I nearly got scammed the other day on the phone. ME. I used to be so smart. I can only assume that some portion of "coughing my brains out" is to be taken literally. Yes! I'm still sick; two weeks and I can't stop this coffin. In a way it is a guilty sweetness to know that now I am keeping the neighbors awake with all my racket. But I would rather be well and listening to them than feeling like this, if we're being honest.
I got a nice letter from a man I've been editing for for two years now, who likes how "rigorous" I am, and mentions how odd it is that we haven't met. I do generally like the anonymity of my job, the fact that people don't know where I live or how old I am and some don't know I'm female. Like, hey, what a treat to be evaluated on the basis of really truly MY WORK. And with the exception of things like biographies, CVs, etc., to only be able to know the people I work for on the basis of THEIR WORK. I also got a couple e-mails on work I did earlier in the month to the effect that going over what I had done made them understand how to be better writers overall. I get this comment every year or so but it never fails to boost me for months at a time.
Third place at quiz night on Thursday, which was a little sad because we had disagreed about some answers and in a couple cases the wrong answer had prevailed. That's always frustrating. This was somewhat alleviated by learning that in fact I had gotten one answer (marked wrong) actually right, and while that half point totally didn't make a difference in the placing, it still felt pretty good.
I'm at the point in the Pulitzer readings where pretty much all that's left is straight white men doing stories about straight white men. I am so ridiculously tired of Oh My Sad Impotence or Oh It Is Hard To Be a Drunk and a Sad Sack but Siiiiiiiigh Here I Am. And the next three in the list are Updike, Cheever, and Mailer. Oh dear heavens, that doesn't bode well. I may skip ahead to something more appetizing. It's my game, so I can make up the rules.
This advertisement for the Guardian is pretty much what I hate about where journalism is going.
Here, let me take the nasty taste out of your mouth with some Christopher Walken telling the same story.