It's 1 AM, and I'm feeling relatively calm. Everything in my life is good right now, solid in fact, although incredibly boring. Sometimes I guess it's supposed to be this way. Better calm than fucked-up, right?

This week was good. I watched giddily as page views doubled for my work site, the result, no doubt, of long overdue on-air advertising. The ad was produced without any input from me, so I was interested to see what facets of the site the production team chose to promote. The videos and site features, some of which were wholly my concept, had only existed as html files for me for so long, and then, suddenly, there they were beaming at me from my television set. Even the tagline for the site - which I developed during a night of drinking and writing at the Beauty Bar - sounded better in an announcer's voice. Say what you will about "old" media, it still has the power to rock my world.

And, I developed some exciting new ideas for how to expand the site further. It looks like I might be doing another "season" of it, if all goes well. There was a time I couldn't wait to be finished with it, and, to be honest, I am counting the days until I leave. But let's face it, this project kind of rocks, and I don't know of another project that would offer me comparable opportunities. If they want me back at the end of the summer, I'd be a fool to say no.

Today was nice. I hung out with Kath all day, and helped her get ready for a barbecue. A bunch of Steven's friends - some artists, a critic, and a gallery owner - stopped by to feast on both real and fake hot dogs. I tuned them out for the first hour, because I have no knowledge of or interest in the Manhattan art scene. It was only when we started talking strip clubs and the like, that I finally tuned in. I am the weakest link, to be sure.

Sunil showed up, as did w-w.net suburban correspondent, Bernie B. and her beau, and before you knew it, Bernie and Kath were spilling stories from their bad girl days. Those two kick my ass in terms of scandalous past. They worked at Limelight in the late 80s and early 90s, and at Prince's club Glam Slam and federal witness Chris Paciello's club Liquid - both in South Beach - in the mid 90s. They've seen and participated in countless acts of debauchery. They've also worked for gangsters. And somehow, they lived to tell about it. Me? I've just had a lot of sex.

I got tired, though, and had to go home. I like good stories, I like drinking beer on Brooklyn rooftops, and I love barbecue, but my social skills drain quickly these days. I do what I can to maintain calm and stay on the path I've worked so hard to discover. It's safest for me at home right now. I'll have plenty of trouble to contend with soon enough.

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