Tonight I was just sort of flipping through radio stations online, and I heard a Bobby McFerrin

version of the Beatles� song Blackbird.

God, did it ever suck.

And I like Bobby McFerrin. Medicine Songs was a fantastic album, and Simple Pleasures was pretty good, too.

It horrified me so much I had to switch to some comedy and I ended up listening to Emo Philips. Odd, very odd man. You know, I dated a guy who looked an awful lot like Emo a few years ago.

Come to think of it, I dated some real weirdos. I just attract them. I am the biggest, most powerful weirdo magnet. I don�t even have to be dating and I still come across them. Not that long ago, a transvestite asked me to hold his/her bananas in the express checkout of the grocery store. I was once massaged by a half-stoned midget in a bar. I also had a bizarre conversation once with a boy in his late teens who stopped me on my way home because he believed he was on a mission from Christ to make handmade hemp jewellery for the masses. Apparently Jesus had appeared to him in a vision (while he was on heroin) and told him to do so.

All of those things are true, if the slightly condensed versions. I can�t make sh*t like this up, and I don�t have to. Enough weirdness happens to me that I don�t need to falsify or exaggerate in any way. Take, for example, that ordinary-looking old man who approached me one morning on my way to work.