To hell with the ol' chestnut
Too many shoe styles, too little time.
Now, in this Perfect World, it is
Too many tiffs to find, too many computers to search.
Explication:
There is the aged iMac DV special edition. Attached, the mega cd burner.
There is the aging and for sale iBook.
There is the necessary newest PowerBook for skewel.
And where in fuck are the tiffs of John Simpson, brand Spanking new Middling City U president. I ask you.
Fired up machine #2 and nowhere on its desktop is Simpson. Search. Search again. There, whew!!!, is the slew of tiffs.
To be sent off to an eager p.r. type - asap - the freelancer's mantra.
To hell with Om, it's asap.
Had a funny overheard quote, via the airport, but it's gone the way of airplane wing de-icer on a windy night.
Fired off a note to mentor JR saying, in a nutshell, Hi and thanks and you rock for getting my brain into a new media direction.
Howard Dean, I have just learnt, lost bigly in Iowa. And that is no surprise to Perfect me. You cannot finger the air like so in this day and age. You cannot smile a sinister smile in this day and age. You cannot trade on the disappearance of your bro in Laos in this day and age. You cannot trot out your wife for the premier time in such a late fashion, if a spousal touch is to be employed, in this day and age.
In this day and age one cannot afford to be less than Perfect.
Aged Love.