Wednesday, October 12, 2005

[If A Title Was Encompassing You Would Not Require The Post] 10.11.05

The problem with Floridian fruit is that everything is different. The limes are orange on the inside, the pumpkins talk smack, the sweet potatoes laugh to see such sport and the papayas run away with the spoon. In all seriousness, I believe I am drinking hot limeade but I might be drinking hot water over a fruit only meant for desperate birds.

Skipped out on lunch with Misanthrope Anna, going to lunch with my bosses instead. They’re very chill. We talked about cats and therefore, when we laughed, I can’t refer to it being better than “Cats.” I brought up the well-worn joke phrase, “I laughed, I cried, it was better than Cats” to a pair of people who had never heard that before. Does anyone know where that phrase came from? Joel? Heather?

I returned to work, argued for a while about the Yank-these, and spent a few hours writing with Raycroft.

Raycroft wants you to donate to our ownership group. We’re going to buy the Nationals.

My mother returned from Florida with a possible leave NYC day – end of the year – and the strange fruit that started this post. (Thankfully none of the fruit was Billie Holiday’s strange fruit) That strange fruit, sweetened with honey, powers this post. This post is both mood and filler, and writing calisthenics before I sleep.

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