Day #2 - 10/17/97

Morning

OH MY GOD: MY VOICE MAIL BOX IS GONE!

Dramatic, huh? So, I called my voicemail box at my old station to make sure there weren't any lingering messages I needed to take care of. WIPED OUT! Stations try to do that as fast as they can: erase any evidence of your existence. It's like in "Mission Impossible" where the guy on the tape recorder tells Mr. Phelps if he's caught they'll disavow any knowlege of your actions. Call me Mr. Phelps. I used to be voicemail box 401. Now, I'm inaccessable. My God: they've stripped me of my identity! Now what will I do? (Lucky for me, I can still use my Social Security number AND a pretty damn good PIN number to prove I'm really the guy who used to be 401! It's obvious they just don't know who they're dealing with.)

The obligatory article was in this morning's Plain Dealer newspaper. As far as I'm concerned, you haven't made it until a couple of million people in your city get to read a headline with both your name and "FIRED" in the same sentence. It's sort of '90s chic, ya know?

Afternoon

I've discovered something: TV programming between 11am and 4pm SUCKS. Thank God for Jerry Springer, trailer parks and white trash. Go Girl! You Go!

I think I'm having a moving sale tomorrow. The thought of hauling back this junk furniture I've been living with for two years annoys me. Any piece of furniture that comes in a box and has to be assembled can't be worth trucking 500 miles. Besides, I have real furniture at my home in Virginia. I can tell it's real furniture because none of it is covered in bland-brown fake-wood plastic veneer. OOPS! I didn't hit a sensitive spot with ya, did I?

Thanks!