Named

All my editors are named David. Well, okay, three of them are. But that's still a veritable lot -- provided that a veritable lot consists of at least three items.

In any case, this situation poses a problem for me each time one of the Davids calls up and says, "Hey, it's David. I have a question about the article you just wrote."

It's not that I don't want to be on a first name basis with these Davids. But you can see how this is just a sitcom in the making.

Anyway, the point is that I'm sure there are still other Editor Davids (or is that Editors David?) toiling away unnoticed in the offices of the publications for which I write. And I am sure they will come out of the woodwork soon enough. And when they do, they will refuse to identify themselves thoroughly just to spite me.

In One's Head

It is 2:20 in the morning, I am still trying to finish up an article that I have been working on for days, and I cannot find a single ballpoint pen anywhere.

Update: Now it is 7:00 am. I have slept for a couple hours, although I actually finished the article quite some time ago. The problem was that I lay awake for a while trying to stop myself from composing emails in my head. This soon turned to thoughts about composing blog entries about composing emails and all hell broke loose.

Before I went to bed, I did not find any ballpoint pens with which to compose a few notes, by the way. I did, however, run across an old charcoal pencil that I bought back when I thought I might like to try being an artist.

The good news is that I will be watching Radiohead in just about 12 hours. I do not think they sing any songs about ballpoint pens. Although, they may quite possibly have something to say about composing emails in one's head when one should be sleeping.

Then Say So

I'll bet you that it's written down somewhere that anyone with a blog must make a "pet peeve" post at least once in their lifetime. And since I'm not one to argue with requirements that may or may not be written down, here's my obligatory pet peeve post:

If you say you're going to do something by a certain time, then do it. And if, for some reason, it looks like you're going to be late, then say so before the deadline. That's all I ask.

These are simple words to live by, my friend. Adhere to them and you will go far. And you will annoy me far less.

A Poor Job

The apartment has reached its expiration date. Or rather, everything in the apartment has decided to expire all at once. First, it was the refrigerator -- which, despite being only a year old, got very loud all of a sudden. Not too long afterward, the kitchen faucet sprung a leak. This was followed by a flickering lamp in the bedroom. And that, of course, was outdone by the groaning ballcock in the toilet.

I have considered replacing the ballcock by myself, mainly because Gideon from SuperRooter did such a poor job on the kitchen faucet that the abovementioned leak returned just days later. However, I question my ability to request said ballcock from the hardware store clerk without giggling. I am childish that way.

A Little Nauseous

I have received a review copy of Karyn Bosnak's book, Save Karyn: One Shopaholic's Journey to Debt and Back. For those of you who have forgotten all about this little meme, Bosnak is the woman who racked up thousands of dollars in debt by purchasing Prada shoes and the like, and then paid it all off by soliciting donations through her Web site.

I have considered, briefly, reading the book and reviewing it for one of the publications that I write for. But every time I think about it, I get a little nauseous and that's the end of that.

If you're the sort

If you're the sort of person who tends to lament the fact that most movies these days, well, suck, then you should go check out Lost in Translation. It is by far the best movie I have seen in years. The cinematography is gorgeous, the screenplay is intelligent, the dialogue is believable, and Bill Murray does indeed give his best performance ever.

And don't even try to tell me that you saw this movie back when it was called American Beauty. Lost in Translation puts that little flick about suburban discord to shame.

In fact, I might even now forgive Sofia Coppola for her previous recklessness.

Why is that when

Why is that when the dentist takes X-rays of your mouth, he makes a big deal about putting a lead shield over your chest but seems to have no problem shooting X-ray beams directly into your head?

The Wife Has Whipped

The Wife has whipped up some amazing, amazing cookies. I would invite you all over to try them, but I want them all to myself.

Speaking of The Wife, a few of you have expressed your reservations over my use of the term itself. Allow me to counter by saying that it is much less possessive and no more objectifying than referring to one's spouse as "my wife."

Plus, it's just plain amusing. Get your own blog and give it a try.

Here's a shameless plug:

Here's a shameless plug: If you tune in to Public Radio International's The World on your local public radio station sometime this afternoon, you may hear me talking to host Lisa Mullins about how activists are using technology to aid their protests against the current World Trade Organization meeting in Cancun. I wrote an article on the topic for Wired News recently and the show's producers thought it would make for an interesting segment.

Now, mind you that I was probably speaking too fast and slurring my words, so don't tease me too much if I end up sounding a little nervous. Likewise, comments about any dumb statements I may make should be kept to yourself. Please.

The World airs at 2:00pm on KQED (88.5 FM) here in San Francisco. You can look up times and stations in other regions by going to the PRI Web site. I'm not 100 percent positive that the segment will air today, but we'll find out soon enough.

PS: When I told Lisa Mullins that I had had a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats for breakfast, she laughed and told me that she used to peel the sugar frosting off the top of the mini wheats and just eat that. I do expect this part to be edited out of the segment.

Update: The audio stream of the interview is now online.

My First Job Interview

My first job interview was the easiest. The hiring manager -- if you could call him that -- simply asked if I wanted to make a quarter, and I said yes. We all said yes, because who doesn'tt want to make a quarter when they're six? So we each grabbed a rake or a broom or a trash bag or whatever else this man handed us from the back of his garage and headed out for our first day of work.

This was back in what you'd call a simpler time, I guess, and it must have been okay then for the older, never-married men on the block to offer the neighborhood kids a quarter each to do things like clean up all the leaves in the little park on the corner where we often liked to play. It must also have been okay then for six year olds to wander around the neighborhood wielding rakes and brooms and trash bags unsupervised, because none of the other adults who we talked to that day seemed to mind -- not even when we brought home spotless new quarters and spent most of dinner time trying to make our siblings jealous.

I suppose the adults saw the assignment as the old man's way of teaching us neighborhood kids about the value of money and community service and teamwork and so on. But really it only taught us that we could make a quarter if we just went down to the little park on the corner and hung around teasing the girls who lived across the street until it was time to return the rakes and go home. Which is what we did. And which is what I remember clearly every time I walk into another interview.