Boom.
Hey, did you hear that the street near Grand Central Station blew up yesterday? And there might be asbestos raining on Midtown? Awesome. In a not-awesome way, of course. Bien sûr! And guess where my office is? Yay, Midtown!
Watching the news was eerie last night: Some of the shots of office workers walking down the street with their suits dusted by debris looked like stock footage from 9/11. Without trying to sound callous or show any disrespect to those who were hurt (or worse) yesterday, thank god for superpowered steam explosions that shoot clouds of whatevertoxicity hundreds of feet into the sky. This ain't nothin'.
Many apologies for sporadic blogging lately. I've been out of town a bit and I'm swimming underneath lots of freelancing — both of which are very good things, but they leave me with little breathing room. And they also leave me with a terrible predicament:
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows comes out on Saturday. I have the most labor-intensive freelance project on the planet due on Tuesday. I can't read the book until I'm finished.
As of Saturday, I am entering complete media lockdown. Except that I work at a magazine. Media. With media people.
I am asking absolutely everyone who is reading this book or who hears about what happens in this book to tell me absolutely nothing until I give the go-ahead. I refuse to listen to any spoilers, I don't want to inadvertently catch a conversation that may or may not include any details of what may or may not have happened, nothing. Lalalalalala I can't hear you I can't hear you I can't hear you lalalalalalala ...
And with that, until I can post pictures and the most fascinating stories ever of my travels, I leave you with Josh's one deep thought while we were leaving Fire Island three weekends ago:
JOSH: [lifting his feet off the Long Island Railroad train car floor] The floor is sticky.
ME: [lifting my feet in response] Yeah. Eew.
JOSH: You know when we watch Inside the Actors Studio? And I always say that I don't understand why nobody ever says the job they least want is garbage collector?
ME: Yeah.
JOSH: I have a better one.
ME: Oh, dear.
JOSH: Porn theater cleaner-upper.
He's so right.
Watching the news was eerie last night: Some of the shots of office workers walking down the street with their suits dusted by debris looked like stock footage from 9/11. Without trying to sound callous or show any disrespect to those who were hurt (or worse) yesterday, thank god for superpowered steam explosions that shoot clouds of whatevertoxicity hundreds of feet into the sky. This ain't nothin'.
Many apologies for sporadic blogging lately. I've been out of town a bit and I'm swimming underneath lots of freelancing — both of which are very good things, but they leave me with little breathing room. And they also leave me with a terrible predicament:
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows comes out on Saturday. I have the most labor-intensive freelance project on the planet due on Tuesday. I can't read the book until I'm finished.
As of Saturday, I am entering complete media lockdown. Except that I work at a magazine. Media. With media people.
I am asking absolutely everyone who is reading this book or who hears about what happens in this book to tell me absolutely nothing until I give the go-ahead. I refuse to listen to any spoilers, I don't want to inadvertently catch a conversation that may or may not include any details of what may or may not have happened, nothing. Lalalalalala I can't hear you I can't hear you I can't hear you lalalalalalala ...
And with that, until I can post pictures and the most fascinating stories ever of my travels, I leave you with Josh's one deep thought while we were leaving Fire Island three weekends ago:
JOSH: [lifting his feet off the Long Island Railroad train car floor] The floor is sticky.
ME: [lifting my feet in response] Yeah. Eew.
JOSH: You know when we watch Inside the Actors Studio? And I always say that I don't understand why nobody ever says the job they least want is garbage collector?
ME: Yeah.
JOSH: I have a better one.
ME: Oh, dear.
JOSH: Porn theater cleaner-upper.
He's so right.
Labels: dirty, New York, pop culture, the hubs
posted by Marla at 10:33 AM
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