I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
These last few weeks have expired faster than milk at the corner store, which is to say, very fast. Too fast. Defying the fuzzy numbers printed on the carton fast. I’m busy with comedy, fiction class, and doing things that are giving me material for both.
I’ve successfully completed my yearly reading goal. I still want to read, but I don’t have the time or concentration right now.
It’s your turn.
Here’s a question from Nia: 
Today was not just a fall day, but the fall day. The winds were cool, the leaves like gems.
It was so beautiful.
Last night I had dinner with this guy whom I’m convinced is lying to me about his height. He says he’s six feet tall, but I think he’s adding in at least an inch of imagination.
I tell him this over dinner right after I ask about his medical maladies.
“We’re going to settle this,” I say.
This is some vintage Sesame Street from the 1970’s. NYC was rough then, man. Look at Kermit. Guy’s about to take Pelham One Two Three.
We can only assume Cookie Monster was driving a taxi and going psychotic somewhere aboveground.
I’ve wanted someone to take a picture of me inside a refrigerator for some time. Preferably one of those big bodega coolers stocked with malt liquor and cottage cheese, but I’d settle for my own Frigidaire.
That said, I heard about an opportunity to go cave exploring, or spelunking, last month. What do you think I said?
Hint: Rhymes with “mess.”
A few of you have reached out to tell me that my blog isn’t working, yet you are still trying to read it to get things back to how they used to be when you first fell in love.
Those were the good times, right? Back when my blog didn’t roll its eyes and sigh at everything you did? Back when you still went nice places?
Guys, I’m working on it. Bear with me.
I find myself putting off creative work when it starts to feel like, you know, work.
I love writing when I’m done with it. But it’s work when I’m doing it. It’s quiet and lonely. It hurts my head sometimes.
Then I start thinking of all the other things I need to do before I can work on writing. Usually this involves the sudden, preposterous realization that the world is going to get hit by an asteroid that will wipe out the human race if I don’t organize my hallway closet right now.
Great news: I’m not dead, and neither is my Internet.
The Time-Warner guy came yesterday to bring wireless back into my life. Giddiness ensued. Have you ever seen a cable guy smile genuinely? It’s magical and available for a limited time only.
I have some stuff to blog. Tonight I’ll be busy with week two of my fiction class, though. So in the meantime, please enjoy the photograph my friend Mike took a few weekends ago.
I recently went on one of the most bizarre dates of my life. It was at a lively restaurant where my date and I had some trouble hearing each other.
Him: You keep licking your lips.
Me: Really?
Him: Yeah.
The weather in NYC changed abruptly in the last few days, so fast I think it deserves a letter in its file.
“A letter in its file” - that’s an allusion to NYC public school teaching that I’d like to dedicate to Dr. Richard Kimball, whomever he may be. Last night, I talked to a friend I taught with at my second school in Harlem. She cringed as she recalled threats of mythic letters in mythic files.
Because really, who possibly cares enough to store these letters? Especially when it’s not like something serious happened? My friend, she of the letters in her file, never mistreated anyone. Her bulletin boards weren’t colorful enough, and she argued that she’d been told the opposite and besides, that stuff didn’t really matter. That’s what got her in trouble.
