I would just like to point out that The Director and The DJ are doing amazing things in Italy, and I am not. I didn't even get to go to Atlanta Pride, and there they are, all married and shit, in Rome with drag queens. Dammit.

I'm visiting Dad in Raleigh, in honor of Father's Day and his birthday happening at almost the same time. Well, they do that every year, but this year I'm visiting him for it. After dinner on Friday, we went over to White Rabbit Books. I'm not sure how many gay father-daughter comedy teams they get in there, but the clerk seemed rather blase about our act.

And I'm not certain, but I feel that no daughter should have to read pitcher/catcher themed tees with her father. Though I probably handled it better than Doobie would have.

I've always known that dad had an attachment to noise, but I've never really paid much attention to it until now. When we lived together, the house was big enough to get away from the television or radio. Here, in his apartment (which is still bigger than mine, and filled with family heirlooms) there is no escape. If he plays solitaire and watches E True Hollywood Story while talking to "Boy who is a friend" on the phone, there is nowhere for me to go. I have only the vaguest notion of where Sarah Waters' new novel is headed. It's no wonder he reads so slowly, if he always watches TV and does the crossword at the same time. I never thought of him as ADD, but now I'm starting to wonder.