I worked from home today, and I actually didn’t edit at all today.
Rather, I:
- Devised the meeting minutes from last Friday’s Editing Council meeting, using a combination of the slides, my notes taken during the meeting, and the audio tape I made on an analog tape recorder. Pause. Rewind. Replay. Pause. Play. Pause. Rewind. Replay.
- Participated in today’s Tivoli Editing Council meeting.
- Called into the first 10 minutes of the ITIM ID team meeting.
- Devised a prototype of a monthly communique to send out from the Editing Council, starting some time in 2008.
- Corresponded with Loretta about annual re-approval of a document that I don’t think is in use any more.
Before making my salad tonight, I chopped, diced, or sliced: tomatoes, cucumbers, black olives, mushrooms, and celery. I still had sharp cheddar cheese, carrots, pineapple, scallions, and red pepper left.
I finished up the lettuce and the bottle of Irregardless‘ Lemon Tahini Dressing.
Upon finishing, I remembered that I’d also wanted to put in some raisins and dice up a hard-boiled egg that I had cooked. Darn.
Robert checked in on AIM in just enough time to point out the beautiful sun-setting sky and how nice it was outside to me, which I would have missed, of course, without him in my life.
If it’s not on my Palm Pilot calendar, it’s probably not gonna happen.
I love this from The Week:
Fabio is nobody’s fool, says Karl Taro Greenfield in Details. To detractors, the Italian-born model is a running gag—a metrosexual whose bulging muscles, capped teeth, and flowing hair are practically a parody of beekcake. But the joke is on those who mock him, Fabio says, because he was always in on it himself. “I was using the industry. I used the fashion industry, the whole business, for money, for chicks, for a lifestyle. But I never let them use me.” Now 48, he says that he was “a testosterone machine” during his heyday. “Oh my God, I was going through models like crazy. I would be at [clubs] and there they were, 200 of them, all lined up. I could choose.” Fabio says he now has just about everything he wants—a five-bedroom house in California, a collection of rare cars and motorbikes, and five dogs. “And the chicks,” he adds. “I still get the chicks.” Mostly he dates would-be actresses. “They’re always complaining about their work, or how they are not working. About this casting or this part they are hoping to get, and I have to say, ‘Come on, you’re a f—-ing waitress.’ I don’t say that, but I think that, you know, because I’m a gentleman.” |
Men are pigs—gay or straight.
I worked out from 8:00-9:00 this evening, during which the lunk alarm sounded once, and many more chapters of In Cold Blood were read to me.
Today’s workout stats:
Type |
Duration |
Burned |
|---|---|---|
|
Elliptical |
60 |
835 |
I found out tonight, asking at the front desk when I checked in, “I’m sure it’s the hundredth time you’ve been asked today, but what are they building over there in the parking lot?”
“It’s a Sonic,” he replied.