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We are in New York for a funeral. I’ll be back on Friday, but Jonno’s staying on with his mom for a couple of weeks.

You know, he sometimes puts on a curmudgeonly face, but you should have seen Jonno yesterday: from the moment we landed, he was making plans to take over Thanksgiving responsibilities from his aunts. It was just so–for lack of a better word–cute.

Of course, being the self-centered schmuck that I am, all Jonno’s talk eventually led me to wonder what the hell I’m going to do next Thursday. Visit family? Join friends? Pretend I’m a crazy old lady and spend all day making a meal for me and the hounds and the cat and then force them all to sit at the table wearing little hats and bibs and eating with utensils taped to their paws and forcing them to clean their plates before I bring out the only dessert I can make, an apricot nectar cake? I just don’t know…

Then my prayers were answered: some fool at the New York Times decided to run an article on turducken, complete with helpful hints. Maybe I’ll try my hand… And boyfriend, I apologize in advance if you return to New Orleans only to find me in some crazy-lady slippers, perched on half a scorched suitcase, surrounded by sooty animals, in front of the smoldering remains of our happy home.

Wish me luck, y’all.

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Jonno is fine. His webhost, however, is not. Please stand by.

In other news, here’s a thought for today: “Stupid sexy Flanders.”

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I am lazy. I do not have the time or the energy to put these things in narrative form. Still, they should be said.

[Ed. note: more links will be added later when I am hopped up on goofballs and not before.]

1) Jonno’s family rocks. I’d met his mom and dad and brothers before, but this time I was introduced to his aunts and cousins and his grandmother. I’d been on his case forever about that, about the fact that I’d never met all these people before, people he grew up with–not just casual acquaintances, but people whose deaths would warrant the sudden purchase of airline tickets and the pressing of our best suits. My grandparents, aunts, and uncles meant the world to me as a kid; now that most of them are long gone, I’m sorry Jonno never had the chance to meet them. I don’t want him to feel the same about his own relatives.

2) The Ring is not as bad as you might think. I went into it knowing it was based on a Japanese film. I went into it knowing Japanese films make two dollars and no sense (“Mommy, why is that cat talking? Why is the girl wearing a bikini to school? Mommy, I want to wear a bikini to school!”). I got what Jonno paid for.

3) The Transporter is far worse than you can imagine. Jason Statham is hot and the production values are high, but there is no plot, or if there was, it was written by a non-talking cat.

4) Aside from Jonno’s family, I spent time with many other wonderful people, most of whom I’d never met before. We had drinks, we laughed. Some people made plans. Mardi Gras may be very interesting and crowded this year.

5) There was one notable absence.

6) We were stupid and missed two very good shows.

7) I miss the bagels and the change of seasons but not the iced tea or the radiators.

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Okay, fuck it. Andy’s freakin’ show was last night. Like, if I’d even looked at the goddamn webpage I would have noticed, right? Jeez….

So all bets are off about tonight’s plans. Probably still Leshko’s at some point, but who knows? Call us and we’ll figure it out together.

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Ya wanna know something? In the course of all my airborne travel, I’ve never once been seated next to anyone I’d wanna schtup (with the notable exception of you-know-who, of course). In fact, over the years, there have only been one or two people I’ve even wanted to talk to. Now, those of you who know me, I’m sure you’re not surprised: I’m not exactly the sort of warm and fuzzy person who strikes up conversations with absolute strangers. In fact, of all my faults–and I have a number of ’em–the biggest is probably the general hauteur I project toward people I don’t know, keeping them at arm’s length and giving me a convenient excuse to keep the family pictures inside my wallet.

Still, that’s not to say I’m not open to making new friends on airplanes–or anywhere, for that matter–but would it kill JetBlue to seat someone cute in the aisle seat? At least get the ball rolling for me, that’s all I’m asking! I mean, what was up with that skinny, pimply, bologna sandwich-toting gothboy on Thursday, huh? Why not the chunkymonkey wopdaddy Jonno and I were checking out in the waiting area? Why not the guy in the snug-fitting black jeans with the H&M skinnyrockerboy sweater? Hell, why not the righteous babe with the blue Sony discman in one ear and the cell phone in the other? Huh? …Although to be fair, I guess I didn’t get seated next to the screaming 6-month old child, either…

Maybe one day the moon’ll be in the seventh house and I’ll get to initiate Jason Statham and Michael Milhoan into the mile-high club.

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So we’re here, at Jonno’s parents’ house. We’ll be in the city tomorrow, seeing Andy‘s show. Join us for the 10pm performance, then for drinks afterward at Leshko’s. Or don’t. See if I care…

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1) This is George.

2) This is the gas George buys for his car.

3) This is the oil company executive who makes money on the gas George buys.

4) This is the terrorist organization supported by money from the country where the oil company does business.

5) We all know what this is.

6) The biggest weapon of mass destruction is parked in your driveway.

Jeez, somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.