So much information comes flooding in all the time, its hard to even write it down. And by write it down, I mean type it in to the computer.

For instance, this week alone, I was amused to learn that at a Halloween party, Mike lost his temper with a woman dressed as a dominatrix when she paddled his ass, and he snapped her paddle into bits and flung them at her. Also, various babies, such as Milo, were dressed as cats, whereas other babies, such as Zachary, were dressed as pumpkins. But mainly the big news of the week is that I voted. I know it was early, and it's not just because I am special. I have to go out of town for work, so I went down there and did my best to navigate the complexities of the voting cards. In San Francisco, where I am, that is no easy task, since there were four pages, double sided, of initiatives. Which are deliberately tricky, like vote no if you want not to not have indian gambling. And even more complicated than that, because it isn't even pro or anti gambling, its more like, do you want to raise 1 billion dollars in taxes from gambling? Which not knowing any better, you might say, sure I do. But then it turns out Indian casinos pay like 2% tax, while in New York, the same casinos pay regular taxes, like 30 percent or whatever. So it is all trickery and lies and disinformation. Plus there are people like the single named Starchild, who is an exotic dancer, running for public office, because California is a state of people who find themselves amusing.

Big up to Alex, who made General Counsel at MTV.

I went to San Bruno yesterday, with Adam, who, after spending 11,000 on a 1978 Porche 911, just put 7,800 into it for a new engine. In case you are not hip to automotive prices, that is too much. But now his sunroof was leaking, so I went with him to an industrial neighborhood where there are mostly car painting shops near the airport, to get a new gasket. Which was oddly comforting, because it reminded me of bits of New Jersey, where working class people live in tiny houses and the air smells like paint. But I felt I owed him the company, since I walked him so far in his flip flops last week that he had to go to the doctor.

Afterward I went to Chinatown, where I got my hair cut. The upside is that it cost 5 dollars to get your hair cut in Chinatown, the downside is I look like a retarded person. Think Forrest Gump, only a little balder on top. All I need are those thick government issue glasses and a short sleeved shirt with a collar to complete the look.

Meanwhile, my brother has become friendly with Donald Trump, helping him choose his outfits and stuff and telling him he is the most important celebrity on the number one show in the world, and other stuff that he wanted to hear. Which is sort of glamorous, not counting the fact that Donald Trump is a pig. But he has also become friendly with Method Man and Red, and 50 Cent, which is more of what is termed ghetto fabulous than glamour, which is pretty much code for talking about rappers who got rich..