Last night: TV was on and I was doing a little hand sewing. I hear Bob Dylan's voice and music coming from the TV. I look up. It's an ad for Victoria's Secret.

I shake my head and check the contents of my glass, but no. I am sober and I am straight and that is Bob Dylan being used to advertise women's lingerie. For the past 30 years my friends have ridiculed me for my lewd fantasies involving me and the Bob. Is it possible that someone out there in advertising land thinks that 61-year-old skank is sexy? And sold the concept to a multi-million dollar industry that is, essentially, selling sexual fantasy? Because, let's be honest, Vicky's Secret makes stuff that barely fits and doesn't last. Bob Dylan? Sexual fantasy? To someone other than me?

Frightening. Very, very frightening. Disturbing, even.

Today on the train, I saw a new low in public grooming. A man. Shaving. Not once, but at least three times during the trip, this older gentleman (and I use the term sarcastically) took out an electric shaver and ran it across his face.

Is he obessive-compulsive, that he needed to do this more than once? He looked pretty close-shaven when he got on the train. Does he have Alzheimer's and just forgot that he'd already shaved? Three times?

I gave him the gaze of arched eyebrow and disdain for public grooming. He gave me a cheery smile. I fished for my camera, but he finished before I could get off a shot.

Bob? Dylan? Victoria's Secret salesman?

What a world, what a world.

Not me, personally. We're doing O.K., thanks. But I'm behind in my fundraising. I'm on the Board of Directors of an AIDS service organization, and it's time for the annual AIDS Walk. On beautiful South Beach.

First of all, you need to know this about me: I do not break a sweat for anybody. I despise "Walks". I don't walk for MS, for breast cancer, for the March of Dimes, for the zoological society.

But I do walk for AIDS. I walk because I have lost so very many friends to this disease. I walk as a member of the team comprised of the Board Members of Care Resource. Care Resource is the oldest & largest HIV/AIDS service agency in Florida. Since 1983, more than 60 million people worldwide have become infected, including 28 million who have already died. 15 of those who have died were friends of mine. Two of those were brothers, and friends of mine from childhood. Scotty and Richard Neail. Others were friends from college. Others from work.

The majority of those newly infected are under the age of 25. Florida continues to have the 3rd highest incidence of reported cases in the nation and Dade & Broward counties rank 1 & 2 respectively in the State. While new treatments allow people to live longer there is still no cure and Care Resource?s ability to meet the increased demands on its resources is strained.

I implore you to support me as I participate in the 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI ? RUN, WALK, BLADE FOR THE CURE on April 13TH. You can do this by joining me on the walk or sponsoring my walk.

Through the support of volunteers and contributors like you, 86% of each dollar raised goes directly to our programs and services offered free of charge to the community affected by HIV/AIDS. The 15th Annual AIDS WALK MIAMI helps finance important programs that Care Resource offers like the Riccardia Family Program, YouthNet, Care Management and Partners in Faith Program.

Please follow this link to go to my Walk page, and make a pledge of support. Any amount is appreciated. Thank you for helping me honor my fallen friends.

Oh, all right. I'll make it interesting for you. The page has a photo of me. A racy! photo of me. And if you all pledge enough money, I will wear what I have on in the photo to actually walk. And if you help me reach DOUBLE my goal, I'll even post photos of me in this outrageous condition, actually walking!! In the Florida heat. On South Beach. In my flower-covered bustier.

Now. Click. Pledge. Raise money.

Lynne

If looks could kill, today I would be surrounded by little piles of ash. I would unleash the sneering face of scorn and death on those around me.

What do you mean the Herald has a calendar of events with information in it that I never gave you for the web? Send me a link to the paper.

I don't know what they would do without me. Can't even find the freaking Miami Herald web site and a calendar. Of course, navigation on the Herald's site could be dificult. After all, clicking on Local Section - Neighbors might take you anywhere. Not just to the section it says it'll link to. And from there, to find a calendar link? Well, you might have to look and read. Much easier to demand that the information be driven right to your fat, lazy nose.

Really. Maybe I should have just stayed home today where I could stay out of trouble.

Years ago, when I was young, single and living in NYC, I discovered that I had been born with an invisible tattoo in the middle of my forehead. It says:

FUCKED UP? TALK TO ME.

I realized that it was there because people were, and people did. I could be sitting on the subway, minding my own business, and the next thing you knew, the freakazoid with the tin-foil helmet was cozying up next to me, explaining about how cats are Martians and are here to control the dogs.

I'd meet someone and we'd date and then it would be like a bad teensploitation film. They wouldn't go away. Or worse.

I'd find myself pinned to the wall by the girl down the hall, telling me that she thought I shouldn't be dating men, and she was the answer to my social problems.

The funny writer would ask (displaying no humor, and a bad sense of timing) what I wanted to be whipped with, once he got me to bed. The tattoo seemed to be particularly visible when I was drinking at the Lone Star Cafe.

It hasn't gone away. Yesterday after work, I hopped on the train and there was an Adam Sandler look alike in the car. And then he lit up a blunt. Yes. A blunt. The reek of reefer filled the car. A few passengers looked at each other. I coughed politely and said. Um? Sir? There's no smoking on the train.

Right. That got his full attention focused on me. WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP DANGER WARNING WILL ROBINSON! Sounding like Adam Sandler in the Waterboy, the guy proceeded to announce to me that he was "a man, who can do what he wants" and that he was "just smoking some weed here, do you mind?" Cause he wouldn't mind if I took myself off to the other end of the car. And then he cranked up his radio to some station that I don't think any one else in Miami can tune in and told me how the world would be a better place if there were more people like the ones on that station. See? He waved the radio at me. It didn't have a view screen, but I said yes, I saw.

He left about three stops later, still dragging on his blunt. It was generally agreed that if he'd only passed the duchy on the left hand side none of the unpleasantness need have occured.

This FUTTM tat seems to be showing up at work now. I was just e-mailed the following:

I am in the process of collecting all the pre-printed Physician order sets that are being used within the (hospital) system. I have been encountering some problems, and after speaking with R*****, she recommended that I contact you. She told me that she had sent you copies of order sets, which you would have on your computer. I am asking if I could have a copy of these so that we can move forward with the building of orders, of which this is a very important part.

OK. So, if the person sent me order sets, which they did -- electronically -- why aren't they on their computer? I just post these things to the intranet. Which begs the question, why not send the person to the medical forms center on the intranet? And why think that I keep everything on my hard drive?

Why? Why me? Why do I have another 15 years before I can retire. I don't think my liver will hold out that long.

Boy, I always hated, just loathed, the works of e.e.cummings. The whole no capitalization thing was just too twee for me. Too fey. And I particularly despised the poem about the "little lame balloon man" who "whistles far and wee." Of course, it is permanently seared into my brain. But then, so is the little satirical poem that Molly Stuckey wrote in high school about our English curriculum.

"Silas Marner, Moby Dick,
Julius Ceasar make me sick.
Page by page I struggled on,
Eyes all bleary, hope all gone
Finals? Yes. On every one
No book or play I read was fun."

I can also recite "The Jabberwocky" in its entirety, which is probably why I can't remember names. There is so much useless crap clogging my synapses, that a major data dump will be required before I can learn anything new.

But this started out as an ode to spring. The orchid trees are covered in purple and lavendar and ivory flowers. The flame vines are blooming (except for the one on my fence). The sky is blue and mild and the air is ... limpid. It is a physical presence.

And I am inside. Working. Sort of. At any rate, I am sitting in an office, in front of a computer, and I am typing. That I am typing a blog entry makes it no less painful to be indoors on a day like today.

Mark Twain wrote something about watermelons. That there is a difference in taste between one that is honestly come by and one that is not, and that the experienced man knows which is better. Same thing about spring days. Oh, the weather could be this beautiful on Saturday, but the joy of being out in it will be diminished by it being legit. Today is the sort of day that demands one play hooky. Take an early lunch and never come back to the office.

Right. As if. Time to actually put the fingers to the keyboard and create web pages. At least I have a window, and it opens.

An open letter to the fine, intelligent members of the illustrious art forum known as EatPoo.com.

Fine. You win. Take what you want. I really don't care. I never did care. It was all about the attitude. Clearly you have me on attitude as well as talent, intelligence, wit, and what ever else it is at which you desire to win.

You want to come to my site and rag on me, fine. You want to continually miss the point of my writings and the humor I display? It is your right to do so. You wish to remain anonymous and post bogus sites and e-mail addresses? Knock yourselves out.

You win. You are all, collectively and individually, better human beings than I. I was a fool not to see it from the very first post. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea fucking culpa.

Now, can we all just get on with our lives and forget about each other? I didn't think so. But this is MY last post on the subject.