fucking foosball tables

i woke up this morning at 8 with a guy scaling the tree outside my window. covered myself up quickly and then the buzzsawing sounds started. went to the farmer's market and i always get too much stuff there, so that my arms are worn out by the time i get home, but hopefully it builds up my puny forearms just a little bit more. now the neighborhood is woken up and it looks like half of nyu has arrived to their dorms in the east village with their parents and don't forget, their fucking foosball tables. someone's moving into my building but i don't see them, just the moving guys and hear something crash in the hallway. the tree trimmers are still doing their thing—looks like they're taking old branches off. i make free-range brown eggs scrambled with scallions and this awesome smoked cheddar from the market, puree a ripe, sweet smelling cantaloupe into a glass, brew some coffee, and slice a yellow heirloom. mmm mmm good. surf a little bit: nytimes, isthatso?, moviefone. it's 11:50. can i make it to the noon showing of xxx? yes, but i missed some of the opening, but i also missed all the preview and commercials which almost makes it worth it. last week after seeing blue crush i wanted to be a slacker surfer boy, now i wanna be a secret agent. i still feel losery/illusory seeing a movie by myself on a weekend night, but when you go during the day, everyone is seeing them by themselves, and none of them laugh at the wrong time or applaud after the good guy wins the fight, which is all good.