The veneer of professionalism peels away

Hey, all you cute little fuckers. This is going to be the most unprofessional, normal blog post I've ever done-- it's all about me and my day-to-day life, like a teenaged girl's LiveJournal. Everyone gather together to celebrate the wonder of Me.

First of all, I need a car. Mine conked out. Someone give me one.

In related news, if I don't find a car pretty soon, I'm going to need a job. Someone give me one of those, too.

Also, I have two stories in the paper next week. On Tuesday the 22nd, I'll be gracing the cover (I think) of the Portland Tribune's "Life" section with a story about me eating some food (the Tribune's slogan is "Closer to Home;" you can't get much closer to home than this). It should be easy to find; there'll be a big picture of me buried in coleslaw (or something, the photo shoot's tomorrow) right there with the story. O meaningless temporary minor celebrity, thy name is Me.

On Wednesday the 23rd, I'll have a piece about a pet psychic in Willamette Week. You can't miss it; there'll be a picture of Me-- well, okay, not Me, but at least My Cat-- right there with the story.