there was a pigeon in my house

yesterday, when I came home. I'd left the windows open. Just flapping around, this pigeon, lighting on my easel and refrigerator and so forth, divebombing the windows. Jesse played the real man and braved the flying thing to open the windows and let the bird out again; I chased it around with a dishtowel while it shat on things. So that was, you know, an interesting initiation into my new house.

But I'm here now, furniture here, stuff here, phoneline set up, so on. Now the full time job becomes searching for a career, or, rather, my full-time energy's to be spent searching for a job. Hmpf. Stupid city. In other news, roast beef sandwich.

Bobbin' and weavin', bobbin' and weavin' says De La Soul. Bobbin' and weavin'.

Got more to write, got fic to pick up, the Josh thing and the Casey-and-Lisa thing and the resurrected two-headed-beast of Punkensab, all of which is only to say that it's high time Time Warner decides Brooklyn's ready for high-speed cable modem access. July 2001, says the website. July 2001 my ass. I called today. "We won't know when your neighborhood will be ready until it's ready," the woman said, astoundingly unhelpfully (to use the phrase "astoundingly unhelpfully").

Got more calls to make. Got a pavement to pound. Miss my girl Jo and always Punk. Miss LA, even though last night we watched the fireworks over the east river on the cordoned-off section of FDR drive. A million New Yorkers over 40 blocks, sitting in folding chairs in the passing lane. Plus it rained. Very very cool. Beats the view of the Hollywood Bowl from Mulholland, I promise.

I'm going to go find a job now. Failing that, I'll have some grapefruit juice. Anybody needs me, I'll be over there <<<<<<.

the bats are in the belfry

Shana took me to dinner and coffee. Shana rocks. Now I've got the window open and the air conditioner on.

But the real question is, how does a little girl like me in Brooklyn find a job?

Got two meetings tomorrow (maybe) -- MTV guy and A&E guy. Maybe. MTV guy said "Friday or Saturday," A&E guy said, "I'll keep you posted." This all seems very vague to me.

It's a tough row to hoe, walking that line between "hey, dude, I'm REALLY broke, PLEASE hire me, help!" and "yeah, dude, I'm cool and talented and in demand, I don't need your stinking company, SURE I can take you out for a drink, I'm a successful professional." Tough to say which one appears more salable. Clock's ticking. I wonder how long I can eat on $14. Ah, the television industry.

Tomorrow also maybe my cat comes, my phone, my blinds, my kitchen supplies. Or maybe it's another day of coffee in a cardboard cup. Unpredictability! I love it! I'm a whatsitcalled, a trailblazer! A pioneer! I just moved 3000 miles and I am gung and ho!

Or, to put it more straightforwardly, today I plucked the keys off my keyboard and washed them with soap and put them back on. That counts as productive, right?

So, "broke" or "successful." I suppose we'll see which one comes out of my mouth when this producer or that producer takes me for coffee and I slap down my credit card that won't work and pretend to pay just enough that he'll say "no, no, I got it." Heh.

"And in the morning I'll be gone," says Tom Waits. Me, I did that already.

The whole first year I was in LA I kept saying, "yeah, I just got here about three weeks ago."

So far, New York, haven't even BEEN here three weeks. At least, I don't think I have.

I wonder what time it is in Perth. Could it really be exactly 12 hours difference? My Perth clock seems to think so, but I'm dubious.

I'll go watch some M*A*S*H now.