font size="+4">S</font>ometimes I'm asked if I like my job. Depending on how close the person is to me that is asking, my answers tend to vary. If a reporter from Channel 4 was to ask me how much I like working where I work, I would probably spread my arms open and say "this much". If a customer making idle chat just before leaving was to ask, I'd say the benefits are phenominal. Then, there are a select few people who make time to listen to my troubles, and it's inevitable that I will whine about one or two things other employees do that irritates.
To the former individual I would say reading is my favorite passtime and to the latter I would say that it's boring as hell, but I love my books. Of course, the books do not belong to me (except one that Amy Wallace inscribed). It is only while I'm at work, when bizness is slow, that I can focus on my reading and NOT fall asleep, because when I read at home, I never fail to conk out. Of course, there is a certain amount of concentration that is lost while reading at work when interruptions occur left and right; so perhaps concentration is a factor for lazy brains to require sleep. I mean, I can read quite rapidly without knowing what I've just read, and then I can read for comprehension. So, I guess I am saying that reading is a lot like sex in that all I want to do afterwards is sleep, or smoke.
Tomorrow is my floating holiday. I'm taking myself siteseeing because I like to be amongst tourists. I'll be taking in studio attractions in Burbank. There is only one exposure left on my 35mm. I will save it for the studio tour if I see my fav anchor to request a photo together. I sound like I still get a rush out of capturing images on film. This is attributed to the off chance I'll meet a celebrity. I went to Olvera Street and took a few shots. Not tequila shots. I didn't see that they exactly sell blankets as much as I saw serapes. Perhaps it is because it isn't the ideal time of year to stock up their inventory with such a space consuming merchandise. I ran my hand over the serapes and felt how soft they were. My guess is they're cotton blends.
When I discovered in the dictionary the term used to refer to a scruple symbol is "scruple", it had been on my mind for years. When I learned it was Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres who painted Mademoiselle Caroline Riviere, I was flabbergasted. Who's Caroline? I'm sure I'll find the perfect wool blanket retail outlet in L.A. some day as well as the airport which was pictured together in Ingres' portrait of Mlle Riviere. These are things I don't forget. Other things I do not forget easily are Vera Ferraro and her inappropriate grooming request, my high school sweetheart and her unreasonableness, the injuries I sustain at work and arthritis on those joints, and the transition between early adulthood to adulthood that totally blew my mind away.
I know these entries can be dull. Think of what I go have to go thru when I read them over again for content. Ugh. I would like to wish a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to payphone35cents, somebody who's a complete stranger to me but happens to have the same birthday as my German friend, Petra. Best wishes.