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Monday, Sept. 27, 2004 - 8:54 p.m.

Oh, lord. I donít update for weeks and weeks, but now thereís a hurricane on me and Iím hungry, so Iím going to have to pop out another lame update. It will be composed of tiny pieces:

a. I am working on two new projects, one of which is intended for the web. They are both secrets. You will like them.
b. I mean, unless you are Mimi Smartypants, how long can you maintain the personal weblog as a viable, interesting medium, beneficial for both author and audience?
c. Yes, The Measure passed its first birthday and feels like a teenager.
d. So will The Measure morph into one of the new projects mentioned above? Who knows? Right now it is busy ditching class to smoke cigarettes.
e. Work sucks.
f. However, I have gotten to send a few work-related emails lately to a gentleman whose last name is Assey.
g. Also, the overpriced deli at which I sometimes I eat lunch served me a Greek chicken salad today with three-quarters of a cup of oil. No, the oil was not on the salad Ė it was in a to-go container with its own lid. Like, hereís some Wesson corn oil as our gift to you! Put it on your salad? Oh no, madam; it is for your personal use. We recommend you fry up a batch of doughnuts every day for a week.
h. Yes, apparently the deli now dispenses the monthly war rations. I have procured a recipe for Mock Apple Pie.
i. Assey.
j. L and I went to the beach this weekend, and I got tan legs all over again. Also I drank heavily and read the entire September Vogue, all eighteen pounds of it. I am fashioned out. Fashioned up. My eye color is now tweed.
k. I will now run happily back to rereading One Hundred Years of Solitude and trying to figure out how to teach myself about modern architecture.
l. Itís for one of the projects.
m. Sshhh.
n. Assey!

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