Sunday Night Insomnia.

I can set my watch by it. Sunday night rolls around, I've watched everything HBO has to offer (how the hell did they ever get Pat Buchanan on Ali G. by the way?) and I can't fall asleep. I bought this stuff called Alluna a while back. It's a herbal sleeping pill or something. There are as of yet undiscovered tribes, in the heart of the Peruvian jungle, who could have told me it wouldn't work.

The dodgy marketing language should have been my first warning. "It works by helping you relax so you drift off to sleep naturally." How about helping me to sleep so I can drift off to sleep naturally? How about a non perscription sleep aide called "Sledgehammer to the back of the skull"?

I'm sick of TV, I've read every book in the apartment and I'm just about ready to see how long playing Monopoly against myself might be interesting. I even read The DaVinci Code last month God forbid. The success of that book just astounds me. People who normally can be found reading... well... People, have told me proudly that they read it and loved it. And I usually just want to tell them to maybe keep that to themselves. To stop helping to deify the mundane.

I'm guilty of reading my fair share of trendy books-of-the-minute, but I realize that I shouldn't run around singing their praises like I've just discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls - lest folks think I'm a moron. There's a sample I've always loved from an old 3rd Bass record (file under white, Jewish 80's hip-hop). I don't know where they lifted it from. "He's stupid, but he knows that he is stupid. And that almost makes him smart."

And if you think what I wrote sounds a wee bit pompous, remember: I just admitted I still listen to 3rd Bass.