watching the white car take another actor to jail for allegedly killing his wife. Hope he didn't do it--the guy had a tough life and made something out of it. Now, my prediction (and why not)... not guilty. A risky prediction given everyone's still wanting to convict OJ. Ah well. Nothing more for tonight, and no links because I haven't seen any online sites hitting on this yet. I'm sure the bloggers will be on it first.
April 18, 2002
April 17, 2002
I'm alive
Got three emails today from blog buddies gently nudging me (and then there was that blogstickers guy) because I've been quiet. I bet you all thought I was deep in thought, exploring the realms of death and loss, talking with those dark muses that inspire me, or trying to beat RB for the longest bout of depression non-blogism.
I would that it were so, my dear, concerned friends. Unfortunatley, it's my job (remember--we do have those... I know; I forget too sometimes) that's got me roped and tied to MSWord and my laptop this week--big deadline, big headaches. I feel like the reclusive shut in I am. And when I have had a second to blog, blogger sticks it's big stupid tongue out me and says, "not now chickadee."
George is doing well in the Far East, if you don't count the fact that they've brought this super group of jazz musicians over there to play for pay, only to insist on the likes of Proud Mary, Mustang Sally, and other jazz classics as their repetoire. Yes, on upright bass. So you see? Nothing is as it seems and everything is the same. Really.
I am ignorant on current events the last few days. I heard something about "UBL" as Asscroft calls him. I am expecting ELO to start the strings any minute. I have no idea what's going on, and actually it has made a kinder, gentler person. Let's just ignore it all, you and I, shall we?
So, all of this is to say, I have nothing to say unless you want to read my eight pages of client copy from today, which, trust me, you don't.
good night. may tomorrow be a tiny bit more inspiring for us all.
j.
I would that it were so, my dear, concerned friends. Unfortunatley, it's my job (remember--we do have those... I know; I forget too sometimes) that's got me roped and tied to MSWord and my laptop this week--big deadline, big headaches. I feel like the reclusive shut in I am. And when I have had a second to blog, blogger sticks it's big stupid tongue out me and says, "not now chickadee."
George is doing well in the Far East, if you don't count the fact that they've brought this super group of jazz musicians over there to play for pay, only to insist on the likes of Proud Mary, Mustang Sally, and other jazz classics as their repetoire. Yes, on upright bass. So you see? Nothing is as it seems and everything is the same. Really.
I am ignorant on current events the last few days. I heard something about "UBL" as Asscroft calls him. I am expecting ELO to start the strings any minute. I have no idea what's going on, and actually it has made a kinder, gentler person. Let's just ignore it all, you and I, shall we?
So, all of this is to say, I have nothing to say unless you want to read my eight pages of client copy from today, which, trust me, you don't.
good night. may tomorrow be a tiny bit more inspiring for us all.
j.
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