Failure of the Day: Lack of Focus

I’m still pretty deep into my swoon for David Mitchell; I just finished his debut novel and have now read everything he’s written. He’s a Brit, but almost all of his fiction is set in Asia, where he lived for the last decade. He tells a good story but rarely bothers with any kind of traditional plot. He’s non-local. He’s only slightly causal.

Wow. Unrelated.

We watched the Air America startup documentary, Left of the Dial, recently. (Seriously, no one gives Paul Westerberg nearly enough credit.) It was surprisingly riveting considering that we already knew the outcome of the network’s financial struggles and that I know all too well that people who work in radio are by and large as ugly as they are stupid. It also did wonders to help Chris understand why I stopped dating comics. Don’t get me wrong—Marc Maron’s show is the best damn thing on Air America, no question—but you could actually see morale droop when he walked into a room. Those guys are miserable, and miserable to be around, without exception in my experience.

This appeals to me only slightly more than it disturbs me.

There is a new category of worker here in ye olde Converted Potrero Hill Warehouse, that of the European Manager Too Important to Talk To Me. It comes in two varieties: short and tall. (They can’t Dooce me just for saying that, can they?)

Golly.

Things at ye olde Converted Potrero Hill Warehouse are actually going pretty well. I just finagled my way into the Marketing department as their copy editor, a position that didn’t exist this morning. The first step of my Master Plan is in place! I covered my tracks nicely though—to keep them from suspecting that I am actually a sleek genius, I spilled water all down the front of my shirt just after lunch. Ha HA! I am wily!