Quarter after nine and the editors I work with aren't even here. Yesterday I never saw them because they had taken clients out to lunch. A long lunch. The kind you just don't come back from.
And that was Thursday.
Next week we should have our new offices all but fully furnished. I've been peeping down the hall to check them out - partially painted walls, plastic covered floors and an adjoining hallway full of furniture and artwork. I was told by the designer we're going for a "Mid-Century modern" look. What intrigued me was the use of antique wood for all of the editors' desks. For the other assistant and myself, a tiny office for loading footage will become our home away from home. I'll bring in artwork and such to adorn my half; leaving empty coffee cups and used straws that my girlfriend gives to me. Last night she was excitedly congratulating me on having my own space, shared and tiny though it may be.
(Side note: Should I make a point about having a girlfriend? Last time I had one I felt no inclination to, but this time is different. While I'm not writing an outright entry about her, an aside seems necessary in the grand scheme of making this blog relevant and informative. I've always walked the fine line between anecdotal and observatory. She's good people, though she won't make me stray from my established convention of leaving off proper names. Ask me about the night we met; that's a good story.)
Today, little sleep plays as an overture to an incredible weekend. Act I is iced coffee, the second installment of my Spoon "greatest hits" played from my laptop while I wait for my coworkers to show up and some assessment of tapes shipped to us from the Chicago office. A long lunch, laundry and maybe a trip to the gym will be an entr'acte before seeing Bars of Gold at Small's this evening. Saturday will be the inaugural Pig & Whiskey in downtown Ferndale. In keeping with the tradition I started of drinking only clear liquor in the summer and brown in winter, I'll be gravitating toward the beer tent. I am looking forward to some tasty pulled pork and introducing my girlfriend to a number of my friends. That night my band plays our first show in a long time at the Atlas Bar in Hamtramck. The declining action of Sunday might mean visiting my parents, or my neighbor's for a fundraiser picnic or perhaps even sitting home and doing fuck all. When the weekend ends and some sort of summation is attempted, like in most of my entries, the most important message to convey; the moral of the story; is that life is not scripted.
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