Looks like an Ampersand...
(Friday's Post)
A little time is a good thing. If I had written this post Wednesday, or perhaps even yesterday, it would have come out looking something like a Pink Floyd song taped to a carrier pigeon that got sucked into a turbo-prop before it ran into a glass door a million times. Messy. Anyway, I can't guarantee that what you are about to read will fair much better, because around here it seems that the occurrence of interesting and distracting things is quick on the rise, not unlike the local population of flying foxes. No, not the bats.
See, already I'm mucking things up.
Fuck it.
The stick, as it were, upon which will ultimately be placed "the shit" is much to do about a simple job gong wrong. The job starts nicely enough, with the design of some lovely t-shirts, a task for which I am well suited. The job then moves to the 30 some odd page clusterfuck of cheesy advertisements and cast bios and eventually print deadlines that is the Young People's Theater program for their production of Beauty and teh Beast. To be supremely brief, it is an unrewarding task in most appreciable aspects, but especially those aspects resembling greenbacks in my bank and smiles on my face. Actually, I suppose supreme brevity would have been simply, "It's a shitty job." Anyway, we were do for print on Monday. What actually happened Monday was the addition of some ads, the tweaking of some shit, and some more ill-advised tweaking, thus moving the print to Tuesday morning. What came Tuesday morning was the beginning of the end of my perceivable life. Hyperbole, for once, be damned. I worked on that fucking thing from 8 in the morning February 14th till 8 in the morning February 15th, with about 4 or 5 hours break taken for coaching and eating. I spent the night in the fishbowl basically redoing the previous 10 hours work in what I hope was not too shoddy a fashion. Although, by 6 in the morning a fashion too shoddy is a fashion that I would like to take out for martinis at the disco, have unprotected sex with and rob blind as I sneak out of its apartment in the morning.
I won't go in to why all this had to happen like it did, because part of it is just my own inexperience, but at length I was able to make several satisfactory proofs, create a file that could play nicely with CopyMax, and go the fuck to bed from about nine to five. After which, my life, every so slowly, seemed to resume.
I don't know. I've put myself through far worse bouts of sleep deprivation (a span of 84 waking hours to 96 total hours comes to mind), but very few where I perceived the consequences of failing to be so disagreeable. So in many ways I am recovering from the angst over-drive I occupied for thirty some hours as much as anything else. Anyway, that's about all I have time for today kids. I have a ride to catch to that Windy City a few hundred miles west of here so I have to get all packed and then mentally prepare myself for some previously unexpected dubious encounter upon arrival, which is another story entirely.
PS- Russell, happy birthday, thems was some good beers/times the other night. This needs to happen more often.
.
A little time is a good thing. If I had written this post Wednesday, or perhaps even yesterday, it would have come out looking something like a Pink Floyd song taped to a carrier pigeon that got sucked into a turbo-prop before it ran into a glass door a million times. Messy. Anyway, I can't guarantee that what you are about to read will fair much better, because around here it seems that the occurrence of interesting and distracting things is quick on the rise, not unlike the local population of flying foxes. No, not the bats.
See, already I'm mucking things up.
Fuck it.
The stick, as it were, upon which will ultimately be placed "the shit" is much to do about a simple job gong wrong. The job starts nicely enough, with the design of some lovely t-shirts, a task for which I am well suited. The job then moves to the 30 some odd page clusterfuck of cheesy advertisements and cast bios and eventually print deadlines that is the Young People's Theater program for their production of Beauty and teh Beast. To be supremely brief, it is an unrewarding task in most appreciable aspects, but especially those aspects resembling greenbacks in my bank and smiles on my face. Actually, I suppose supreme brevity would have been simply, "It's a shitty job." Anyway, we were do for print on Monday. What actually happened Monday was the addition of some ads, the tweaking of some shit, and some more ill-advised tweaking, thus moving the print to Tuesday morning. What came Tuesday morning was the beginning of the end of my perceivable life. Hyperbole, for once, be damned. I worked on that fucking thing from 8 in the morning February 14th till 8 in the morning February 15th, with about 4 or 5 hours break taken for coaching and eating. I spent the night in the fishbowl basically redoing the previous 10 hours work in what I hope was not too shoddy a fashion. Although, by 6 in the morning a fashion too shoddy is a fashion that I would like to take out for martinis at the disco, have unprotected sex with and rob blind as I sneak out of its apartment in the morning.
I won't go in to why all this had to happen like it did, because part of it is just my own inexperience, but at length I was able to make several satisfactory proofs, create a file that could play nicely with CopyMax, and go the fuck to bed from about nine to five. After which, my life, every so slowly, seemed to resume.
I don't know. I've put myself through far worse bouts of sleep deprivation (a span of 84 waking hours to 96 total hours comes to mind), but very few where I perceived the consequences of failing to be so disagreeable. So in many ways I am recovering from the angst over-drive I occupied for thirty some hours as much as anything else. Anyway, that's about all I have time for today kids. I have a ride to catch to that Windy City a few hundred miles west of here so I have to get all packed and then mentally prepare myself for some previously unexpected dubious encounter upon arrival, which is another story entirely.
PS- Russell, happy birthday, thems was some good beers/times the other night. This needs to happen more often.
.
posted by reno mac @ 2:11 AM
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