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The sermon for Apr. 14, 2004 is: embarrassing confession 12:40 p.m. So: so I was watching Gilmore Girls, the latest episode where they go to spring break -- Gilmore Girls Go Wild indeed -- and dancing about the room, in my wild-armed buffoon-akimbo way, to the guest band appearance -- the Shins, for god's sake! --, when the stylus in my Palm Pilot, which I was grasping desparately in my, um, palm, flew out like a missile of its snug thingymajig, bounced against the walls, and hit me in the face, causing me to break my spectacles. So... which was the stupidest part of that sentence? Last night, my sister asked me to take her kids (Anthony, 7; Emily, or "Mimi," or "Moomoo," 3) to McDonalds while she and her husband went out to dinner. The three of us were crossing the vast parking lot to McDonalds, hand in hand in hand in hand in hand in hand, all of us clutching many twenty dollar bills (I'm bad with money). "Who's gonna pay?" Anthony asked. "I'll pay," said I. "No, I'll pay," Anthony said. "No, me," Mimi said. "No, me," said I. "No," Anthony said, "I'll pay." "NO," Emily screamed. (She has two voices: her indoor, or loud, voice; and her very loud voice.) "EVERYONE WILL PAY. EVERYONE WILL PAY!" For some reason that reminded me of Travis Bickle, Taxi Driver; and of Paul Schrader's films in general. That's all.
 
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