As mentioned before, I was in the city that day. I was riding a train in from Long Island as I was staying at my mother’s. I didn’t have a cellphone then but people were already aware of something bad having happened by the time I changed trains at Jamaica to complete the journey to Penn Station. From Jamaica you could see the towers. One of them had a huge plume of black smoke going up from it. In the train I said, Look at that! Maybe four did, looking up from their papers.

It was my second day of rehearsals for a new musical so of course there was no question of delaying or staying home. Because if the show doesn’t go on the terrorists have won.

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Am I right in thinking that Glenn Greenwald is a total and complete asshole – ‘Wait till my next big revelation which will totally bring the Evil Empire (aka the US) to its knees, bitchez’ – or am I wrong?

That has happened twice in living memory so I’m prepared to be schooled by Those Who Know Better.

So his BF got pulled over at the airport. Big Fucking Deal. (Yes, I am somewhat testy this morning. Thank you for noticing.) Like the Limeys knows who he is. They can’t even get the one-way street system in Oxford right. You make one wrong town and you have to drive around the whole fucking town again. And yes, there is still honey for tea. There is also KFC.

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As a tribute to our own dear Baked who, when not living up to her screen name was often to be found marrying gay men, I offer this brief guide for all you gals considering a similar choice.

First off, we are dealing with broad strokes here, people. By ‘gay man’ I don’t mean some 22 year old hardbody who has legally changed his name to his grnder profile. Or someone who actually works for a living. I mean the kind of man you might run into shopping for cashmere in Bergdorf Goodman. In his 40s he has largely become invisible to other gay men yet still has a lifetime’s learning to share with that special someone. And let’s face it, past a certain age what’s more important, faking an orgasm or having someone in your bed who understands your struggle with carbs?

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When you’re awake at 3am to consider the wasteland of your life here’s a way to look at death. Yes, he’s welcome; yes, he’s seductive; yes, he’s not wearing much; yes, you hope you cum together but still…

We never talk about it. We don’t make plans. We don’t display the deceased in the living room. Hospice is one thing but do we have a local café?

Is there honey still for tea?

NPR floats a trial casket.

I don’t care. JUST READ IT.

You’ll thank me.

Snorri Haraldson goes cod fishing.

In a move certain to provoke derision the Icelandic government is now considering a proposal to block all internet porn.

Reached for comment in Grndrfjordur, Stinque correspondent for all things viking Snorri Haraldson commented, ‘Dude, Þú þarft að draga það frá kulda, minn dauður hönd.’

And now there’s this cardinal.

Who said these things.

We’re all very shocked.