29 April 2002

I’m pleased to report that this week is off to a more normal start: whereas this time 168 hours ago I was (oh geez) feeling kinship with Steve Jobs, today I’m shoulder-to-shoulder with Bill Gates, certainly a more natural if not less troubling location. I’m with Bill: Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it. You’ll annoy your friends, you won’t placate your enemies, and you’ll give dangerous encouragement to the stupid. (A matter of keeping your job, you say? In that case your ethicist gives you permission to lie, but suggests that you should try to get away from people like your employers ASAP. God knows what they’ll have you doing next.)

29 April 2002

26 April 2002

A very strange week indeed, as later account will detail. For now, I’m camping out at my friend Arminda’s house, since my apartment building has neither hot water, nor heat, nor light in the public areas. Most disconcerting. If the garbage weren’t being taken away daily, I’d think something was wrong. (Attention non-New Yorkers: Yes, this is how you know. Big city. Stuff goes wrong. Could be worse; I could live in the one that blew up yesterday.)

26 April 2002

23 April 2002

Not that I have so much love for P.Diddy, but this grousing by a professional clown has to be the most arrogant rant since….um, when did P.Diddy last pipe up? Anyway, this bozo — literally a bozo — argues that children aren’t really afraid of clowns, that children LOVE clowns, and anyone who claims otherwise is not only clown-bashing but probably just some grown-up that’s… afraid of clowns. No word on how the grownups got that way or at what age, but I think I might be able to guess for you. (For the record — oh, come on, like you even have to ask. Of course I don’t like clowns. Did you confuse me with some other blogger?)

23 April 2002