When you were young you were the king of carrot-flowers

It's so hot that I feel like I'm wearing a surgical mask. I'm listening to the saddest album I know, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel. Sure, there are sadder individual songs off other albums -- like "No One Will Ever Love You" by The Magnetic Fields off of 69 Love Songs -- but for start to finish melancholy, you want to be in the aeroplane.

I went to Albany today, for no reason other than I could. I was in the mall, where I found myself constantly looking up slightly. I once read that Princess Diana would always look up over the horizon when being photographed so that she would appear somehow superior or more ethereal or something. I'm already superior to the Albany mall-goers, so I think the reason I was looking up was so that I wouldn't have to look at the other people. They were ugly and overweight, with sports jerseys draped over their bad skin. Or they were girls with lovely legs, but that's ogling, and I don't want to ogle. With all this looking-up business, it occurs to me that if called to testify I couldn't identify another person at the mall.

I ate Buffalo wings at the Hooters there. (Yeah, "Hooters". Deal.) Even the waitresses there I would not be able to recall. Their make-up was caked on but couldn't conceal the acne beneath. I had to maintain eye contact with my waitress because to veer from her eyes -- the only natural part left on her face -- was to risk losing my appetite entirely. The wings were pretty good.

When I got back to my car some time later, the car's thermometer indicated that the outside temperature was 107 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm not sure what that is in outer-space Canadian degrees, but it must be over a million.

Add N to X is not nearly as depressing as Neutral Milk Hotel. That's all well and good, but now I want to dance, and such exertion is unwise in this heat.