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04.22.2004 - 8:08 p.m.
Thursday
For whatever mysterious reason,
the last few days have sucked BABOON ass, traffic-wise.
I had time this morning to
appreciate the anthropological strata of stickers plastered to
the highway post things - years of clogged westbound 520 commuters,
probably frustrated Microsoft temps, crawling along at 2 MPH
with their windows rolled down and slapping Vegetarians Taste
Better stickers to the green posts protruding from the cement
divider.
While approaching the west
end of the floating bridge at a snail's pace, I thoroughly examined
the arboretum wetlands and saw a heron, several ducks, and a
log with three turtles on it, each successively smaller than
the one in front of them (um, except for the first one), each
with their heads raised.
Well, that part was actually
very cool…but I was still late for work, dammit.
Coming home has been just as
bad. Today I was part of an e-fucking-normous slow conga
line of cars trundling eastbound, no accident in sight to explain
the delay. The mountain was out, but are people so dazzled by
Rainer's stately visage they forget how the accelerator pedal
works?
And…and yeah, and another
thing I, uh…
I just realized I'm bitching
about a commute that involves driving over a beautiful lake,
seeing waterfowl and turtles, scoping multimillion dollar
homes, in full view of the area's most lovely mountain.
I'm going to go get myself
a nice tall glass of Shut The Fuck Up now. Don't mind me.
:::
Should I be concerned about
the recent appearance of this…THING in my household?
:::
So, I could use your help with
something. Recently I've been talking to someone affiliated with
a small publishing company, and she has encouraged me to, holy
freaking shit, submit this journal - in some form - in order
to be considered by said company.
(Most flattering thing EVER,
by the way.)
Pitching a book involves coming
up with a hook - what the book is about, how it would be structured,
what audience would like it, and so on.
I look at my journal and I
see a couple years of the most enjoyable activity I think I've
ever embarked upon, but I am having a terrible time thinking
of how it might exist in a bound paper format.
By the way, I am actually in
MARKETING. It is, supposedly, my freaking FORTE to package up
dubious end products and present them to the public, smelling
of roses and glittering with bows.
Apparently the stuff that's
closer to the bone is harder to pimp than shoddy vaporware Internet
applications. Who would have guessed?
I'd like to ask you, the people
who read this (and oh my god you have no idea how much I love
you for that), to give me some advice if you feel like it. Is
there some sort of way you could imagine the stuff I've posted
here being appealing, at all, in a book? Or even, putting what
I've written aside, is there some manner in which someone's journal
- a journal that doesn't include some fascinating journey that
ends in, I don't know, overcoming some colossal personal challenge,
or something - can be put together that wouldn't be a snorefest?
I mean, jesus, it isn't exactly
Sex and the City around here - hell, it's not even "Thirtysomething".
Anyway. Any thoughts you have
are appreciated.
And thanks, so much, for reading.
last ::: next
54
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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