Lazy Day

Oh illegal copy of Final Cut Pro, why did you have to fail me today? Today of all days, when I wanted to start trying productive things, and maybe put together pieces of the video I've shot in some sort of preliminary Magellan experimentation? Why must you suddenly realize that I have no actual claim on you, and decide to bar me from your wonders? Just cruel.

I had an entire list of things to do today, since the weekend didn't leave me much time for productivity. But then I was reminded that today was Memorial Day, and that half the places I was going to go are closed. So I slept in super late, took a really long shower, and chatted with my landlord about getting an AC unit put in my window today. Hooray. I'm not saying I was dying in there, but it was definitely a lot warmer than I'm normally comfortable sleeping in. And since I've now become accustomed to using my comforter as blanket, pillow and bedfellow, I need it to be cool enough for that thing to live up to its name. My landlord is so very nice - he tried to work around my schedule to get the AC unit in, but finally just asked if he could go in later in the afternoon, which of course I agreed to.

I befriended the other half of the staff at Perch Cafe today, and was told that several of the girls are leaving in the very near future. They all seem really nice, and one commented that it was a shame that they were befriending me just as they were moving away, but I'm still a little confused as to how there wouldn't be some open shifts considering that three of them are moving away. Diana, a waitress who's staying, said she'd drop my name and tell the owner that everyone liked me - hopefully I'll get a call. And tomorrow I'll go harass the people at other places I've put my application in. After e-mailing resumes to many different places around town, I'm really hoping tomorrow I'll get a flood of responses all begging for my two years' barista experience. It could happen, right?

So I started "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man" today, which was a jarring transition from Vonnegut. Joyce and Vonnegut are, in some senses, totally opposite, and switching from such a natural voice as Vonnegut's to one that's as difficult for me to process as Joyce's has definitely been interesting. For some reason, reading Vonnegut was just very easy, as evidenced by the speed with which I tore through "Galapagos." But I've found myself re-reading passages of Joyce to figure out what's going on, confused by the amount of run-on sentences and random introductions of new characters. 50 pages in, but I may need to start it again . . .