Head Rattle

I.
I despise being introduced to humans I've met before, sometimes multiple times. I don't recall names, but I remember eyes, nose, mouth, hair. At the group-show art opening tonight, the one in which my wyfe's hand/mirror thing made its debut (see bizarre photograph below), I re-met several reps of the local gentry, all of whom claimed to remember me. I doubt they would if they passed me on the street without the company of my wyfe, however. Someone I did know there pretty well suggested I might adopt a more memorable name: Mike Rofiction.

II.
There was an appalling scene at the PATH train station this A.M. rush hour. Due to a "car equipment problem" a seething mass of humanity huddled on the concourse level, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for trains to convey them to Manhattan. It reminded me a bit of the scene in Times Square each New Year's Eve. Cops were preventing them from escalating down to the actual train platforms, for fear of overcrowding and unexpected encounters with the tracks. Luckily for me, I was able to bypass the throngs, because I wasn't going to the Appleopolis, but rather to Newark. Yes, that's counted a lucky thing...going to Newark....

III.
This David Foster Wallace tome I'm "reading" is now on to a short story about one of Lyndon Baines Johnson's minions in the early to mid 1960s. It's an engaging character study (a counterfeit memoir, actually) with, of course, a ready-made dramatic plot (a certain assassination and aftermath) and a ready-made colorful curmudgeon for the central character to play off of. So maybe it's cheating, with all those prefabricated elements, but it's enjoyable PoMo fiction nonetheless. Maybe I should emulate and write a story about, I don't know, Marilyn Monroe's dog. Oh wait....