Saturday, June 19, 2004

6,673 words and a wrong number

  • BOOK UPDATE: I now have enough words to comprise the sort of essays that Dr. Theresa Callan would demand of me in my University of Portsmouth politics courses.
    My 6,673 words are very rough, however. I'm sure Theresa would still give it her usual three-second glance, circle the first paragraph, and say: "You'll need to rewrite that bit. And if the rest of the essay is like that, you'll need to rewrite the rest of it, as well."

  • Sitting in my office today I received a phone call from an unknown young woman. And when I say young, I mean she was no older than 4 years old -- she was clearly teaching herself how to use the phone:
    "Hi," she said.
    "Hello," I said.
    "I'm using the phone."
    "Yes, you are. Very good. But I think maybe you got the wrong number."
    "The wrong number?"
    "Yes, sweetheart, the wrong number."
    "What's your name?"
    "My name is Chris."
    She squealed with delight and dropped the receiver. I could hear her excitedly shouting to someone: "I used the phone and called the wrong number and talked to Chris!"
    I think more toddlers should cold call people at their place of business. It definitely makes your day.

  • Most of the rest of my day was spent playing this game.

  • Congratulations, Houston, on your 46th light rail accident!

  • Mormons hate giant ice cream cones.

  • Note to law enforcement authorities: Do not mess with the "Dale Carnegie of witches."

  • And people wonder why I love the British. It's because they're beautiful people.

  • What do you get when you mix Dallas with a career in television? Very big hair.

  • You know, I think President Bill Clinton got a bit of a raw deal. I think that, in retrospect, his critics were overzealous in their pursuit of his every foible. But honestly, does anyone literally believe that he slept on a couch for two months? Why even say such a thing when it is so obviously not true?
    I'm sure the White House has at least one additional bed for the leader of the free world to sleep in. If not, they should have called my parents -- Mom and Dad have a spare room and would have been delighted to have the president visit for a while. Dad would have made him King Ranch casserole.

  • Madonna, er, Esther, is not a media whore. Now get the hell off her land.

  • I am shocked -- shocked, I say -- that this relationship did not last.
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