HERE'S ANOTHER SOMETHING DUMB TO DO. KILLING TIME BETWEEN WORKING AND SIMPLY LOOKING BUSY, I'M WATCHING PEOPLE IN THE BUILDING NEXT DOOR WALK AROUND AND SHUFFLE PAPERS AND REPLACE PAPER TRAYS IN COPIERS. EAT FROM A BAG OF DORITOS. EVERYONE SEEMS AS FAR AWAY NOW AS THEY SEEMED 5 YEARS AGO BEFORE I EVER HAD A JOB IN THIS TOWN, AND NOW I'M ONE OF THEM.

THIS WEEKEND, I KEPT THINKING ABOUT A CONFERENCE ROOM IN THIS BUILDING. IT IS ON THE 40th FLOOR. FOR SOME REASON, ANY TIME I ENTER THAT ROOM I START SINGING CHRISTMAS CAROLS IN MY MIND.

I THOUGHT OF THAT CONFERENCE ROOM THIS WEEKEND, WHILE TAKING A SHOWER AND SINGING RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER TO MYSELF, JUST UNDER MY BREATH, OVER AND OVER. I THOUGHT OF THAT CONFERENCE ROOM LATER IN THE DAY, AND STARTED SINGING FROSTY THE SNOWMAN, SILENT NIGHT, AND O! HOLY NIGHT. ALL THREE SONGS MORE OR LESS AT ONCE, ONE AFTER ANOTHER CRAWLING OVER THEMSELVES FOR ATTENTION, FOR JUST A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE AND RESPECT.

I'M WATCHING TV AND PLAYING NET-SCRABBLE AND READING MAGAZINES AND LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW TODAY. THERE APPEARS TO BE A CONFERENCE OF SOME SORT GOING ON IN ONE OF THE ROOMS NEXT DOOR. HOW DOES ANYONE HAVE TIME FOR MEETINGS. WHY DOES ANYONE CARE ABOUT THE BUSINESS AT HAND. WHAT KEEPS ALL THOSE PEOPLE FROM JUST STAYING HOME.

AFTER THE CHRISTMAS TUNES WERE THROUGH RAPING MY BRAIN, I BECAME WORRIED ABOUT THE DEMOLITION OF EARTH BY AN ASTEROID. AND I FOLLOWED HALE/BOPP AROUND ON NASA's COMET-WATCHING SYSTEM. CHASING COMETS AROUND THE PLANET IS TIRESOME.

SOMEWHERE IN THE SOLAR SYSTEM IS A STAR I BOUGHT MY SISTER FOR HER BIRTHDAY MANY YEARS AGO. SHE GOT THE PAPERS AND CERTIFICATES OF AUTHORIZATION, BUT I NEVER ACTUALLY SAW THE PAPERWORK. THE THOUGHT OF ASKING HER IF SHE HAS IT HANDY FORCES ME TO CONSIDER HOW I WOULD REACT IF SOMEONE SUDDENLY DEMANDED "WHERE'S THAT CD I GOT YOU FOR YOUR 24TH BIRTHDAY?"

LOOKING AT PICTURES OF THIS COMET, I WONDER IF IT PASSED HER PLANET. IS IT WRONG TO BE HAPPY WITH THE GIFTS YOU GIVE OTHERS? TO BE MORE HAPPY WITH THOSE THAN WITH THE GIFTS YOU RECEIVE YOURSELF?

I'M SO TIRED TODAY. BACK OF MY HEAD IS NUMB AND MY EYES ARE GOING SHUT. GOING ACROSS THE STREET NOT FOR DORITOS OR CONFERENCES BUT FOR COFFEE ON 7th AVENUE AND TO LOOK AT THE BLANDLY BEAUTIFUL WOMAN ON THE ICB ("I CAN BE") BILLBOARD AT 7th AVENUE AND 50th STREET.

IT'S A SIGN FOR A PERFUME (I THINK) NAMED ICB, BUT BESIDE THE LETTERS ICB ARE THE WORDS "I CAN BE ME." I LOOK AT THE SIGN, SEE THE LETTERS ICB AND THEN READ THE WORDS "I CAN BE ME" AND QUICKLY END UP THINKING "ICBM." I DEDUCE THAT THIS MUST BE WHAT THOSE ADVERTISING TYPES HAD IN MIND. I SHOULD ASSUME THE VACUOUS CHURN OF THIS WOMAN'S ENORMOUS, LIMPID FACE EQUALS THE FORCE OF AN INTER-CONTINENTAL BALLISTIC MISSLE.

COME TO THINK OF IT, MAYBE ICB IS A BRAND OF ICE CREAM. AS IN "I CAN'T BELIEVE." OR A RADIO STATION.

TONIGHT I'LL GO SIT AROUND SOME SKANKY DINER OR BAR. SOMEWHERE BETWEEN TIMES SQUARE AND COLUMBUS CIRCLE, I'LL CHOOSE A PLACE POPULATED BY PEOPLE WHO DO NOT SPEAK. I'LL DRINK GUINNESS AND EAT CHEESEBURGERS, THEN I'LL GO BUY MAGAZINES AND COME HOME TO PLAY VIDEO GAMES AND PRACTICE RACHMANINOFF AND MUSSORGSKY FOR THAT RECITAL I'M THINKING OF DOING NEXT SEASON.