So you might have wondered if I’ve been “surviving” the ordeal previously mentioned. Not only have I been surviving, I’ve been surviving with flying colors. If you had guessed any of the following happened, you’re right:
Savoring Elote’s brunch specials as frequently as humanly possible. Also: debating as to when breakfast ends and when brunch begins.
Learning the merits of depositing a check with a bank teller as opposed to an ATM.
Learning that even non-members have fun at the Bushwick Country Club. The Other BCC.
Blaring Made in the Dark by Hot Chip and being pleasantly surprised by Mark Ronson & Rhymefest’s “Man in the Mirror” mixtape (Google it).
Becoming more and more apathetic about the Knicks, until I saw this glimmer of hope on Deadspin.
Coming up with two viable book ideas that I’m not sharing here.
Watching Matt Taibbi’s appearances on writer-less The ColberT ReporT and Real Time with Bill Maher allow me to fall deeper into admiration for the most entertaining political beat journalist I know of.
Analyzing the first two episodes of The Wire, looking for clues and off glances. Furthermore, learning from Dave that Newsweek might have spoiled the damn ending of the series. Also, buying the aforementioned soundtrack.
Stocking my desk at work with carrots and celery to sustain myself during the apocalypse of work previously mentioned.
Stocking the fridge with the Delerium and the Magic Hat Winter Mix 12-pack. It’s called Odd Nation, and it’s amazing.
Dying a little on the inside when the Jaguars lost the momentum in the 3rd quarter last night.
But what kept me insane throughout all of this was a book that I’ve been working on at my office, working on it since before Thanksgiving.
The current round of the book ended on Friday. I arrived at the typical hour of 9 AM and left at the far far from typical, self-record breaking hour of 11 PM.
I, your humble blogger, bleary eyed and tweaked, alone in the office, way after the janitorial staff came through in the clutch. I pitched a fucking Valiant 9th Inning, and beyond. Extra innings, into the mid-teens. The kind of production I was hoping I’d see one day out of Joba.
But since we might never get him as the Ace Reliever we all wanted, I’ll say it was late nineties Mariano Rivera-esque. And by the time I was done, I sent an e-mail that sounded something to the effect of: … well, I’m not going to post it. Let’s just say that if you put a PS in, you should have something after the actual “P.S.”
Last night I saw Meera off, hanging out with her, her cool boyfriend Max, and their grad school friends at this bar called Sheep Station. It’s bad enough to lose a favorite co-worker, but to lose them to Boston? God Damn. I told her I’d send her a Yankees cap, so she’ll be a non-white Yankees attire-wearer in Boston, making her the most popular person since Paul Revere. Jessica (and Cliff), yes, if you’re reading this, I know Boston’s better than it used to be, I couldn’t resist that joke, and it was actually said out loud last night.
But as one person leaves, another appears. Lee, my newest coworker, is cool, and has a great design/architecture blog.
And now, the Giants game is on, go G-MEN!