Mar. 22nd, 2002

fox: my left eye.  "ceci n'est pas une fox." (Default)
Had a fun little mini-work-trip. Rode up yesterday evening (slept in the back of executive sedan), had dinner -- quickly -- with [livejournal.com profile] mommybird and [livejournal.com profile] pistorius, who are charming and quite cool, and then busied myself preparing meeting materials until 4:00 am.

(Side note: I had the dumbest cab driver ever on the way to dinner. Honest. I get in the car and say "Park Avenue and Monument, please." Guy says "You want Charles Street?" Understandable confusion as there is a park with a monument in it on Charles St. and English is far from this guy's first language, but even after I tell him I'm going to Name Of Church at This Exact Address, it took him a couple of bucks' worth of time on the meter to get his head around the concept. My feeling? Cab drivers should be, as I'm told they are in London, required to apprentice on a bicycle, following taxis around, until they learn where stuff is. Also, they should have maps in the freakin' car!)

I shit you not. What happened was, the attorneys had a pre-meet thing yesterday at which they totally finalized the contents of one handout (by which I mean inch-thick book O documents, with tabs, velo-bound). They called me at around 4:00 (pm, yesterday afternoon) to tell me the final contents, order, etc., and I amended all fifteen copies (created and bound the previous time they told me that was definitely the definite final form the thing was going to take [g]). Packed them in a box, along with -- here's where it gets fun -- fifteen copies of another set O documents for the other handout, of which they will use some but not all. Won't be able to velo-bind these in the hotel, so I pack three-ring binders. And numbered tabs. And a staple remover. And a three-hole punch. (When I'd had the copies made, velo-binding was still an option, so I hadn't copied the damn things onto three-hole paper. Would have saved me some time.)

So. Around midnight, the junior partner had finished preparing her outline and deciding what order these exhibits should occur in the handout. It now falls to me to rearrange, tab, and hole punch the suckers, get them in the binders, and highlight tiny parts of four of the items in each set.

Went back to my room, changed into PJs, turned on Nick at Nite (love, love, love that they have the Cosby show now), and cranked those babies through until 4:00 am. Hit the rack.

Alarm went off at 7:00. Fortunately, my presence was not required at the meeting/presentation itself. So I gave the attorneys their binders and went back to bed. Note to all: hole-punching that much stuff will give you a bruise on the heel of your hand.

Glad it's the weekend. :-)
fox: my left eye.  "ceci n'est pas une fox." (Default)
Message on my machine when I get home: "Yeah, hi, I'm returning your call about lawn mowing -- I can come by this weekend and do that for you, no problem. Give me a call and let me know when is a good time for you and what we can work out if you need trimming and landscaping and things -- my number is [redacted] and I live in Arlington."

Reason this puzzles me: I live in an apartment on the ninth floor. I definitely don't own a lawn.

So I call the guy.

ME: Hi, is this [redacted phone number]?
GUY: Yes, it is.
ME: Okay, I got this message yesterday about mowing my lawn --
GUY: Yeah, I was trying to set up a --
ME: Well, but wait, the thing is, I have no lawn. So if you were returning someone's call -- you seem to have gotten a wrong number.
GUY: Yeah, I think I must have.
ME: I just wanted to make sure you knew that, if you were expecting them to return your call, you know -- you might want to try again.
GUY: Oh, I did, I did, I got it worked out with them. But thanks for getting back to me and letting me know.
ME: Hey, no problem.
GUY: But do you know anybody who needs their lawn mowed? I sure could use the work.

Poor guy. I had to tell him -- perfectly truthfully -- that I don't know anyone in the immediate area who owns property with any lawn action. So that was sort of sad.

But mostly just really strange, that conversation.
fox: my left eye.  "ceci n'est pas une fox." (Default)
I! Heart! [livejournal.com profile] basingstoke!

[bounce]

Package in today's mail. Contains tape of "Hunting Season," which on my existing set (courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] emrinalexander) cuts off in the middle. Hurrah! Tape also includes bloopers and something called "Frank's Cock" (I guess I'll see when I get there ...) and the first two episodes of "Twitch City." [bounce!] Package also contains, inexplicably, four teabags -- one Stash green & white, one Tazo wild sweet orange, and two Tazo passion. [happy shrug] So, thanks, bas. I shall, in your honor, drink these without milk.

I shall now put the tape in and watch it from start to finish. And have a cup of tea. And maybe then I'll start cleaning up in preparation for having guests over on Tuesday ...
fox: my left eye.  "ceci n'est pas une fox." (Default)
... that, upon learning she's speaking to Bob Fraser, who's dead -- that she's speaking to Bob Fraser's ghost, in other words -- it takes Maggie McKenzie barely a second to accept this, and then her first question is "Have you seen my mom?"

One of these days I'll be able to articulate why I find that so satisfying.

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fox: my left eye.  "ceci n'est pas une fox." (Default)
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