Dear Binda,

The rain has not stopped so I’ve decided to go to the movies to see the Spike Lee movie. I have to admit, it was the lady in the laundry room, in our the basement of our apartment building, who convinced me to watch it. She was in there, when I came in, with my dirty laundry. She’s an early bird so she was already folding her clothes, and it wasn’t even seven a.m. yet. She said that she’d read an article in the New York Times about global warming. I didn’t want to hear it. She usually talked about pleasant things like her dog and her son’s BBQ restaurant out in Austin.

Her short, sweet, anecdote made the think the world was ending. Whenever I think the world is ending I want to do these things (and these are things you are well aware of, first hand):

1. Drink
2. Have sex with strangers
3. Disregard all propriety and do whatever the hell I want.

Basically it feels like stepping onto a fun rollercoaster,the kind with small dips and twists, without ever going upside down. But these sorts of rides are frowned upon by other well-meaning adults. You’ve told me to my face, that I’m childish.

So my compromise, without the extreme of ending up naked in some man’s arms with Heinecken dribbling from my mouth, is to watch Spike Lee’s latest rendition of racism.

He’ll present it in an entertaining and informative way. I’ll be in the dark, during this roller coaster ride of his crafting.

But I’ll still feel childish, Binda.