Like any dedicated narcissist, I�m endlessly fascinated with others� assessments of me�good or bad (although my inclusion of �bad� in that phrase is nothing but an extension of the pretense that I have a thick skin). By way of example, I�ll mention my satisfaction that the last person who visited my desk told me that she heard my performance last week was �excellent.� Do you see that? I�m checking the Plus side of my Personal Assessment Chart as we speak. For my purposes, the fact that the speaker has not actually seen me perform subtracts nothing from the weight of her compliment. �Excellent!� raves former coworker, blares the headline of my imaginary newspaper.

Now that I think about it, her statement that she heard that I was excellent means that someone else had to have said it. I�d say that warrants another check in the Plus column! Hooray for everything! Hooray for me!

Along these lines, on a parallel yet unrelated course, I learned something about myself from my friend Tahmi, who was accompanying me via phone during a shopping trip last Thursday. I had gone to Nordstrom�s to look for something to wear for Friday�s gig, and was wandering around in the aisles, with Tahmi as my guide. �Where are you?� she�d ask. �What are you doing in the shoe department? You already have the perfect shoes! Get back over to the shirts.� I was grateful for her assistance as I meandered through the store, trailed by security (probably) as my visit neared two hours.

During the course of our conversation, Tahmi gently reminded me that I tend to wait until the last minute to shop for clothes for important events. �This isn�t the first time I�ve shopped with you over the phone,� she said, and I realized she was right. This is the kind of crucial personal information that only a good friend can reveal, and I appreciated it and vowed to do better. Codependent shopping no more!

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I had an urge to visit Nordstrom again. I�m going to a wedding on September 16th, and while I have the perfect boots, I need something with a lower heel to wear when, after three minutes, my feet start to throb. I phoned Tahmi immediately, to let her know that I was planning ahead this time. External approval is a crucial part of any self-improvement plan, and she did not disappoint. She was very proud of me, and stayed on the phone with me for another hour while I wandered through the shoe aisles.

I found the perfect shoes�a pair I�d found online for more than $200, on sale for $69. Right then, the Keelhauler called to say hello. �Are you at the boat?� he asked, and I answered, �Uh� yes!� in a bright and convincing tone. �YOU ARE NOT AT THE BOAT, YOU ARE IN A STORE! BUYING SHOES!!!� he yelled, at which point my story broke down. �But I found the perfect shoes!� I said, and over his yelling, explained the great fortune that had brought me to this exact pair of platinum leather Donald J Pliners. �Praise God!� he yelled, �It�s a miracle!� He went on for a while in that vein, which was entertaining, but during that time the sales clerk informed me that she couldn�t find the mate to the pair in my size. I blame the Keelhauler�s sacrilegious yelling for the mysterious disappearance of my shoe. If he had only recognized the seriousness of the situation, the shoe gods would not have withheld their bounty.

After we hung up, I called Tahmi again (codependence is difficult to stop) and wandered the shoe aisles, where I found a terrible pair of shoes, even worse than my worst and craziest pair, which are gold and silver platforms with ankle straps. (On Friday, Sweetheart rejected them as too much to wear even on stage, and my friend Kent has expressed his opinion that they are �hooker shoes.�) Well, I found a worse/better pair, and of course I bought them, as a sacrifice to the shoe gods, in the hopes that the mate to my perfect platinum Donald J Pliners will be found. These shoes are so terrible that I will probably have to wear them at all times. How can I describe them? They are very high, of course, and bronze, shiny bronze. And strappy, and encrusted with studs and green crystals of various dimensions. Oh, and they have tassels. With dangling crystals. And like, chains, or something. And the sole is rippled in two different planes�the bottom of the sole ripples up and down, and the sides of the sole ripple out and back. They are hideous in many dimensions, and gloriously inappropriate for every situation! I would post a picture, but I don�t have one, and in truth, I�m too humiliated to reveal what they look like. (Yet, oddly, not too humiliated to purchase and then wear them. Huh. Discuss.)

As I have noted, Diana Vreeland, I am not. And I know that without anyone telling me. I see that as progress. Another check in the Plus column for me!

Star of the day. . .Xavier Cugat