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LCDs and Bumfuck, Texas
Nov. 6th, 2006 10:14 amLittle Store had a decent enough weekend but when I came home, I discovered the LCD screen on my laptop had been inexplicably smashed.
Always fucking something. Ben blames the dog; I blame retrograde Mercury.
I have spare monitors around the house but it's hard to do design work or art if the feel of your workspace is not organic. So-oo, I will have to bite the bullet here. Shit happens: are you gonna let it ruin your diet? Well, yes, of course, and I had two humongous pieces of blackberry pie for dessert last night.
Replacement screens cost about $170 (Texas vendor.) Ben swears he can do the fix. He's pretty handy if it comes to that and he would have to do an awful lot of free repairs before I'd feel even slightly beholden.
Oh – and there's a Bumfuck in Texas! I know this because I just got off the phone with the editor of their newspaper. She was amazingly rude to me when I pitched her the Cirque du Méprise tent-raising. I mean – in the course of this PR gig, I've gotten the brush-off from assignment editors in top TV markets throughout the western United States plus editors at many major, metropolitan newspapers. They understand that a publicist's job is to be both perky and persistent. They laugh at my jokes, seem genuinely sorry when they say no. They don't think less of me for doing my fucking job.
Not this bitch.
"I have your information, thanks!" she said and hung up the phone on me.
In an effort to bolster my spirits after that, I dressed up this morning like Uma Thurmann in Pulp Fiction – except I'm wearing pink Crocs instead of pointy boots, a fashion statement I'm sure Uma herself would approve.
Hey! The bitch lives in Bumfuck; I don't. It's all good.
Always fucking something. Ben blames the dog; I blame retrograde Mercury.
I have spare monitors around the house but it's hard to do design work or art if the feel of your workspace is not organic. So-oo, I will have to bite the bullet here. Shit happens: are you gonna let it ruin your diet? Well, yes, of course, and I had two humongous pieces of blackberry pie for dessert last night.
Replacement screens cost about $170 (Texas vendor.) Ben swears he can do the fix. He's pretty handy if it comes to that and he would have to do an awful lot of free repairs before I'd feel even slightly beholden.
Oh – and there's a Bumfuck in Texas! I know this because I just got off the phone with the editor of their newspaper. She was amazingly rude to me when I pitched her the Cirque du Méprise tent-raising. I mean – in the course of this PR gig, I've gotten the brush-off from assignment editors in top TV markets throughout the western United States plus editors at many major, metropolitan newspapers. They understand that a publicist's job is to be both perky and persistent. They laugh at my jokes, seem genuinely sorry when they say no. They don't think less of me for doing my fucking job.
Not this bitch.
"I have your information, thanks!" she said and hung up the phone on me.
In an effort to bolster my spirits after that, I dressed up this morning like Uma Thurmann in Pulp Fiction – except I'm wearing pink Crocs instead of pointy boots, a fashion statement I'm sure Uma herself would approve.
Hey! The bitch lives in Bumfuck; I don't. It's all good.
