...I am not. And that's my sop to subject lines. I get sick of subject lines, but I can't seem to make myself post without them. And here I am, thirty-two words later, annoyingly meta.

Am going with A. to see "Identity," the new John Cusack movie, in about twenty minutes.

I am the owner of much less hair. I am wearing clean clothes. I have showered. Yay, me.

Clearly I feel the need to chart the course of my day here, regardless of how boring this is for all the rest of you.

In the car this morning, en route to pancakes, the radio played a song I'd never heard before, "Harder to Breathe," which google suggests is by Maroon 5, i.e., "Who...?" Peppy. It reminds me of Prince's "Kiss," which seemed exciting and addictive to me when I was fourteen (at the time, watching the video was a ritual teeny orgasm), but now strikes me as just another high-frequency, frivolous pop bleat.

Still, I think I like "Harder to Breathe," especially if I don't listen hard to the lyrics, which on inspection seem rather dumb. I thought the song might be by one of those boy-bandy guys, and was looking forward to telling my sparkly friends: I like one of your songs! Alas.

I'm slowly compiling a list of popcorny songs I want, including Chad Kroeger's "Hero," and that new cover of "Drift Away" (Dobie Gray? ...who?).

I am just killing time here.

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