unheard of

There is very little that surprises me at my work, but I was surprised today when I found myself holding a live baby wallaby. Pictures will be forthcoming.

telling it like it is

I am proud of my daddy.

sound like anyone you know?

I am forever amazed at the kind of thing you can find on the internet. This, for example, describes almost every dispatcher I know. (Heather, you can be my one exception.)

tgis

I was at work early this morning: 5:56 am. It was the first time this week, possibly the first time since I started working day shift. I'd like to say it was because I went to bed at a reasonable hour and woke up chipper and cheerful. No. It was because I went to bed at 11 pm so tired that I couldn't get to sleep for forty-five minutes and terrified that I'd miss the alarm. I woke up half a dozen times to check my clock and worry--I don't remember what about, although it wasn't work. It might have been car insurance or cancer or something. Lots of free-floating anxiety. Fortunately, I don't remember my dreams. I do remember that I woke up for the last time twenty minutes before my alarm and lay there, already tense.

There is not a lot that I hate more than dragging myself out of bed when I know I haven't slept enough. I hate looking into the bathroom mirror and seeing those papery undereye circles. Thank goodness it's the last day of my week.

tgif, for the rest of you

Myself, I work tomorrow. But I do like Fridays, because I don't have to leave the house by 5 am. After two days of that, waking up is no picnic. My alarm went off at 6:55 this morning. I jumped six feet, turned it off, and lay in bed wondering what happened. Had I gotten up earlier, left the house, been flattened by a cement mixer and returned to bed? Did I just forget that?

I got up and got into the shower, decided that the cement theory had merit, and went back to bed for half an hour. When my alarm went off again at 7:46, I called work and asked if I could be an hour late. They said I would have to bring in drinks. (There are things I love about my work.) I woke up at 8:45. I showered, dressed, and was only an hour and a half late.

I was just surprised by my first swing shift officer checking on. Hallelujah! Day shift are a bunch of lazy slobs. Or perhaps my attitude is coloring my judgment. It may not be coincidence that swing shift checks on at 3 pm or so, about the same time that I begin to perk up without benefit of chemical stimulant retailed by Atlanta-based Fortune 500 companies.

Only another hour and a half at work.

oh, yeah. the book.

I am still writing that book, by the way. I'm working on it. Not on days I work twelve hours, and not on days I have major vehicle purchases scheduled. But I expect to have chapter 10 entirely ready tomorrow, and chapter 11 isn't far behind. The revisions are getting more complex at this point. I suspect I'm miring myself in a vat of red herring. It will take me months to fix what I'm cheerfully gumming up this week alone.

yoga

I should take up yoga. I should learn deep calming breath control. I should have kneecaps that rotate 30 degrees in each direction. I should become one with the sunrise, or the yoga mat, or something. You see, I need a way to detoxify my system. I realized today that if I put the money I spend on Diet Coke into a bank certificate of deposit, I'd retire with an extra $26,000.

I retire in 2045, so with that money, I should be able to afford myself a nice doughnut, maybe the kind with cream filling.

eliot spitzer needs to take a deep breath

The Attorney General/future gubernatorial candidate of New York, Eliot Spitzer, has way too much time on his hands. I appreciate his efforts on the behalf of the benighted consumer everywhere, but where does he get the energy? And who's writing his speeches? "These issues can serve to be a hindrance to the growth of e-commerce?" Is this some obscure branch of lawyer-speech, or is this just poorly stated?

yes i do organize all my receipts, but . . .

I am also capable of impulse buying. It's one of the great perks of being both independent and single: you can go buy expensive toys without consulting anyone.

happy birthday darling chrissie

I've been waiting all day for my site to behave itself so that I could wish my darling sister a very happy birthday.

day shift

I've been awake for almost five hours already. I need another Diet Coke.

6 am to 6 pm. Whose scary idea was that? Not that I can't handle it, no sirree. I used to get up at 5 am EVERY DAY, rain or shine, eat a nourishing breakfast of roast beef and potatoes, and head out into the world at six. (Really.) In fact, that's basically what I did this morning, except I had Cheerios. I even packed a lunch, and a frightening lunch it is now that I'm awake enough to evaluate it. I mean, honestly: celery? With peanut butter? I haven't had that since I was about six. I'm surprised there aren't little raisins on it.

apologies

It's not been a good blogging week. Im fact, it's been a trying week for me and for anyone who talks to me regularly: I've groused without pause or pity. The whine entry summarizes my entire conversational output since Wednesday. Sorry 'bout that. Especially to those of you who burned cell phone minutes listening to me. You are true friends, and I hope your children grow up tall, and without a taste for rap.

I'm taking a spa day on Monday. I'll whine at the aestheticians.

The book is going well; I may actually get it finished by mid-May. I sent Christie her chapters yesterday. I'm done with chapter 9, so I'm halfway through this revision. I'll spend the weekend with a paper ms and a bunch of neon 3x5 cards, restructuring the second half and noting anything that needs work. It's a much less depressing prospect, now I have a manageable first half.

judgment and prejudice

The family is having an e-mail discussion about appropriate airport screening techniques. Three cheers for the "Reply to all" button. While researching (term used loosely) my response, I tracked down this article, which I found fascinating. The effect of blind auditions on orchestras' gender composition floored me.

whine whine whine

whine whine whine my throat hurts whine i have to work for a living whine whine whine whine i spent the entire sunny day copy-editing whine whine my schedule sucks whine i want a popsicle whine whine . . . .

busy signal

I spent hours on the phone today. My family must love me. My brother and his wife called from France. Everyone sang Happy Birthday to me--my nephew Reid sang it twice, in fact--and we covered the following four points: 1) happy birthday to me; 2) I should visit them in France; 3) no I don't get to know what the new baby is going to be named; and 4) I should watch The Incredibles.

None of the rest of my birthday phone calls included movie recommendations. Why not? Possibly because you all know I watch movies only when I've actually been tied to the seat with my eyelids taped open. But it's time to turn over a new leaf. Please leave movie suggestions in the Comments field. They will be listed in the order they were received (and your estimated wait time is five minutes, and your call is very important to us . . . .) You will be credited if you wish to leave a name. There are three requirements: 1) no duplicate suggestions will be listed; 2) you must give a reason for the recommendation; and 3) I won't post anything I've already seen. That said, it's not too hard to find a movie not in category three.

Suzanne's birthday movie list:

• The Incredibles. Alden likes it and thinks I will too. Fair enough.

too bad

The mailman brought back Christie's chapter 6. Sorry, Christie. No more book for you.

happy birthday to me

I'm blogging remotely today. (Interpretation: I'll post this when I schelp over to the library to check my bank balance, but right now I don't want to find parking.) I spent the weekend enjoying quality family time and ignoring the ms. Now I'm blogging in order to put off the moment when I start really reading what I last edited. You notice I've found a way to waste time even without DSL?

Since it is my 27th birthday, I have to get work done in order to set a good precedent for the remainder of the year. It's my own special kind of superstition. I should probably go to the gym as well. I did have Thai green curry for breakfast, so that's covered: lots of lemongrass in my future. And my apartment is clean, thanks to a backbreaking Friday spent trying to eradicate the marks seven months' neglect has left on the carpets and shower tiles. This was, of course, because my mother stayed here over the weekend. She knows I'm a slob. I'm constantly complaining about it. But I don't want her to have to confront the incontrovertable proof.

So the birthday goal is to finish rewriting chapter 9. Tomorrow I will polish it and do chapter 10. Hah. I have to say, it's unlikely I'll get half that far. For some reason, these (very strong) chapters have depressingly weak writing. I've spent hours so far on the first 1000 words, trying to remove anything that smacks of "foul fiend"-quality cliche.

visitors

It's been a busy weekend. My mother has descended on the town with the fury of an avenging angel with a shopping list. We have purchased skirts for the three bridesmaids and a wedding dress for the bride. Everyone is content, which may be a North American first in wedding planning. The bridesmaids's skirts are not scary. In fact, they're cute. This comes as an enormous relief.

404

This site appreciates your patience as we wrestle with technical difficulties beyond our control (unable to access server) and within our control (lazy and without DSL.)

whew!

My work schedule will remain a cushy four-day week, and my three-day weekend survives unmolested. I know, I know: you all want my job!

schedule a
Wednesday: 6 am to 6 pm
Thursday: 6 am to 6 pm
Friday: 7 am to 3 pm
Saturday: 7 am to 3 pm


Now that's not a bad-looking schedule, if I do say so myself. Contrast with this week:

schedule b
Monday: on call
Tuesday: 5:30 pm to 5 am
Wednesday: 5 pm to 3 am
Thursday: 3 pm to 1 am
(Friday: strongarmed coworker into taking 5 pm to 5 am)
Saturday: 7 pm to 5 am


See? Such an improvement.
Of course, I have my suspicions that reality will quickly interfere with schedule a. Expect to see this:

schedule c
Monday: on call
Tuesday: 3 pm to 7 pm
Wednesday: 6 am to 8 pm
Thursday: 9 am to 9 pm
Friday: 6 am to 5 pm
Saturday: 7 am to 7 pm

admitting the scientific credentials of best-selling novelists

. . . here's Scientific American.

So there, Alden.

nothing

I feel like I should have something to say, but I don't. I slept little, woke up, did revisions, went to work. At no point did I do anything worth reporting.

not very bright

Smart people do not wake up at 7:20 in the morning after writing until 2 am. That goes double for those people who know they're scheduled to work from six at night to five the next morning, followed by a nice 45 minute drive home.

And really smart people remember to take their contacts out and wear glasses instead.

offline

I finally gave up internet access at home. Did anyone miss me? Did you did you? I've discovered that all my writing time is eaten up by checking my e-mail, reading the Washington Post, and, when all else fails, balancing my checkbook.

Pulling the DSL plug appears to have worked. I wrote for four hours yesterday and eight today. I've almost finished chapter eight. This marks the end of the tiresome chapters.

Of course, all that writing didn't just happen; no, indeed. I first had to balance my checkbook, scrub out the bathtub, and make some healthful borscht. I am the queen of procrastination. By the end of the week, my apartment will be spotless and my freezer full of soup.

must read

The Phantom of Manhattan is much worse than I previously led you to believe. I laughed so hard my stomach is sore. Sharon nearly died. (She had a mouthful of water at an important plot point.) Totally worth the $0.70 she paid. If you're interested in reading it, I encourage you to watch for the unmarked rhyming couplets at moments of high emotion. I also recommend reading it aloud, using your best soap-opera voice for dialogue.

daylight savings time

I hated daylight savings time as a child. I still hate waking up in the dark and putting my nice warm feet on cold floors. Hate hate hate hate hate. Daylight savings meant that sunrise was arbitrarily yanked an hour further away from the time I got up. I can't blame MDT for the floors, really, but if I could, I would.

Today, I like it. My deep graves shift--9 at night to 7 in the morning--has been miraculously transformed from ten hours to nine.

It still feels like eternity, though.

If I work a dayshift in October, I profit from both time changes. Should this make me feel guilty?

sunday morning, 3:30

There is nothing happening at work. That's a good thing, I guess; it means I get to spend some quality time worrying about chapter seven. On the other hand, three a.m. thoughts are stupid. So it's not as if worrying will get anything done.

The chapter has one basic problem: it's uneventful. This despite the fact that it features a funeral and an attempted hit. You'd think I could muster up a little interest between the two. Nevertheless, I have the distinct feeling that a person reading it would put the book down to get a glass of water and forget about it until someone retrieved it from behind the couch a week later. Even I want to do that, and I'm the author. Not a good sign. I should probably add a little Suspense, followed closely by Terror. (Perhaps we can work in a little Humor, too.) As it is, it segues straight from Mild Interest into Indifference, ending on a note of Polite Disbelief.

By chapter nine, the indifference fades. Chapter nine is good.

the list of shame

Back by popular demand

There is a wonderful moment in the life of (nearly) every writer, when he or she puts down a book thinking, "Wow, if this guy conned an editor into taking this manuscript, then I too can be published."

This list honors those books.

• Forsyth, Frederick. The Phantom of Manhattan. Sharon and I are reading this turkey aloud. The prose is risible and the plot isn't worth mocking. Not that it stops us. Check out the Amazon reviews. **NOTE: NYT Bestsellers List. May I be so lucky.**
  
• B, Geoff. Easter Island. If you really want to know, just ask. I omit the author's last name out of consideration for his family.
• Redfield, James. The Celestine Prophecy. Proposed by Anonymous (below.) While I haven't read the book, I include it on the strength of this review by Publishers Weekly: "Originally self-published, the book sold phenomenally, sparked by word of mouth, and may be this year's The Bridges of Madison County --with which it shares some regrettable stylistic similarities."
  
• Brown, Dan. Angels and Demons. At the request of my older brother, who was highly entertained at the thought of an antimatter bomb created by some mad scientist and his daughter. (It's produced kind of like bathtub gin, I gather.) I bow to his superior knowledge, as he is the particle physics guy in the family. Although I personally find it highly plausible that someone managed to creep out of CERN with a bunch of antimatter up his shirt.
  
• McEwan, Ian. Enduring Love. Since I could not resist this review: "i regret that i spent the time reading it, when i could have been just repeatedly moving my eyes from left to right instead."
  
• Christie, Agatha. Passenger to Frankfurt. I hear you, sister. I read this monstrosity one summer by the pool. I'd read so much Agatha that I was starting to put the paperbacks in piles according to plot twist used. When I got to this one, I concluded I'd started to hallucinate. Surely it couldn't be this stupid. I must add, though, that Destination Unknown was excellent, although it had the same "The world is ending!" vibes.
  
• Quinn, Daniel. Ishmael: An Adventure of the Mind and Spirit. Oh, man. Two hundred and seventy-two pages. Telepathic gorillas. What's not to like? Amazon shows that customers who bought this book also bought Daniel Quinn's other books. I guess if you like gorilla philosophy, there aren't many other places to find it.
  

I will update with those books you'd like to propose for consideration, and you will be credited. (Only if you want to be, of course.) Leave your favorites in the Comments field.

If you wish to defend any of the books on this list, go right ahead. We won't mock you . . . unduly.

chapter seven

I have no idea what's going on. I just work here.

dissed

I forgot to put this up yesterday. Credit to Sharon for finding one of the most thorough critical smackdowns I've ever seen.

Sample:

This music isn't just dull, though. Like much of what Moby has produced since "Play," it's condescending, too. Much of it sounds like the work of a producer who thinks pop music is supposed to be kind of idiotic, and who thinks pop audiences should be glad that he deigns to give us what we want.

cern

Alden, you actually owe Dan Brown. At work, I mentioned casually that you were a CERN person, and the crowd went wild. People now know what CERN is. And they think you're very cool indeed for working there. I was asked if you were a genius. I denied it, of course. What kind of pesky little sister would I be, otherwise?

progress

I've continued to eat that chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream, and I'm making real headway.

And I finished chapter six and mailed it to Christie.