Monday, June 27, 2005

We’ve reached a crucial point in our history, dear reader, in that a unique structure descended upon our discussions when no one was looking. I can’t say when it happened, or how long it will continue to happen, I simply know I opened my front door one morning and found it sitting on my stoop, like the ugly mutt you enjoy losing regularly.

One day usually fuels the hatred for our jobs. The day after that casts shimmering rays of clarification on some useless piece of technology. Wednesdays, so tenderly situated between 16-hour stretches of work, encourage drive-by resolutions, the likes of which would transform me into a High Renaissance Man on a weekly basis if taken to fruition. I mean, who wouldn’t want to beat the shit out of people while making crème brûlée, using nothing but a black belt in jujitsu and a wooden spoon? Precisely.

A week absolutely cannot close without hosting, Blogger, hosting and Blogger, or hosting and Blogger and the goddamn Elf King of the Forty-Tree Forest bending our happy home over a desk and advertising eight brands of grody to us, catch my drift? “Push-Button Publishing,” reads Blogger’s tagline, and as soon as I pushed that button Thursday night, our conversations were republished in gigantic Times New Romans font. It may be my imagination, but shouldn’t Blogger circumvent the need to dig through lines of HTML? Well, guess who opened Notepad for 60-something minutes of expletives and troubleshooting? And then of course I reserve a special day for ignoring you. But every day? Every day is underscored with ebullient cynicism.

Mondays are brutal, let me tell you. Sometimes they hit you so hard, you just want to go straight to bed. Let’s hope Tuesdays are better. Or not, either way, whatever works best or something.