A WINTER'S DAY, IN A DEEP AND DARK DECEMBER ...

I'm warm and at home. But it's frightfully cold outside which, as everyone and anyone who hasn't lived their whole life in Texas will tell you, is not cold at all compared to whatever great and superior iceberg they grew up on. Or so I've been told by various, apparently, well-traveled folks.

Actually, I have lived a while in New Mexico, up in the mountains; where it gets colder than a purple popsickle in a cherry lover's freezer, blizzards howl like some vast and lost spirit out on the prairie, snowdrifts turn eskimos into shut-ins, and the roads are like slenderized hockey rinks poised, tremulously, on a dead man's mountain curve.

So all you colder-than-thou types (many of whom shop or work at Borders) can blow it out your frosty, frozen nether-cheeks, thank you very much! That's right, my winter kicks your winter's ass. So shut the hell up!

However ...

... there aren't really any eskimos in New Mexico.

Anyway, work shut down early tonight, because we just weren't getting any business. I actually had fun (because I'm weird) de-icing my car, scraping the windows, etc. Then I drove home safely and with nary a slip nor slide. Of course, if I had to do this all the time, it would probably get really old. Today, at least, it was fun. I'm expected to go back in tomorrow at 8 a.m., but luckily, I have a garage, which means my car won't get covered with ice tonight.

Things are going well at work. I've learned that I was specifically mentioned by the big bosses when they came to visit us last week. This is mainly because I put on such a big, phony act of being a perfect employee; doing all the right things and making sure they saw me do them. And they bought it. This bodes well. It doesn't really matter how good a job I do, as long as they think I'm doing it, believe I'm doing it, and see me doing it ... and like me. I could bust my ass for the rest of my life, but without a little self-generated PR, I'd be pushing v-carts until the day I die. But if I advertise my value to them (i.e. make them think I'm the shit), I can spare myself all that drudgery, and still be riding the gravy train. I mean, why work so hard for nothing (like I've done all my foolish life)? It doesn't make me a better person, and it certainly doesn't make me any richer. So, who cares what the common booksellers think of me? It's what my so-called superiors think that's important.

Go team!

Today's Quote:
John Wayne isn't dead. He's frozen! And when they thaw out The Duke, he's gonna be pissed off!
--- Denis Leary