05.29.03 :: 9:44 am

Today reminds me that soon it will be time for stoop sitting with my girl, drinking out of paper bags and smoking.

And this time next month, I will be unpacking in my new apartment and grilling hot dogs on my new deck. I will be exactly 14 stops away from Coney Island as opposed to a bus ride and an hour on the train.

It's so very desperately close to mojitos and drunken salsa dancing on Avenue C that I'm just about to take my shoes off and run barefoot out the building and into Central Park.

New York kicks all manner of ass in the summer. And I can't think of a better season to start over.

Now. Since there is no appropriate or witty enough segue into last night's debut of the show "Fame," I am just going to come out and say it: Debbie Allen is on crack.

That's one.

Two: I wish I had taken more modern dance lessons in my day. Because I'd rather be kickin it as a backup booty-shaker to, like, whoever... Janet Jackson, I don't know ... than sitting here ticking off nail lacquer shade names on my secretarial ass.

That said, I appreciate the talent on this show much more than the "talent" on America's New Top Supermodel or whatever the fuck that suckfest of a Tyra Banks-ian horroshow is called.

I mean, are we for real here? As a nation, are we for fucking real?

And do not even get me going on "For Love or Money" because there is not enough whiskey in the entire city of New York.

This concludes my rant for the day. I'm going to suck down a jar of honey in an effort to appease the Gods of Raging Sore Throatedness.

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