(no subject)

I got some good sleep last night, but I'm still kinda loopy. Thank goat for Margaret bringing in a big tankard of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. I took a nap last night and still was able to get to sleep by 12:30 or so. That never happens, so I must have been really tired.

Gotta love a book that begins its "concluding remarks" on pg. 410 and finally ends on pg. 688. Or not.

I'm afraid I'm not going to get much done today. I'm supposed to go to lunch w/ some people, and when I get back I have to cover the desk for the receptionist's lunch and afternoon break. Hate that.

What's up with it being so dark? Yesterday at 3 p.m. it looked like damn February or something. Come to think of it, it looks like that now. Oh well, at least the trees aren't all dead-looking.

I had a dream that Wes and Dave and I were starting some kind of food business in NYC. I think we were making some kind of Powerbar thing. Wes does recipe development in real life, and I guess Dave and I just needed a gig. But none of us wanted to do any work. We'd get to our crappy little office space at around 9 a.m. and immediately head straight for the cots we had set up and go right to sleep. And Sol Rosenberg's wife would come by every once in a while just to bother us.

We have some really cute summer interns this year. I feel like such a lecher. (Where'd I use that term the other day? Can't remember.)

I've been instructed to join the cult.

smell the glove

I was in the bank just now and it smelled like all the cafeterias at all my elementary schools. Sort of . . . I dunno, soapy? It's weird how smells stick with you. (I mean memories of smells, not the odors themselves. There are hygiene products available if the actual smells stick with you, folks.) Like every once in a while I get a whiff of something that reminds me of school buses, which have the distinctive combination of foul exhaust and cheap vinyl seats.

(no subject)

I always get weird calls when I have to cover the reception desk. Dude just called up wanting to know how to go about submitting a manuscript: "Do you publish non-fiction, or just fiction?" Um, yeah?! We're a university press. Granted, some of our stuff is a little far out, but yeah, 98% of our stuff is non-fiction. When's the last time you picked up a novel published by an academic press? Yeah, that's what I thought.

"Yes . . . we publish non-fiction."

"OK--what if it's fiction? Like I have all this stuff, all these documents to put together, but I don't know if I'm smart enough to write it as non-fiction."

?!? So what the fuck DO you have, Charlie? And what are you SAYING--that you have all this material for a book, but you're too lazy to figure out what the facts are, so you're gonna call it non-fiction fiction? Dude. Even gonzo journalism isn't that nebulous.

(no subject)

Prick. The radio guy, I mean. I have no idea what happened in that hotel room, and neither does that motherfucker. Somebody should rape his ass.

(no subject)

About all I know about this Friendster thing is that I just tried to modify my bare-bones profile and it ate the information. But I'm on it. Chris Heller. *shrug*

that crazy friendster thing

So WTF does it mean when I try to accept a friend request and it tells me "error: not allowed"?