YOU CAN EAT OFF MY FLOOR ANY TIME, BABY

YOU CAN EAT OFF MY FLOOR ANY TIME, BABY

You know, it always goes one way or the other when you lose a job. Either the grand panorama of possibilities open up like Anna Nicole Smith on her wedding night and all the things in your life that you haven't been paying attention to become possible again, once that 40-plus-hour yoke is lifted from your back and you can sniff the sweet, sweet air of midday freedom. Or shit just fills up your day and even though on the face of it you're less busy, you look up at the clock and go "Son of a bitch. Is it really 4:30 again? I should shower. Nah, it's only Tuesday."

Anyway. I'm proud to announce I've not watched a minute of daytime TV yet, I've been drunk before noon only once in the last three days, and my house is spotless. I know, you care. I know.

Well, to bring you up to date: aside from recording and drawing, oh yeah and stalking Marisa Tomei (where does the day go?), there's not been much. Oh, but I have been working on setting up my life a little better.

So have you seen the great return of Dong yet? Apparently he's joined the cool patrol and is officially fourth in line to marry Julia Roberts. Move on up, brother. Cash them alimony checks. And welcome back.

If you want to get out of the house (this goes for New Yorkers only; for everyone else, the house arrest remains in effect) I'm hosting trivia at Dempsey's tonight. I think it's time for another round of "What's That Smell?" Get those olfactory senses running. I've started eating the cheeses already.