Let this serve as my public renunciation of Jesus juice. Instead of laying out in Rockefeller Park this unseasonably warm and refreshingly breezy fall day, I was laid up on my couch drinking seltzer water and and plodding through a pile of netflix dvds. I watched Watermelon Man at KCH's recommendation and did not much like it save for the "why does daddy race buses" line. I also watched The Secret, which seemed very What The Bleep Do We Know, except egregious. I was simultaneously irked and inspired by Michael Beckwith's decision to tag himself a visionary. There was the kneejerk, "who does he think he is," then there was the aha, "we are what we think we are." And since we go where we say we go: I will return to De Gaulle, head to Gatwick, and stop back through LAX in the next 12 months. Visualize the jet set and put yourself in the picture.