becoming a paranoid blogger...
Um...kind of scared about what to write now that I've realized how far-reaching the blogworld is. Not that I shouldn't be approached for my behind-the-scenes talk, but I do kind of wonder how the source remained anonymous. Ah well, maybe Kelly and I should have just had a wrestling match (I still don't understand how to fight "clean" without nails and fists) but we discussed it as adults--locked in Nick/Jason's bathroom, forcing others to pee off the balcony or in the backyard.Also kind of scared about my identity! Ever since Tommy said he took all traces of his identity off his blog, I'm terrified I'm going to wake up one morning and the SWAT team from Argon will raid my room, like in "Hackers" when Joey gets arrested. But I do have the benefit of never having been arrested in my whole life (campo interactions in Portland and St. Pete colleges were easy to talk my way out of); only getting a juvie card from the La Grange Park police station when I was 8 or 9 (or something like that) for teepeeing (T.P.ing?) a house...across the street from the police station! I must have been 8 or 9 to be that dumb. Then again, I threw parties at my house in high school, as did Faydash's (Dudek's probably too), and we were a block away from the station. And I would sometimes put the empties in giant plastic bags and hide them in the pine trees in front of my house--idiot! Le Chris said he took the blame for most of those. Thanks older, wiser, well-partied brother.
Other than my paranoia, thing worthy of mentioning is that Sean Wilsey emailed me today! I'm obsessed with him and his book. I told his to warn his wife that he was probably dealing with his first groupie (I'm sure there will be others). But he was so polite, and thanked me for coming to the reading, and loving his book, and promoting it the best I could. I was embarrassed to tell him we don't even have Oh the Glory of it All! in my bookstore, but I promised I would make Don or Brendan order some (tons) soon. I actually told them to do that today; that's where I am right now. But at-work blogging comes to an end this Thursday, when the computer up-front is taken out. Brendan was livid about it, and plans on saying something to the Andersons. Yessss! I guess if I have no computer, I'll have to go back to reading trash magazines again, which is almost equally as fun as blogging. Okay, way better than blogging. I think I might go grab the new issue of Vanity Fair bc of the article on Pete Doherty. I want to see if he really is still dating Kate Moss. I have to go to their wedding if it happens; her 30th bday party was themed "The Beautiful and Damned," a Fitzgerald book, and I KNOW her wedding will be roaring 20s and flowing with booze and drugs. Maybe she's permanently scarred over Johnny Depp though and will never get married.
posted by SES @ 8:32 PM
3 Comments:
on monday morning i sat down with the head of security at argonne, and he told me we were lucky that we weren't arrested. We both could've been tossed in the clink and charged with felony trespassing on federal property. my first thought was, "hmm... i wonder if we'd be sharing a cell."
was the head of security the "daddy" of those two loser brothers (flame and...stretch? he was kind of non-identifiable since his brother was about a billion times more gay than him)? Guarantee we would NOT have had separate cells if they made you stand at the front of danger, and me at the back. Good thing you aren't planning on going back there. Argon sucks; the only redeeming factor is Dwight. Things would have been different if Dwight ran the place. Less secure, sure, but cooler? Yeah!
ps I almost peed my pants at work yesterday when you wrote that thing about kirstie alley eating L. Ron Hubbard
yep, it was the daddy. slightly cooler than captain fantastic and the human torch.
and mr. flametat had to escort me to get my clothes from the hotel. i tried to make chitchat with him in the elevator. no luck. that man's sense of humor (and humanity in general) is buried deeeeeeeeep inside a head full of concrete.
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