It's big, it's in your face, it' s sexy -- it's television. You can't live without it, but you definitely can give living with it a shot (especially if you have a DVD player and the right kind of movies for your personality type ... of coure 24 hour cable always helps).
People here disapprove of smart work -- they want to work .. all the time .. and give you dirty looks if you don't work yourself.
K is missed. Some people in this office are calling him their son.
But let me give you an update about the transition from print to television.
First off, introductions of all the people I can see right now ...
There's Bray. A very large, very well padded, very blind man with a death wish. He has no hair, but has been going on since morning about the haircut he has to have. Outside of that, he usually yaks about food.
Then there's GD -- a hyperactive hyperchondriac producer who will lose all his hair soon trying to produce a weekly show ... every week.
There's the local Moll, who's sitting next to me -- wanting to know if I'm done and professing great affection for another girl -- heh heh.
GD part 2 is wearing a pink shirt today. He's married to a woman.
And how can I forget the talking mouschtache. All you can see is a large moush -- straight out of the middle ages -- that ends in these marvelous curvaceous points ... lovely I tell you ... and then the moush begins to talk ... it bobs up and down and a deep, staccatto, gravelly voice emerges. "Hi, I'm the walking, talking gigantic moushtache -- did I spell that right?"