Woke up, drank coffee, watched the E! True Hollywood Story of The View.
We don't have cable anymore, but somehow we still get E! and the Style Channel, so Jason and I watch plenty of wedding and design shows.
Found out Brad Renfro died and that Rent is going to close on Broadway.
Finished Vanity Fair article about the rape trials held on the island of Pitcairn, 3,000 miles from the nearest continent, home of the descendants of the HMS Bounty mutineers. Was pretty confused because almost all inhabitants share the same last name. Bizarre excerpt:
Prisoners [the men convicted of rape and sexual assault] and families write one another daily. The postmaster, Dennis Christian, is swamped with hundreds of letters. Three times a week, he delivers mail to the prison, and returns to the town square with a stack of letters from the men. So much mail is going back and forth that supporters in Auckland are sending sheets of postage stamps to help cash-strapped islanders. Ten-cent stamps make the 3,300-mile journey to be glued on letters to the prison, a five-minute walk from the post office. There is also an envelope shortage. Accustomed to privation, the islanders are now weaving envelopes out of grass and may have found a needed source of income--eBay auctions for grass envelopes with rare Pictairn stamps addressed to mutineer descendants in Her Majesty's Pictairn prison.
Emailed Jason Bredle to ask if he'd seen "The Orphanage," and received a long reply that did not respond to the question.
Went to work. Dropped a tray and broke two plates of food and felt like an idiot.
Went to Borders. Had hot chocolate and a grilled cheese sandwich and read an excellent story called "Balto" by T. C. Boyle. Remember Balto? The brave sled dog?
Came home. Put on pajamas.
Wrote a letter to my friend Krick on some very attractive Jill Bliss stationary.
Read a New Yorker article about megachurches that have coffee shops and basketball courts and motorcycle fan clubs and such.