I have a throbbing, blasting, stunning fireworks display of a headache. It’s kind of a lack of sleep. It’s kind of a lack of food. It’s kind of lack of knowing exactly where I’ll be living come the first of November. It’s trains and travel and too much baseball on TV and summer’s pesky inability to stop being summer and oh my god I’m totally writing a Blog 101 blog entry or maybe an introductory voiceover from My So-Called Life.
The coffee shop across the street from my house just added free WiFi. Just when I thought the Ms. Pac Man machine was the grooviest electronic accessory I’d ever see in here, I can IM with outdoor Pam and be one of those “hipster laptop tappers” the Citysearch review implies I must be. If I had to pick from that list, that’s certainly the one I hope I am. Once, when Pam and I were here together, they were blasting this Neil Young album that must have been called, “Neil Young Responds Vocally To The Torturous Physical Sensation Of Bleeding From The Eye.” It was the loudest, whiniest thing I’ve ever experienced.
I got a job and I’m going back to LA. I’m very, very excited, about the travel and the move and the job and being near Pam’s TiVo and my brother’s three bathrooms and all of it. I’m going to sublet my apartment because I love it so much that I could never imagine giving it up. Are you looking to sublet an apartment in New York for at least three months starting on November 1? Don’t you know how pretty my neighborhood is? Don’t you want to live in my apartment? Why are you so mad at me?
Remember when I said I couldn’t be a publicist anymore? I’m not a publicist anymore. I mean, I never really was one. Actually, I was a “consultant.” Now I’m neither. I can feel my soul slowly draining back into me.
Other than that knotty, pricey detail, the move is feeling incredibly low-stress right now. I’ve done the drive I think six times in the last three years, so if I didn’t know how to forward my Entertainment Weekly subscription at this point, I would not be very smart. And this time I’m stopping off for two nights to go to a wedding in Minneapolis. So instead of the usual, breakneck “drive, drive, dive” attitude I usually maintain when I’m barreling westward by myself, at least this time it will be the far more tempered, “Drive, drive, formalwear, drive.”
Here’s what I’m not working on today and why:
*Anything related to Monica – Because I need a mental vacation and you can’t tell me I can’t have one. We’re in feedback hell again after our last reading, and I just made about a thousand press kits that I’m just going to mail directly into the garbage and save my list of potential producers the trouble.
*My Top Model recap – Because I can’t recap Top Model anymore. It’s a long, wonderful story. But lest it look like I’m not still a lifetime devotee of TWoP, I’ll be recapping The O.C. starting in the fall.
*The book Pam is so valiantly making me work on – I have no excuse. It’s because I haven’t gotten a “when are you showing me more pages” email today from Pam.
*Anything else – Because I’m posting to the blog. People, it’s free and I’m drinking tea with the rest of the backgammon playing tweens.
You guys, I’m so glad they’re not playing Neil Young I could cry.
I sang karaoke in a hardware store last weekend. That could be a story worth telling.
Please don’t let Bush win the election.