I’m on a trip. A trip to Coo Coo Land, population: me.

Wish you were here.

Sike.*

Okay, this is funny because I was walking home from a meeting yesterday and when I passed the old people’s home, there was this guy out front who was trying to smoke a cigarette but his hand was so palsied that he couldn’t even bring it to his mouth, so instead he started singing “The Little Drummer Boy,” which was my favorite Christmas carol when I was, like, five, but this guy could have moved on to “O Holy Night” like everyone else. At that very moment, I was thinking about how, the day before, Rob had offered to wash my pants, and I had just done laundry of my own so I didn’t have very many dirty pants, but I said I had some underpants he could wash, and he said he wasn’t doing underpants, he was just doing pants, and I said that underpants are pants, too, and he said no, they aren’t. What I didn’t remind him was that underpants are enough like pants that he once managed to walk five blocks to the gym in just his underpants because he thought he was wearing pants, but anyway, it was at about this point in the imaginary narrative when I started hearing “Pa rum pum pum pum,” and I got irritated because it’s not even Halloween and already the pums are flying like bats, darting and wheeling around the lamp post.

Tonight, I was home, minding my own business, when a certain broad called and said she was waiting for Nicole to get out of a car. Rob and Goblin are both in New York this week, but I made tippling gestures with my hand to amuse myself, if no one else. “Uh, Nicole who?” I said. “Nicole Kidman,” she said, as if I were a dolt and there were only one Nicole in the universe. Nicole Kidman is apparently filming a new version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers in my Baltimore neighborhood, which is about the best example of poetic justice in human history. I’m already terrified that Joe LaMastra is going to jump out from behind a bush every time I walk down the street; he might as well be an alien pod person, too. So I walked a couple of blocks over to join Linda and her Russian friends and a flock of art students, who were all staring at a black car that they swore Nicole Kidman was sitting in, waiting to get out and film a scene. I wonder what it’s like to be someone for whom people will congregate to see. If I were in my own Prius, Prudence, and saw a flock of art students jostling each other for a better view of me, I would freak out and drive away and get darn good gas mileage in the process.

Sike. I would get out and find a couple of cute ones and introduce them to the idea of an environmentally friendly casting couch.

Anyway, the movie people were doing funny things with the lights and a couple of Nicole Kidman stunt doubles kept walking back and forth, but I quickly felt ridiculous for standing out in the dark when I had real work to do at home. I was about to leave when a movie person came up and told everyone on the sidewalk to shut up because they were filming a scene inside the house. Maybe Nicole Kidman was in that scene. Maybe she was talking about aliens. I get the idea she knows all about aliens since she used to hang out with Scientologists. But anyhoo, I didn’t care if Nicole Kidman was in a car or a house, so I went home.

By way of Coo Coo Land.

*I attribute this expression to Cara. UPDATE: There is only one Cara in the universe.