I Am Starting To Like La, But

My A-number One Visceral Fear Is Speed. More Than Knives Or Snakes Or Confined Spaces. Speed. I Won't Even Go On A Motor Boat If I Can Help It.

Okay, This Is Fran Lebowitz. She Gave An Interview Once For The Paris Review About Trying To Write Fiction And Saying That Fiction Writers Start Talking About How Characters Are Talking To Them, And It's Crazy, She's Never Had That. And I Also Thought, I'm Never Gonna Be Able To Do This, Because I Didn't Feel That For A Really Long Time.

My Personality, When Tasked With Creating Meals, Goes Something Like This: Is There A Way We Can Make This More Difficult? Because Let's Do That. I Don't Mean To Complicate Things. It's Just - Why Buy Pre-packaged Potato Salad When You Can Spend Your Morning Boiling Potatoes And Flipping Out Because There's No Dill In The House?

I Do Think New York Prepares You For The Crossection Of Personalities And Realities On Display When You Leave The Country, And I'd Live Somewhere Else If I Had A Reason Or Burning-the-the-point-of-discomfort Desire To Do So.

They Say It's Not The Snoring Itself But Those Anxiety-packed Moments In Between Snorts. It's The Waiting For The Nasal Passages Of The Person Lying Beside You To Strike Again. And Strike It Always Does. In The Dark, Almost Against Your Will, You Produce That Special Glare Reserved For People Who Cannot Control Their Own Behaviour.