2 July
Yesterday was kinda hectic at work, since we finally ran checks for the first time in two weeks, what with it being the end of the quarter and all, not to mention the fact that we had to cut one check for $198,000 last week.
So Linus told us only to cut the most important checks, and we carefully chose only the really vital ones, and it added up to $704,000. We were pretty sure that Linus would look at that figure and fall to the ground with laughter, so we were trembling in fear and trepidation when we showed him the list, but he okayed it!
The upcoming long weekend must have distracted him or put him in a good mood or something, but I don't care why, I'm not looking a gift check run in the mouth!
Fewer livid calls in my voicemail, that's all I care about, baby.
So yesterday afternoon I got an e-mail from a guy at Wired, asking if he could speak to me right that very little minute for a story! And because I am a big old publicity slut, I rang him back so fast that I actually could hear his head spin.
He said that he wanted to do a story on on-line journalling, what with the imminent release of Metajournals and all, and he did not want to do the same old story that everybody does, about "isn't it bizarre that people do this!" or the whole privacy issues thing that was in the Times and stuff.
So I rang him back after I got off the phones, and we had a nice chat and I don't think I put my foot in it too much, and it'll be up today, and if I'm left out of this story, too, I'll just scream!
Later: Here it is! My ego has survived!
A few years ago, Nik went insane for just long enough to decide to spend six months working on an Alaskan fishing boat, and he has a pretty much never-ending supply of bizarre and hilarious stories involving testosterone and salmon guts and things.
My current fave story is about his roommate on board, who, while on shore leave picked up some babe and went home with her and ploughed her, and as they were lying enraptured in each other's arms, told her "Gee, you must do this alot to be so good at it!"
Nik said that then he said "Then she threw me out, man! I don't know what happened! I had to beg to get my clothes back!"
You think your man is clueless...
Billy Bragg tonight at The Bottom Line!
When I bought my tickets, I noticed that there was a sign on the door proclaiming the fact that TWO forms of ID proving that you are over 21 are required for entry.
I, of course, only have one form of ID, my passport, but only the most (unobservant? Stupid? Legally blind?) generous natured person would assume that I was under 21.
Perhaps they will accept the lines around my eyes as proof of age...
One year ago today:
Maybe they were sharing a brain, passing it back and forth.
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Last Updated Wed 2 July 09:00:09 1998