reading:
John Bowe (ed): Gig: Americans Talk About Their Jobs
Gail Simone: Birds of Prey
Sarah Vowell: Take the Cannoli
Howard Zinn: People's History of the U.S.
"Bomb the World" by Michael Franti was playing last night, during yoga, and the lyrics have kinda stuck in my head, even though it's easy enough to write them off as hippie dribble. It's eloquent hippy dribble, though. And it's not a bad song, either.
Today is just ridiculous. My car stopped working on the way to work, sputtering and choking before finally refusing to budge, so I had to pull over and call a tow truck and talk to the boys at the dealership and rent a car. Two hours later, here I am at work, and the guy calls me to say that my car is out of gas. I suppose an empty gas tank isn't covered under the warranty. Damn.
At this point, though, I'm just hoping that's all that's wrong. A few gallons of gas is way cheaper than a new transmission, which was my original theory. Now it might just be the gas meter. Because I swear to god, I wasn't on empty. Really!
Perhaps karma is getting all the weekend drama out of the way right now, leaving me free to enjoy the next forty-eight hours of work and fun. I would really like everything I plan to start going as planned for the next two days. That would be swell. Odds of this happening, though? Slim.
To cheer myself up, I had Fruit Loops for breakfast and listened to that 2gether song. Man, it's delightful.