Okay, first you must go to the Sleepy Hollow site to watch the trailer (like an Edward Gorey cartoon come to life) or merely to bask in the loveliness that is Christina Ricci's cleavage. Wednesday's all grown up, you know?

And I'm putting out the official Call for Information: Sonya and I are going to London, baby! The Williams Family needs your help. If you've been to London any insight you could give us would be appreciated. Katie, Lauren, you'll both be grilled further, I assure you.

By the way, my friend Lauren has a couch for sale. If you're looking to get hold of what I'm sure is a high-grade sofa, get in touch with me and I'll hook you up.

Last night was an Izzard-fest at the Williams Estate, with me and Sonya, Shawn the stylist and his friend David, Wendy, sculptor of nails and James and Jen gathering in the living room to watch Eddie Izzard's HBO show and to drink fancy beer. And eat pizza. I got the cans of Guinness that have the little doohickey in them - it really does make it taste good. james and I, of course, had to cut a can open and find out the true nature of the doohickey - it is, in fact, a little plastic ball. It sure makes the beer yummy.

I went to the Department of Public Health today to get a copy of my birth certificate. Did you know you need a birth certificate to get a passport? I didn't. And you need a passport to go to England. Living in the finest damned country in the world and all I've never found the need to get a passport before, but now...and here's something else. Sonya and I are going to be making this trip on the cheap, right? Hell, I'd love to stay at Claridge's - they have a rope in each bathroom that you can pull that will summon the chambermaid.

"I need more soap, dear," I'd say, forming my hair into a shampoo mohawk, "and a cup of tea and fluff the towels."

"Yes, guv'nor!"

That's beside the point. We can't afford that level of luxury, so I think we'll be staying at a more economical place - probably near the British Museum. So all these less expensive places offer you the option of getting a room without a bathroom. Jen says we have to go for the communal toilet to get the full experience. I say that I had the communal bathroom experience in college - I don't need it on vacation. I don't want to go over there and be the ugly American or anything, but I'm an American for Christ's sake! My toilet is my own. Sharing a shower stall is the first step down the slippery slope to communism or, at the very least, socialized medicine.

All that's off the topic, too. I went to the Department of Public Health today to get a copy of my birth certificate. It was exactly the way you'd imagine the Department of Public Health to be: drab, sad, lines of people, forms to fill out and vaguely smelly. There was a poster on the wall for "HIV TESTING DAY" coming up later this month. Below that, it said:

• Free food and drink
• Free testing
• Door prizes

Door prizes. "Yes, sir, you do have the plague of the late twentieth century - but you just won this microwave!"

For all of you interested in online journals (besides mine, I mean) you should check out the pissing contest going on between Elizabeth at Atropine and Amy of Allamagoosalum. It's a royal bitchfest. Why do I get the feeling that Dave, the guy these two are fighting about, looks like Harry Dean Stanton, Junior and that you can see the shit-smell drifting off of him in lazy, wavy lines?

As Scott, the World's Ugliest Man, used to say, "if they were drag queens, there'd be fake fingernails and sequins flying everywhere!"

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