EDIT: Blog of the devil… I ran into Amy Poehler on the street this morning. She asked if I liked the sketch and I said he and I both loved it. I mean. How could we not?

A few days ago I opened US Weekly and read an article in which I was mentioned, specifically as “blog[ging] for JunkMag,” as though everyone reading should know what that means. It prompted me to send up a little karmic smack to the people who were sure Kathy and I would go nowhere. This website is just a small part of our lives, and we both have more exciting and lucrative things going on in the real world (one goes up to the douche in the overalls every time I get a fat check from iTunes). But it’s vindicating nonetheless to feel some bits of legitimacy here and there.

Meanwhile, I’m going out of my damn mind because I’ve been alone for about four days. Kathy and Jes were in Vermont with dozens of vegan hardcore kids and Christian was in LA with millions of plastic tatas. I killed some time going through photos and I’m throwing together a shoddy little scrapbook sort of post of a couple things that haven‘t been seen.

In February, Geordon and Leigh and I went to an Adidas thing, and Amy Sedaris was selling cupcakes to about 40 of us. And we bought them. Will Arnett and Amy Poehler were hanging out. I didn’t know at the time that she would be doing the SNL sketch, otherwise I might have told her that more often than “tranny” and “fierce” he calls everybody “Tina” on the phone. “Hey Tina, what’s going on?” “Hey Madonna, how’s Mariah?” And so on.

Also, hi, John Krasinski. You’re hot…

At the PR finale a couple weeks ago, I finally got to talk with Sweet P, who looks pretty damn hot here, right?

This was near the end of the night, so I’ve got my “drunk eyes trying to concentrate on not being crossed but alas, I am kinda Corky” face on. I believe I said something stupid, I don’t really remember. Christian wore that shirt three times in one week. I’m not the only ‘tard.

And this is a polaroid that Anna took of us and Melissa, who I’ve known for four or five years now, god damn. We are arranged in order of whiteliness to brownity, “Brownity Kane,” as she suggested.

I photographed Melissa’s wedding last September and my picture of her and her fine husband kissing on the living room dance floor was a half page in the NY Daily News. At least I approved that use. HX printed three pages of my photos of Christian without ever once so much as sending me an e-mail. My name was attached in big letters so I didn’t really mind all that much, but that’s normally a few more digits in my bank account so I don’t know why they thought it was peaches.

I bought a big bottle of Caldrea lavender pine hand lotion at the new Union Market on my street, took it home and rearranged my shelf of cologne and hair stuff around it, realized that I am well on the path to becoming something I hate, and moved it to my desk in a wanton act of disarrangement. And now I am blogging about it and staring at it here on the desk, greasing up my hands to smell them while making it impossible to type. Is there some sort of rehab I can go to? Should I mention that I have an entire drawer of half-used deodorants and hotel soaps? In my bedroom? And I don’t let Kathy steal from it?