i heart procrastination

there are plenty of things i should be doing right now. instead, i am indulging a narcissistic whim and doing the next best thing to talking to myself. that is, i am writing myself a wee note on this here blog pad. i have nothing to say except 1) it's as hot as hell out and 2) there's no place worse than times square in the summertime. seriously. after dragging a couple of bags of beta tapes to my edit down in the heart of purgatorio (42nd between 7th and 8th), my two PA's and i strolled back up the steaming hot 8th avenue, fighting off tourists and people trying to force bus tours on us. i gazed longingly as one after another ice cream shop passed us by, talking aloud about my love of the snack, of the sweet, of anything edible. at some point, i discovered the melting point of denim and my jeans officially welded to my body. now i am back in the office, sipping my second overpriced iced tea of the day, contemplating the work in front of me through eyeglasses that are conveniently and seemingly permanently smudged for maximum blurriness.

i have come to the end of my rant for i believe i just heard the call of a long-forgotten chocolate bar in my desk drawer that must be eaten. don't wait up.

things are looking up...sort of

First of all, it's Friday, which is theoretically a good thing. Not that there's a whistle blowing me out of here at 5pm, but at least I'm not obligated to drag myself out of bed at the crack of dawn and ride the Pony Express (aka the "F" train) with all of humanity and not a few camp groups of 8 to 10 year olds as they laugh themselves silly at the herky-jerky joys of the morning commute. To make it through, my girlfriend and I indulged in the NY Post, our guilty pleasure when the prospect of the NY Times is completely overwhelming. Sometimes you just got to have your Page Six. Apocalyptic world events be damned. Brad and Angelina have adopted! The candy coated gossip bubble only last so long and what you're left with is a rag that doesn't mind putting the word "sicko" on the front page. Is sicko even a word? Only in NY Post-Land does sticking the letter "o" on anything make it headline worthy. Remember "Wacko Jacko?" Since liberal-minded democrats like myself are the bane of Post-Land, it's only a matter of time before we become "Liberal-Os." They'll name a cereal after us.

One more reason things are starting out on an up note today: I managed to drag myself out the door to meet a friend for a run. Yay me. Three miles in 100% humidity and already all I want to do is go home and snuggle up with my air conditioner. But at least I did it. And now I'm free to eat anything that's not tied down.

What a blob-o.

why me?

so this is the second time i've tried to "post" something on my spanking new "blog." being the technical dimwit that i am, i seem to be having very little luck. not that i've got a whole lot to say. it's been a ghastly day, full of demoralizing hoo-ha that generally goes with making tv. also, the stitches in my hand, from the surgery i had two weeks ago to remove the volkswagen sized cyst i had driving around two of my tendons, were finally taken out only to reveal that they had done nothing. less than nothing. i now have an attractive "butterfly bandage" holding my skin together. everytime i use my left hand, which is often seeing as how i'm left handed, my hand feels like it's going to burst open. kind of like my pants which have grown tighter after the loaf of bread i just ate. ANYHOO, i'm calling it a night. you should too.