Tired: "Throw It in the Fire", The Mendoza Line.
Trying to stay focused: "How You Play the Game", Michelle Shocked
Feeling overall alright with my lot and how I'm managing it: "Gentle on My Mind", Lou Rawls. (No link, but man, you should hunt it down for yourself. This version rules.)

Twofold joy!

1. I finally took a picture of my favorite Brooklyn storefront: Bad Apple Bail Bonds.

Why do I love it so?
a. The presumption of guilt in the name. It's such an awesome way of attracting clients. "Yeah, asshole, we know you did it, and we don't care. Just sign here."
b. The worm in the apple is wearing striped prison garb and an olde tyme prison hat!!!

2. I was racing racing racing for the F train this morning--you enter my subway station by a ramp, go through turnstiles, then straight down stairs, so you can hear the train coming a good ways away--and despite my best efforts and speediest MetroCard swipe I heard the telltale chime of defeat as I was still descending the stairs to the platform. BUT! But but but! For no reason other than pure kindness, a fellow passenger stood in the doorway of the train as the doors closed so that I could squeeze past him and make the train. Oh, it was only a few seconds, but it made all the difference.

Because it was an F train, and who knows when the next one is coming.

And because it was an F train, and I had become convinced that its ineffable crappiness had made Machiavellian monsters out of all of us forced to rely upon it.

Oh, Subway Hero, you have restored a small bit of my faith in humanity. I have no choice; I must quote Lyle Lovett: I love everybody, especially you.

Despite the fact that I hate text messages (I am freakishly anal retentive about keeping written correspondence, and having text trapped on my phone galls me), I recognize that there are instances when it is preferable to calling. My favorite "huh, I really wrote that, didn't I?" moments are below.

Disclaimer: the grammar on many of these is atrocious. I do know better, but it's a phone, I have wee sausage fingers, and it just doesn't always come together.

Assuring others of my safe return home at later hours:
"Home
Taught driver much about Brooklyn, self"

Stalled while commuting:
"Been on f for hour, gone four stops
May cry
Pls tell [boss] i'ma comin"

To an old roommate who shared one of my odder TV loves:
"Watching shalom in the home and thinking of you"

To my sister, after I went by her apartment to double-check that there were no candles burning, and was attacked by her roommate's declawed cat:
"No fire
Alex did something to my leg
Drew blood
Ow"

Self-explanatory:
"Hate post office"

"People are so boring and predictable
Girl says 'i used to work at a sex shop'
Bartender says 'i don't usually do this but i want us to do shots'
Yawn"

"In a world of disappointments ricky bobby far exceeds all expectations"

• Six months ago to the day--another Friday the 13th--I moved into my new apartment. After we'd gotten through the bleary day, my roommate and I staggered around our new neighborhood looking for a place to copy our keys. Fun fact: nothing breaks in Kensington. At least, that's what one would imagine from the total absence of hardware stores. We were defeated that day, but we did find this awesome storefront some blocks from our new abode:

  

  MAGIC.

• Five years ago tomorrow, I first moved to the warm bosom of Brooklyn. (Scroll down.)

• Some-odd years ago today, my beloved older sister Alanna was born. She is better than hardware stores, inadvertent dirty joke signage, and Brooklyn's comforts combined.

Because moonlight and the beginning of Spring are not to be wasted.

More pics if you click.

in inappropriate footwear, as is my wont.

As ever, click for more.