Oh fuck. Six cups of coffee and I’m still dragging. Oh well, I knew I was gonna pay for that glorious weekend. But did it have to turn so goddamn gray and ugly so fast? Welcome to April, my friends.
It’s been one of those mornings, you know. I can’t find the right music in my iPod and headphones (the office folk don’t want to be bothered), Mark Johnson’s covering the dreadful Colby Military Writer’s Seminar at Norwich, and I’m working with the kind of crew that would make watching paint dry seem stimulating. Oh wait, that's what we ARE doing. Never mind.
Yep, it's one of those mornings. And I think it’s time I found a real job. You know, the kind of job like the people here in this office building have, where they chat with co-workers, chat with their spouses who seem to call every hour, chat with their bosses about kiss-ass chit-chat, surf the net, play computer games, go to lunch, and then repeat the above until it’s time to go home at about 4. And would you like full benefits with that?
But thank goodness for the little lady who runs the ship in this little neck of the state office woods. Well, she’s actually just the secretary but – trust me – she’s running the place. Nothing gets by her. And no one fucks with her. She does, after all, know everything about just how much dilly-dallying is going on. So when she gives the thumbs-up to my pursuit of some state-sponsored computer time, no one says a word about the rules dictating otherwise. Ha!
Hell, I thought that all the bashing of the Dem legislature that I’ve been doing lately would certainly lead to a phone call from the Guv’s office offering up one of those plum “communications” jobs. But no luck there. Yet. And they know where to reach me…
Note to the Guv and his team of merry men: I’ll give you 48 hours to put me on the Darren Allen track of high wages and little work or I’m going to blow the whistle on the fact that Jim Douglas is, indeed, the adult Harry Potter. You’ve been warned.
Speaking of Darren Allen, anyone seen or heard anything from him? Ah, just as Douglas wanted, I assume. Not to mention his former readers. And poor Anthony Pollina, the tongue-tied radio guy and so-called progressive who picked Allen of all people to be his “inside the media” contact, is – once again – left looking like a loser. Oh well, if the shoe fits. Who’s he gonna pick next, Marselis Parsons?
Speaking of Pollina, anyone seen any of these dairy products he’s supposed to be producing? I’ve been looking and looking and looking but haven’t found a trace of them anywhere. Is he just fucking with us? I mean, who in the hell is going to go to Hardwick to see if the plant really exists? Volunteers? I didn’t think so.
I’m just glad it’s April 2nd and April Fool’s Day is over. I hate April Fool’s Day, mostly because it seems like a day when everyone who is NOT funny thinks that they are. Ugh. You know what I’m talking about, too. They’re the same kinds of people who wear those stupid fucking Santa hats at x-mas time and act like it’s unique and clever – until you see every other yahoo doing the same. Nyuck. Nyuck.
This year, it was the Vermont blogosphere that put me in a terrible April Fool’s mood. Please, try to find the humor here, here or here. Go ahead and click the links and read – I’ll wait for you.
See what I mean? Not funny. In fact, not even clever.
I’ve got a way with making friends, huh?
Finally, the big news: It’s baseball season. And that means it’s time for all the Red Sox fans to talk tough, pretend “this is the year,” and pretend that an 0-0 record means that they’re hanging tough with the Yankees already. Whatever.
And if you really want to know how pathetic Red Sox fans are, go watch them line up at Montpelier’s McGillicuddy’s Pub this afternoon to take a look at the 2004 World Series Trophy that will be on display there. Yep, three years later and they’re still acting like it was yesterday. Oh well, three years down and 83 to go until the next Red Sox trophy comes around. Enjoy it fellas.
The best part about the traveling trophy coming to McGillicuddy’s is that the owner, Dave Nelson, is a die-hard Yankees’ fan. Better yet, he’s come up with the genius scheme of charging people $30 to come into his bar today to get a shitty slab of lasagna and the “opportunity” to get a photo of yourself with the trophy. Smart guy. And, if you go, Dave will be the guy in the corner counting his money and loving every second of his mighty Red Sox fan shakedown. Suckers.
Oh hell, I’ve got to get back to work. We’ll talk later.
