the hardiest beer-and-sundries purveyors. I saw a snack bar called “Beerlift” and took to it: I needed one. It was clear, out at the end of our pariah concourse, that the US government didn’t want furriners mingling with US-bound travelers – and that the Germans were perfectly happy about that.

Meanwhile, we raise visa fees for tourists, causing their countries to raise visa fees for Americans and discouraging travel (and thus discouraging understanding); meanwhile, we prosecute citizens of our firmest allies in military kangaroo courts, without rights.

The effect of our government’s moves isn’t one of comforting security; it’s of a nation under siege, hated by the world, and consumed by fear. Given the current administration’s demonstrated incompetence in managing the peace in Iraq and Afghanistan and its pretty-much-guaranteed re-election, I despair. Simply that. At least I'm in love.

Yesterday we went to the Janet Cardiff show at the Whitechapel Gallery in the East End. We got to take another one of her amazing guided audio tours, and it was a little different from the one we did at PS1.

This time the tour went outside, and all around through little streets and alleyways, and instead of just her voice and ambient sound, there was a hint of a story, something evocative of a pulp novel or a noir film. It starts with a bit where you walk down an alleyway, and hear footsteps following you, and even through it was the middle of a sunny day, it felt dark and cold.

I was curious to see her other new piece, but just as we finished the tour, Sascha lost a filling. So we went to boots and had some adventures in dentistry.

Everyone in London seems to agree. The United States has gone batshit insane.

They say this in a sympathetic, puzzled and regretful way, as though they've noticed that your 80 year old aunt has taken to riding around town naked on a bicycle, and they think you should know, but don't want you to get all offended when they mention it. They say, "I don't know how it seems to you, being American and living there and all, maybe you have a different perspective on things, but there is a bit of a perception over there that your country has completely LOST IT'S SHIT."

Well, they're right. As always, when I leave the US, I realize that the rest of the first world is infinitely more sane and together than we are, and they put a real priority on the kinds of things that are important to me, like lots of clean public restrooms with doors that lock properly, and good transportation that comes on time with a digital sign telling you when the next train will be.

Whereas Americans are really concerned with kicking the shit out of the Arab world and orchestrating the second coming of Christ. I have a hard time relating to those kinds of goals. Might be time to move to Canada.

If you are ever in England and need an internet cafe, I would highly recommend Internet Exchange. At least, the one in Covent Garden is exquisite.

Jamie is such a good friend. He knows that it is time to email me when he sees the words huge and gelatinous next to each other.