Recommended for libraries serving a trendy population.

At work tonight, an attorney gave me an e-mail with some changes he wanted me to redline and e-mail back to him. The document was, get this -- his son's essay on John Donne's Death Be Not Proud. For real? For real?!? I couldn't believe his old school blatant powerplay use of secretarial resources. I thought about refusing to do it, but it just seemed like too much effort and frankly I was mildly curious to read this high schooler's 5 paragraph essay (and what changes his lawyer father had recommended). There was a moment though when he tried to hustle me along, because I wasn't done soon enough for his liking, and I looked at him and said, "[The Greek] needed me to make edits on his real document" and he kinda backed off sheepishly and let me finish then thanked me profusely afterwards. I don't know, maybe I'm fooling myself into thinking that doing random isht like this banks up some credit with people. I do think I do win occasional currency, but its maybe not as much as I'd like. Too bad I already wrote my essay on "Why I Deserve a Holiday Bonus 2007" because that isht would totally have been in there.

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( now i will talk in detail about cologne )

Scents are the new wine for me. I haven't been buying or drinking much wine at all lately. Right now I'm indulging in a cocktail of whiskey and cream soda, bottles of which were left in our fridge from a guest and I'm not generally a fan but it makes for an excellent mixer with bourbon. The cocktail goes well with the bay rum/woody smell of my wrist that I keep sniffing. I do this out in public frequently and I wonder if people think I am talking into my wrist. 'Its the new bluetooth technology!'

Every year it is something, it seems, some tangible category of item to collect and fixate and research and experiment. For some reason, I like that at least this time, its something that will get used up. I used to be the opposite. I didn't like spending money on things that would disappear (e.g. food), I wanted large sturdy bulky things I could look at and feel were worth my hard-earned cash (or easily-squandered credit). Now I want to give away the 3 dimensional items in my house and subsist only on the thoughts and experiences conjured by the smells that lead to my distraction and imagination, which I suppose one could say wine served that same purpose as well.

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Today I didn't do much and I had to tell myself again and again that it was okay. That I didn't have to either distract myself or necessarily be 'productive' to be a worthy human being. (Ugh, that word, I hate it some times.) I spent most of Sunday out of the house anyway, so some solitary lounging was probably necessary. Plus, you know, some other stuff. Walking from the office to the train tonight, I realized things are sitting in my gut, not in my chest, where they usually reside. For some reason, this seems like a good thing to me. Because it is different. Of course now I'm home and things sit heavy on my chest again, but then I smell my wrist and put myself to bed under the downy cover and listen to the ice storm pass over us in the night.