While I'm here I feel I have a pressing issue to address. This issue is: the fucking. I do not intend to make anyone blush or pale from horror here. If you're a sensitive soul, please do look away.

The other day, as some friends and I were watching Sex and the City, I said that Charlotte was my favorite character, to which my fellow apartmentgoers replied, of course you do because she's a WASP, and of course you do because you have no libido. You bastards know who you are, and I feel like some remarks must be made. Yes, I'm a WASP, but that doesn't make me an ardent Barry Manilow fan, does it? As far as the other matters, let me explain why it may appear so.

Why is it, you might ask, that we don't read more about the fucking in this chipper young lad's diary? Why is it, I'm sure you're wondering, that we don't hear about the fucking in the same grueling detail that we hear about trips to the supermarket and days at work? I will admit that I've seen rather fuckier days. Is this a simple case of self-censorship, you may ask? Absolutely not. Maybe I just like to think that despite popular opinion, it's not really all about the fucking. Let me rephrase that: not *all* about the fucking.

There are already enough aspects of life that in theory should not be about the fucking, but are. Take doctor's offices, for instance. No matter how many magazines that have starving children on the covers, no matter how many solemn brochures about syphilis, no matter how many market mags with smiling people in scrubs showing off their brand-new colostomy bags they throw at us, the doctor's office is still all about the fucking. The subway is all about the fucking, or at least the involuntary grinding, depending on one's vantage point, and depending on whether or not it's rush hour. Star Trek should not, and was not intended to be, all about the fucking, but let's be honest here, between Riker rutting like a bunny with anything that moves, between Jadzia Dax, Jean-Luc Picard, and those damn Raisa episodes, there's more fucking in Star Trek than anywhere else on TV, with a little imagination. Finally, the elevator should not be all about the fucking. As far as this last point goes, I think I just watched The Secret of My Success one too many times when still tender, but yes, elevators are unfortunately all about the fucking, too.

Riddle me this, reader- if it was *all* about the fucking, what would we think about when actually fucking? (OK, you may answer, doctors, subways, Star Trek, elevators, or all four. A reasonable assessment, damn you. But you're missing the point, and making me digress.) I mean, really, it's like Graceland, if the entire point of life is getting there, isn't going to make the actual place a little, er, anticlimactic, pun intended? A little disappointing? No matter how garish and tacky and hilarious and dreamlike it might be? Other things have to occupy the mind *sometimes*. Still, that's no excuse, it is a big part of life, and you don't talk about the fucking at all, I can hear you object, reader. And in order to answer that, I can see I'm going to have to follow this up with another entry, lacking energy as I am. Or maybe I'll avoid the topic altogether in future, and comparable to my tried-and-true, longtime Zen Fucking tactic (fucking by not fucking) I will talk about this by not talking about it. Yes. I think that's what I'll do.

But allow me to prove my point. The next time you are fucking, I dare you to try and remember what you thought about, and while I'd rather nobody reported back to me, I'll bet I'm right. Groceries. Elevators. Subways. Star Trek. Maybe, if you're really together, "what is my knee doing there?" Perhaps even a recent trip to the pet store, if you are a certain one of my exes. I'll put five bucks on it, either you were not thinking at all, you can't remember, or... the fucking was not about the fucking. QED.