I've extended my, erm, "sabbatical" into October and the foreseeable future—one month just wasn't enough to finish my history of sex in the afterlife (working title: "For The Martyrs it's Heaven, For The Virgins it's Hell")—so I'm taking it a little further, and testing my breatharian skills in the bargain (it's cheaper than eating).

But while reducing my carbon footprint is fun, it's not my main goal with this little working vacation. I am a tough task master, more demanding of myself in most cases than anyone else could be of me. And even though I slept most of the day yesterday, I feel it was ultimately very productive, as sleeping can be.

You just have to broaden your definition of productivity a little, and you'll be amazed at the things that seemed to you once not to be productive that now suddenly are: fluffing your pillow, switching on and off the lights, changing the toilet paper roll, the list goes on and on.

At the same time you can't push yourself too hard, or you'll just drive yourself back into the workforce, and that's exactly what you don't want to do.

That's why I take a little time off from breatharianism in the evenings, especially when they've been as lovely as of late. And these little breaks from the rigors of The Life of the Mind have been nothing short of idyls, if you want to know the truth.

Here's something to celebrate: I had my first J.P. Licks ice cream cone in Davis Square without being accosted by a drunken townie last night! Woo-hoo! It made my double scoop of pad thai in a sugar cone all the more savory, let me tell you.

It had gotten so that my housemates were afraid to go out for ice cream with me. I had even written Mayor Curtatone to see what could be done to protect me from the drunken hordes.

The Mayor never wrote me back, by the way. And while it's been over a month since I sent my first letter, I don't bear him a grudge. I think there's probably a good reason he didn't answer...


His constituency comes first. I understand, Mr. Mayor.

I guess the bigger question here is why we so often attract what repels us. (That's the Royal We, in case you were wondering.) I think the answer has something to do with pad thai ice cream, but I'm still working on it. When I work it all out I'll let you know.

I should also mention (in the context of the square, not attracting what repels us, hopefully) that one night last week I had my very own missed connection. It was very tastefully understated, needless to say. I posted it on the fourth, and this morning I got my answer. How brilliant is that? We're going to connect later this week, looks like.

And speaking of kismet, I was in Back Bay this afternoon, and dropped into Brattle Books. I have always trusted the universe to educate me in its own time and by its own methods, and I think it's done me good. So I was not really surprised to find this little gem waiting for me on the dollar rack outside:

I mean, with the debate raging on as to how honky last weekend's HONK! Fest was, this seems the perfect time to investigate the issue.

Conley, by the way, aside from being cute as a button, is a grotesquely successful academic, not yet forty and chair of Sociology at NYU, and first ever sociologist to receive the Alan T. Waterman Award, a $500,000 honor, from the National Science Foundation, at the tender age of 35.

I can't decide whether to jerk off to the cover of this book or just sit here and quietly weep.