I have to give this back to you (while holding onto it myself) in the
interest of reminding you of just how very funny you can be at your
best.  It’s a model, in short, of the anecdotal masterpiece.  I
haven’t a notion of what might come of your doing some of this, a
number of these.  But if you don’t get some inner satisfaction from
putting out this sort of thing, then there’s nothing you might aspire
to that will do the job.  I can’t stop smiling and I’ve read it three times.

So writes a friend above who is urging me to begin my memoirs on my blog–and then, presumably, transfer them to Hougton Mifflin.

At 06:19 PM 1/28/2010, you wrote:
When I worked at the state prison I worked a group
with a young, absolutely gorgeous, curly-haired
MSW intern.  There we were, *locked” in a
holding cell, with about ten lifers.  Asking them–
in response to just about everything–how they
felt about that.  I thought to myself many times,
“If I were them, I’d  kill me and do her.”  I can’t
imagine what we accomplished.  I mean she must
have been mentally undressed so many times her
skin would be raw.  And what were we supposed to
be doing in there anyway, making happy lifetime
campers?  They were depressed?  Well of course
they were fucking depressed.  They were grateful
just to be in there looking at that young woman’s
tits for an hour.  To be fair, a couple of them were
probably thinking of their daughters.  On the other
hand, they had probably molested their daughters.