When I mentioned earlier that I was planning to become Crazy Bird Lady, I had in mind a time frame of maybe thirty or forty years, over which I would slowly cultivate an eccentric personality and you know, bird-related items: tv trays, throw rugs, and puffy-painted sweatshirts as well as actual birds.

The birds seem to have a different deadline in mind, and I'm guessing they're aiming for the end of next week, because they are driving me insane.

The Keelhauler and I are dog sitting at a new place. It's always a little weird to sleep in unfamiliar surroundings, what with all the house-settling creaking sounds and ambient noise of neighbors and the possibility of unexpected ghost manifestations, but I always manage to drift off eventually. Except last night. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard a loud and extremely melodic bird singing somewhere nearby. All the other normal daytime birds had gone to sleep, and now was his time in the spotlight. He took full advantage of the fact that he was the only one awake, other than me, I mean. He barely stopped making noise the entire night. What kind of bird sings all night? It wasn't like, a gentle owl-type sound, either. It was full-on loud, expressive bird singing, and it was driving me crazy.

On top of the Night Singer, the two dogs periodically sensed the presence of a skunk or something, and raced, barking and skidding, through the house, only to collide with the dog door, which was locked. And the Keelhauler talked in his sleep the entire night. It wasn't even anything noteworthy. It was like, work-related, or something, and he sounded wide awake. I wanted to punch him on the arm and yell, "I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE! STOP DOING THAT!" Except that I'm pretty sure he was actually asleep, because who would waste their time faking sleep-talk? (Answer: The Keelhauler.)

So, the only other noteworthy thing that happened yesterday was this: The Keelhauler and I took the dogs on a walk, and after a few blocks, he realized that we were near the house where Timmy, his fellow crew member on the ship, lives. So, we strolled on over, and a block away, we could hear Timmy, who was apparently drunk and standing in the front yard. I've met Timmy on three occasions, and each time he's been very polite and once gave me an orchid plant he'd cultivated himself. This time I saw a new side of Timmy, which is the side that emerges when he's been on a ship for several weeks without alcohol or chicks. He was surprised but drunkenly pleased to see us, and immediately lowered his glass of wine to stare fixedly at my chest and yell, "Can I see what's under that sweatshirt?" in front of the Keelhauler and another guy, unknown to me. My polite but firm refusal did not deter him from asking two more times, not including his request to "play with them." The Keelhauler, incidentally, was not at all fazed. "What'd you want me to do, haul off and deck the guy?" he asked later, amused. Of course not, but I wanted him to acknowledge the oddity of the situation. I guess it's payback for all the times we've visited Giuliana and she's insisted on squeezing his ass and threatening to have her way with him and destroy him and leave him out by the curb for the trash men. I don't know; it just doesn't seem as menacing when a woman says things like that.

Star of the day. . .James Cagney