exciting friday night

At work, again. I wrote a long post yesterday about the erosion of private space and the culture of victimhood, but the computer ate it. It'll probably transmigrate itself into something by a cranky male literary essayist--Jonathan Franzen or David Sedaris. Nothing against either; I actually have a postcard from Jonathan Franzen, and he has as much of my goodwill as you can purchase with a 23 cent stamp. But I felt myself crankifying as I wrote. The post slid inexorably into a why-I-hate-network-news-reality-television-loss-of-urban-space rant. Today I have a simpler answer to that eternal why: it's the commercials. I hate the commercials. Glad that's out there and taken care of. Back to your regularly scheduled light personal news.

As the astute observer of my moods will note (hi, Mom!), ranting about television means I'm not ranting about my job. That can only be good. I'm back on my beloved night shift. The supervisor's office is empty and the light turned off. The conversation here is primarily witty banter, rather than passive-aggressive suggestions for time management.

Someone has pieces of the Gettysburg address scrolling across our message board. I don't quite see the application, but I won't complain. It was stuck on Happy Thanksgiving until last week.