The Notebook

Yesterday I went to a stationary store that I had been eying for a while. It was there that I realized I wanted a small notebook to carry around in my purse.

During the summer, Todd complimented me on how the Showpaper horoscopes had held up comedically since their inception [although they have definitely been suffering recently]. He asked if I kept a notebook with me to write down jokes to save for horoscopes, and I admitted that I did not; if a horoscope idea came to me while I was on the bus, I held it in my brain for when the time came to write them all up.

However, when I visited New York in December, I started a Twitter because I saw how much fun Rocawear and Shaquille O'Neal were having. I would walk around thinking of jokes and then promptly text them to myself.

Upon arriving in Paris, I bought a prepaid phone for communicative purposes but also with hopes that I would be able to Twitter from it. Most unfortunately, the phone is unable to send international texts, and Twitter's phone number is country code +44 [the United Kingdom].

Unable to text myself, I find that I still routinely create 140-character witticisms from everything I see, especially if I'm commuting somewhere alone. I try to remember them, repeating them over to myself a few times, but then I think of a new one and I want to remember that one instead. My brain has been altered by Twitter, prioritizing joke-creation over memory storage, so essentially I needed to change along with it.

I bought this notebook, which is
obviously meant for people hand-writing receipts. The next time you see me [unless you're in the US, in which case you will most DEFINITELY see me Twittering], I will probably be the weirdo constantly jotting down notes and covering them with her hand and making all the other kids at the party feel uncomfortable. Attempt to understand that it is something I need.