David Duchovny, why won’t you love me?

You’re loving everybody else! At least it’s a sensitive article, which is a major feat, considering I don’t think of anything by Chuck Palahniuk as existing in the realm of the tactful or tasteful. Just the same, sex addiction as the new media sensation does renew my resolve to read Chuck’s Choke before the film comes to Houston.

If this low-key Saturday morning — spent, primarily, waiting for the mail — has done anything for me so far, it’s helped to get my pop-culture priorities straight. & September is an exciting month: The Coen Bros., Ani Difranco’s relentlessly prolific discography, &, of course, Mr. Duchovny himself. Now, if only A. & I had our cable situation figured out. If Monday doesn’t come to drilling, watch out, Houstonites with Showtime; we’ll be kicking down your doors.

Other nice Saturday moments include curling up in our comfy chair & reading Paul Bowles’ short stories, recommended by & borrowed from W.D. Reading contemporary poetry these days, though I do it out of love & interest, is beginning to feel a little too much like exploitation; it’s difficult to focus on poetry for the sake of poetry, when I’m constantly thinking of poetry for the sake of mine. Sign of an insecure MFA, I suppose; still, it was helpful to take my head out of the process & locate some plot for a while.

& if that won’t pull my head out of my own ass, then the Jesus & Mary Chain will.