Oh, that Friday the 13th. It is a pistol.
At least thus far it’s been a gently mocking pistol. I’m already late, when my wife asks me how she does something on the Blackberry. Different model than I’m used to, different interface. I am rendered later. Not a big deal, it’s my short day, rendered shorter by some extra time put in yesterday.
Arrive at college. Second Summer session is over, parking lot is a vast emptiness. I head toward my favorite space. When, amazingly, a van is there. It stops. The driver ponders the situation. He shifts into reverse. He stops. In a parking lot which currently holds only one parked car, he is apparently spoiled for choice, and cannot decide. Never mind. My second favorite spot is wide open, and I slip into it. I look around. The indecisive van has apparently decided to head for more crowded climes, where the choices are much more limited.
I pick up my travel mug. I always bring a large mug of coffee from home, where I know it will be made to my taste, and not dependent on the whims of the faculty at large. The mug has become unaccountably slippery, and my floorboard is now the proud owner of half a cup of coffee, and I face short rations this morning.
Opening my email, I find a letter from a lady I interviewed about a local mental health initiative last Spring. I say “interviewed” but in this case it means she read from index cards, defying any of my attempts to just get her to talk into the camera. The final story is a triumph of stock photos and CG text, because I couldn’t dwell on her dead-eyed reading.
Well, she’s giving a talk at some gathering, and needs some changes in “the CD I developed for them”. Currently working on the wording of the reply which explains the difference between news stories and informational programs developed by PR firms. I will try to avoid pointing out that the latter pays much more than the former, and therefore clients, as opposed to interviewees, get to ask for changes.
No, wait, I’ll just pass that off to my boss. That’s why she gets the big bucks.
Rodney Dangerfield used to have a bit in his stand-up: “This morning, I grabbed my briefcase, and the handle came off in my hand. I went to my front door, and the doorknob came off in my hand. I tell ya, I’m afraid to go to the bathroom!”
I have a haircut scheduled this afternoon. This oughtta be good.