I’m entertaining friends today, as I was yesterday, so I probably won’t update much until late Sunday. Patrick Cooper was nice enough to point out that “Lodi” is an inappropriate song for my mood, so for the next 24-odd hours I recommend a tune of greater cheer.

Song of the day: Elton John, “Island Girl”


A few people have asked me how my interview went. To my mind, it doesn’t make sense to comment on events like interviews. If I emitted high-pitched squeals and got the job, it would have gone well; if I gave the best performance the eastern seaboard has ever seen and didn’t get hired, it would have gone poorly. The jury, as they say, is out. I should know by Friday.

In other news, I have become engrossed in an XBox video cartridge called “Max Payne”. It’s a balls-to-the-wall adventure game in which, whenever you empty bullets into a thug, you can hold down a button and make the bullets hit in slo mo. Just what I need right now.

Song of the day: CCR, “Wrote a Song for Everyone”


My mother has an interesting hobby which she’s only able to practice during the weeks when I’m back home. It starts around 8 a.m., when she’ll murmur something from the kitchen downstairs, vaguely intending to wake up the son who’s in repose only one floor above her. When it fails, she starts murmuring a little louder every 20 minutes, and by 9:20 the noise begins to rouse me. By 11:00 the process has usually worked its magic, and I am stumbling to the bathroom, scratching the section of John Travolta’s torso that has temporarily replaced my own.
After enduring this ritual every day for the last two breaks, I have come to the conclusion that it has nothing to do with actually waking me up. Honestly, if you wanted to wake up your houseguest, wouldn’t you walk up to the bed and rustle him?
I’m going to Washington at 8 a.m. tomorrow, so that pattern will at least stop for the time being. In other news, my incredible efforts of last quarter have once again produced a roster of mediocre grades. One B and two B+s, with one grade still to come in. It’s a lousy time to be Dave.

Song of the day: Neil Diamond, “Holly Holy” (live from Hot August Night)


So, Friday. Anyone who knows me should be able to guess why I’d mark it “interesting”. It’s on these days when all problems have mislaid their maps to my house, when I’m free and lazy and wile away days reading biographies, that black thoughts descend in a flood. What can possibly be haunting me? Not very much. Mostly I’m worried about my interview on Tuesday, the fifth interview I’ve ever had. They’ve gotten easier each time, and my sense of doubt while in the hot seat has diminished. But … well, it’s hard to elucidate in this medium exactly how worried I am. In my mind, success as a journalist is the key that’ll determine what kind of life I can have.
Ah, forget it. I’ve gotten just enough of this stuff out of my system. I can now watch Whoopi Goldberg and the movie industry in peace.

Song of the day: Paul McCartney, “With a Little Luck”


Saw Blade II with friends tonight, and enjoyed it a great deal. The vacation is coming together.

Song of the day: whatever that song was that plays when Blade starts wailing on the vampire familiars. Something about “COME ON MOTHERFUCKAAAAS!”


Delaware and I enjoyed a tearful reunion today, after which I promptly fell asleep. I’ve got a few appointments tomorrow, then an interview in Washington on Tuesday, but otherwise I should be updating frequently.

Song of the day: 20/20, “Yellow Pills”