cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Screw You Guys: Home. My agent is working on get this particular celebrity food writer for me. She is so awesome. I have a new contract in hand from this Brooklyn-based production firm. If my agent gives me the green light then I'm signing it today. I think I'm doing the right thing here by switching production companies. This is going with my gut instinct. Not that this necessarily figured into my decision, but everything keeps coming back to NYC and Brooklyn in particular for me. NYC has been continually trying to adopt me for the last year. All of my best opportunities and many of the best people I have the pleasure of working with have come from New York City. Their Sl0w F00d chapter, my agent, my publisher, most of my students, the NY T1mes, the V1llage V0ice, etc. It makes sense to end up working with a producer from the same place. I could never live full time in NYC. Too many rules. But when I visit the city now I don't feel like a tourist any more. I feel like its a place where I belong. A city that stepped forward of its own accord to make a place for me. This morning I opened up my wallet for something and noticed that I always have an MTA card in my wallet, for getting around on the NYC subway. That kinda says something. Last night I ended up not getting home until about 9 pm. While I was driving back from looking at a travel trailer (I'm not buying that one as it turns out) I got a call from the friend who is lining up most of my chefs for the new book. He was slightly frantic about a wounded deer that had been sitting almost motionless in his backyard all day long, even when he was standing 3 feet away from it. I got all the way over there and the deer was gone. There was no blood sign but I tracked it until I found it in some brush nearby. It was a tiny spotted fawn that somehow contrived to be born a solid 2 months after every other fawn. This is incredibly weird for biological reasons I won't get into here. But the fawn was not injured. It is completely normal for a fawn under 1 month in age to be left alone all day by its mother, which will return periodically to nurse it. Steve, being a science and evolution geek, was terribly interested in all of this so I wound up giving him a whole lesson on deer biology and hormone cycles and natural history. This somehow turned into 3 hours of sitting on his porch and polishing off a few bottles of S@ison DuP0nt. Oops. I think I'm changing my plans to maintain a desk in this office. I have to get the fuck out of here for good. Its this one fucking retarded employee who I want to strangle. Cynthia is around 60 years old and at that age she's not likely to get any less stupid. All day long its a constant running monologue from her about whatever retarded shit is going through her head. In the last few minutes: "Oh look, that's nice. [Long pause of about 30 seconds] Firefox says that one or more processes or web pages may have stopped working and do I want to kill them. [Pause]. Well thats not a very nice way of putting it. [long pause] I think I'll just hit cancel. Oh, now I have to hit cancel again. Well, shazaam! Oh, that didn't work. Hmmm. This Blagoyovich thing just never seems to end. I wonder what the problem is there. You'd think someone could just come in there and straighten all of that out." She just talks and talks and talks and has NOTHING to say that anyone would ever want to hear. This constant patter of retarded idiot-babble goes on all day long. I've stopped even bothering to hide my annoyance. I'm openly mouthing the words 'shut up shut up shut up' for everyone here to see. She sits with her back to me, fortunately. This woman says the word 'shazaam' as an exclamation literally about 50 times a day. In the same preachy tone every time. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Day after day, year after year? I can't put up with it any more. She just came back from the bank and reported in great detail her sighting of someone who is a national celebrity and best-selling fiction author. However, this guy is local and everyone else in this office knows him personally. The wife of someone in this room works for him. Cynthia is just going on and on about exactly what John Gr1sh@m was wearing in the bank and how she thinks it was him but isn't sure and might go back to check and I just want to fucking slap her. Of course its John fucking Gr1sh@m. He lives here. We all know him. My mother serves on a non-profit board with him. Nobody here is impressed with the fact that you saw him at the bank and the fact that you are making a whole thing out of it indicates that you are retarded. I have 12 more days of working here. Probably less, since I'll take a few as vacation days and I'm going up to NY probably next week for a day or 2. Jesus. I am so fucking giddy over this. _________________________
3:17 p.m. - 2010-08-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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