Diane Keaton's death hit me harder than I would have imagined.

She was a real style icon for me when I was in my 20s. I must have seen Annie Hall 10 times when it first came out. Those vests! Those boyfriend shirts! Those baggy oversized men's trousers! Those hats!!!!!

Boyfriend shirts are still a staple of my wardrobe.

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I also admired her loyalty to Woody Allen whom I do not believe for a single second ever molested anyone.

Woody Allen was indirectly responsible for my modeling career.

My mother was the production secretary for Woody Allen's first movie, Take the Money and Run, and I used to babysit for the soon-to-be stepdaughters of Charles Joffe, Allen's producer (one of whom was the one-day-to-be-film director Nicole Holofcener.)

Mr. Joffe set me up with a photographer when I was 16 (and just about to graduate from high school; I'd skipped two grades), and the rest is personal history.

I was introduced to Woody Allen several times in the production office. He was withdrawn, an intense presence who sat scowling in the corner. Not what you'd imagine a comedian to be like at all. Interesting thing, though—without the clownish hair and the bufoonish spectacles, he would have been handsome.

Many years later, I had to interact with Mia Farrow in some People Magazine-related context, and she was just awful, narcissistic, rude, entitled. Supernaturally beautiful, of course, with those cheekbones, those enormous Bambi eyes, that soft, little girl voice. But damaged in a way her selective charm did little to conceal. And also someone, one imagined, who would shake the house rafters down upon anyone who crossed her in any way.

When her ostensible lover deceived her with a porrige-faced adoptive daughter, I could easily see her seeking a Medea-style revenge. It fit my impression of her.

I could not see him performing the act—with no history of pedophilia before or since the allegation.

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Is it adviseable to boff the adopted daughter of your Official Girlfriend?

Decidedly, no.

But this was basically an etiquette breach. In his autobiography, Allen maintains they hadn't really been a couple for a year or more before he fell in love with Soon Yi, that he had merely become someone Mia Farrow went to awards ceremonies and industry parties with. That they hadn't had sex since the birth of their biological son, the Mordred-like (cf Once & Future King) Ronan Farrow.

Farrow was publicly humiliated. She executed a revenge that inflicted even greater public humiliation.

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Anyway, I don't have much use for those dozens of Millennial actors who upped their virtue-signalling score by disowning their work with Allen.

And I admired Keaton for staying true to her friend.

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What else?

I'm anxious over the invoice, though not yet at the point where I'm cruising interior design magazines for hints on the best ways to decorate your refrigerator box beneath the bridge.

I scored 86% on my tax law midterms.

I went to the monthly Shawangunk Dems meeting at which Adrienne had enlisted the Democratic candidate for the Wawarsing (Ellenville) district to speak.

Why? I kept wondering. Ellenville's problems are nothing like Shawangunk's problems, Shawangunk being a rural district & Ellenville being a dying Catskills Mountains city.

Plus the guy didn't seem to know much about us; when he was bowing out after droning on for half an hour ("Wish I could stay for the rest of your meeting! But I can't"), he officiously thanked Adrienne & then thanked Joey—"who's running for, uh, something really important"—& I erupted into giggles: "Something important that you can't remember!" I said.

That did not go over well.

I really do not like the Democrats.

Although I do not like the Republicans even more.

It's supposed to rain all day today. I have successfully cleared all agendas to labor on the Work in Progress. We'll see if I do.

This tax law stuff is hard.

Total immersion would be my style. Like throw yourself into it and do absolutely nothing else for 48 hours.

Except I think that's psychologically and physically unhealthy, so at a certain point in the afternoon—earlier & earlier now that the dark is creeping in earlier & earlier—I break to exercise.

And after I come back from exercising, it's extremely difficult to get my mind back into work mode.

Hence, I am behind schedule on the tax law stuff.

Not hopelessly behind. But enough behind so that it seems like my time is never my own.

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Apart from that.

Adrienne got snippy with me yesterday because apparently I am not updating the Shawangunk Dems website quickly enough. If you can't do it, I'll find someone else...

Good luck with that, girlfriend!

I only volunteered to do it because no one else would. The website is hosted on Squarespace, a GUI template site, which I didn't know at all and so had to teach myself. And the person who had been doing the site disappeared more than a year ago, so there was nobody to onboard me plus it hadn't been updated in over a year.

I did briefly contemplate telling Adrienne, Go fuck yourself, beyatch, but didn't. She's under stress. I think some part of her knows she's not gonna win this campaign she's invested so much time & energy into. I mean, maybe she will! I've been wrong before. But my gut is saying, No.

Plus basically, I like Adrienne.

So, I did a little shit & Shinola dance, remarking mildly, Well, Adrienne, it's a lot of work, and you can't see the backend where most of the work is going on.

I must be as kind to and tolerant of others as I would have them be kind to and tolerant of me-ee-eee!