To distract myself from the memory of one of the creeeepiest phone calls I can recall getting. In a deliberate, measured tone, whispering very close to the receiver, the caller explained how his neighbors are driving him crazy. I think he's already there, personally, because my office does not handle complaints of that nature, but he was not easily dissuaded. I attempted in my most professional tone to redirect his attention toward an agency that might actually handle his concern, like the police department, but I think he was enjoying the attention I gave him. There was one point, near the end of the 14-minute phone call, that I got a distinct chill and thought, "...is this guy jerking off?" And you know, if you have to ask... Let's just say the phone call ended very shortly thereafter, at my insistence. Next time he calls, I'm charging him $3.99 a minute. I totally could have cleaned up on that one! (In a sense.)

Anyway, I started out saying I was trying to distract myself and instead ended up celebrating the experience, as is so often the case. It's a celebration, bitches! Enjoy yourselves!

The Keelhauler recently saw Dave Chappelle's Rick James sketch for the first time, and last night, when we were going to sleep, embarked on a journey of Rick James impressionism, consisting solely of the phrase "I'm Rick James, bitch!" and trying to sound increasingly like Rick James. "It's just not funny, when some white guy says it," observed the Keelhauler, who is a white guy. "Like, if I just say 'I'm Rick James, bitch!' out of nowhere, there's no context." And yet he persevered, striving for accuracy. There was a period of marked improvement, then he reached a plateau, where I feel he will remain, barring further attempts.

In other news, I visited a new and GREAT! thrift store today at lunch. The lovely and talented Ms. Tahmi is involved with the charity that runs it, and the place is swanky, with lots of excellent sets of china and linens and cufflinks. In the fifteen minutes I was there, I bought:

• Two fine Irish linen dinner napkins, with a peony motif, beautifully monogrammed with the initials JHE--this isn't no shoddy Lillian Vernon monogram, neither, this is nice! I'm going to pretend JHE is Julie Eisenhower. It was so nice of her to give us these napkins. Eventually, I will believe the lie and my work will be done. Price: $3 for both.


• Two nicely embroidered pastoral scenes on a single piece linen, waiting to be made into whimsical throw pillows. Yeah, have fun waiting! But so excellent, nonetheless. Price: $2.


• Five good-quality white cotton duck napkins bordered in cornflower blue (3) or taupe (2). The taupe matches our sail covers, but the blue... Anyway, as the Keelhauler, who was shopping with me by phone, said, "Not every damn thing has to match." The hell it doesn't! But still: $5 for the set.


• Instant sisters! A framed photo of a bride and three daisy-carrying, yellow-dress-wearing bridesmaids, ca 1968. The bridesmaids are also wearing daisy-covered headbands, although I can't say any of them looks terribly thrilled about it. They look like very nice girls, college girls, who were they that young today, would be swilling Hurricanes at Mardi Gras and suing over their appearance in "Girls Gone Wild" videos. Price for these lovelies: $1.


• Instant drunken relatives! A framed photo of six adults, possibly at the wedding pictured in photo 1, judging by the daisy centerpiece. The man in the center is wearing his tie very short (and looks drunk), and there is a relish tray on the table. Over on the left, ol' Uncle Seymour or whoever just couldn't put down the bottle, so he's forever immortalized looking off into space, just about to take a drink. Aw. Remember when Uncle Seymour had that blackout and wrecked our wedding? Good times! Price: $1.


• Insta-debs! Or Insta-something. I am really not sure what these broads are up to. The photo shows nine women, age 40 and up, wearing long, pastel satin gowns and carrying little bouquets. The women are lined up in two rows, with the front row sitting on the floor of a very nicely appointed (for 1968) room, with elaborate lamps, rows of leather-bound books, and an Oriental carpet. The woman on the left in particular is looking down her nose at the camera with a superior smile, and the rest of them display a grating combination of privilege and self-consciousness. Given my druthers, I'd probably hang out with the drunken parents of photo 2, because at least there's visible food and drink. These dames look like they're waiting to be embalmed. Still--nice curtains in the background. I wonder if those ended up at the thrift store--I could definitely figure out something to do with them. Again: $1.


• A string of EXCELLENT FIRE-HAZARD PARTY LANTERNS made of flammable, toxic plastic and which I love. They're heavy plastic, molded to resemble, in a loose way, bamboo-framed fabric lampshades. The colors are emerald green, white, cherry Dilly-bar red, and hardhat yellow, and they're on a cord that I'm certain will short out every electrical circuit in southern California once I plug it in, which I intend to do as soon as I get home! The party light's a-glowing! Come on down! Price: $4.

So, everybody, if you're in Santa Barbara, check out the From the Heart thrift store and go to town. It's like raiding your grandparent's attic, except you don't have to listen to a lot of personal criticisms or stories about how when they were your age, people exhibited more care in their dress habits. Whatever! Thanks for the napkins!

Star of the day. . .Christopher Cross