Wait, don't answer that question. Instead, think about this: As I was walking up to Ray's pizza on Lexington and roughly 88th St., a couple was also approaching, although they were stopping to look into the frozen ices freezer the pizzeria had out front! I went in and got my slice, and as I walked out the couple was standing there with one of the people from the pizzeria asking them what flavors they wanted!

Now am I crazy or was it cold out today? No I am not crazy, it was pretty fucking cold. It was so cold that on top of my wearing a flannel shirt over my tee-shirt, my eighty pound leather pea coat, gloves and a scarf, I was wearing a hat—and I look like an idiot in a hat! I've eaten ices and ice cream cones on cool days, days when I wasn't wearing shorts, but it was way too cold to be ordering ices, even if the pizzeria had their ices freezer out front.

My theory, you wanna know what my theory is? I'm guessing that the damn freezer wasn't even plugged in, that they figured that it was cheaper for them to put the thing out on the street in the cold than it would be to keep it around the hot kitchen and plug it in.

After I left those fools with their damn iceys I went down to the NYPL, just as I do on most Tuesdays, to write. I don't think that I really got much good writing done. Was my bad writing the result of my having to witness two idiots buying iceys on a freezing cold day in January? This is the sort of thing no one will really be able to determine until after I'm dead. But mark the date, because if things turn out as I believe they will, January 6, 2004 is a day that will live on in infamy!

Before I go any further or before I go back and make the entry that I should have made early last week, I thought that I'd stop for a second and see about getting this one entry down tonight, even if it's only very brief.

I met up with Rachel tonight to go and see Dial M for Murder, in 3-D at the Film Forum. (Every time I write that out I have to go back and put that comma in so people don't think that there's murder taking place in apt. 3-D. In fact, I think the apartment is on the parlor floor.) It was great, in 3-D like I'd never seen before, with special glasses but in full color. Really eye-poppingly good. And to say that Grace Kelly is beautiful would be so poor an approximation as to almost be slanderous. I took a few photos of her up on the screen and even though they're completely blurred by the absence of a 3-D lens, you can still see how stunning she is.

After the movie Rachel and I walked over to Non-Imperialist, unreserved Books and I picked up a book called Straight from the Fridge Dad. Then we went to Joe's. The pizza there was okay tonight, but honestly the bottom was burned. A little too black for my taste on the bottom for my taste. Rachel had a slice with pepperoni and didn't rave and didn't complain. I didn't think to ask her.

You know it's funny, I just realized that when Rachel told me today "You really do eat a lot of pizza, don't you?" she was saying so because while we were waiting for some other people from work to join us at a bar last night, we decided (at my prompting) to go down the street to Two Boots so I could have something in my stomach before I started drinking. I had one slice of "The Newman" and one of "Tony Clifton." When she said this today I thought that maybe she knew about this journal, but I couldn't remember having told her about it.

After the pizza Ra and I walked up to the W 4th St. station and parted ways to go to our separate platforms. I was heading back to Brooklyn for the night and she was heading back to Queens.