Just What I’ve Always Wanted
Mari Wilson, 1983.
It’s way past 3AM. There have been no phone calls warning of the impending end of the world, or anyting like that. I just can’t sleep, because I have a lot of client-related stuff on my mind, none of which I’ll be able to take care of tomorrow because I’ll be sleepwalking through the day at a part-time job that pays squat, but to which I don’t even have the option of calling in sick. And after about three hours sleep tonight (and maybe five last night), I will pretty well qualify as “sick” once I arrive at work.
I had a job like this many years ago, and I swore I’d never take another one. But here I am. It seemed like a good idea a year ago (to me, at least) and it has allowed us to build up a decent “rainy day” reserve fund. But it just doesn’t seem worth the hassle anymore, especially when it’s keeping me from doing more lucrative work, and from engaging in activities that might further my actual career. And sleeping.
So I’m now resolved to be officially, ummm, separated from this position within a month. Pity it won’t do me any good tomorrow this morning.
All in all, though, I shouldn’t complain. At least I get to be awake at home at 3AM, rather than, say, in the Philadelphia airport.
Birdhouse in Your Soul
They Might Be Giants, 1989.
I saw them at the Pterodactyl Club in Charlotte on this tour. It made me happy.
I didn’t really expect to be busier after the semester ended than I was beforehand, but I’m in the midst of a big client project that’s taking much longer than I expected. I’ve been trying to at least update the video, so anyone who cares will know I’m still alive. More updates soon, though, including the story of how yer humble host may become the world’s oldest graduate assistant, and other exciting tidbits.
Maybe “exciting” is too strong a term…
Constantinople
The Residents, 1978
Practicing First Aid
Horizontal Brian, 1983.
Best. Dilbert. Ever.
OK, maybe not, but it was still pretty good, especially following all the data analysis in the paper I finished on Friday.
TV Party
Black Flag, 1981.
Look. It’s Henry Rollins back when he was still cute and hadn’t morphed into a grotesque muscle clone.
The only damage in out little corner of suburbia was from all the water that rushed into the laundry/storage room through a small gap in our garage door. It’s not a big thing; it’s just taking time that I desperately needed for other things this weekend, and sort of guaranteeing that I’ll be a big, streeed-out exhausted gob of goo by Monday.
But at least I’ll still have a house, even if it is one where the laundry room carpet is a little damp.
Side note: I’m inclined never to do business with this company. When I was a little more concerned about the water in the basement, I called to see how much they charged to come out and assess the damage. I was told that not only would they not give me a charge for the service call over the phone, they also (a) would not provide me with an estimate before they started work, and (b) would make me sign a form in advance saying that I would pay whatever the charges turned out to be.
I asked them how many people were stupid enough to fall for that. They couldn’t provide me an estimate on that either.
Apparently, we’ve had four inches of rain in the past two hours. That would explain the street…