Verhaltenskoordination im Sport
2002-10-11 - 8:13 a.m.
I'm drinking the wrong kind of tea. It's English breakfast, which isn't nearly as strong as Irish breakfast. Or so I've been told. Irish breakfast is mostly Assam. Assam is good.
I'm drinking the wrong kind of tea because I needed an egg sandwich this morning. I needed one desperately. So I got my egg sandwich, but then I had to get the wrong kind of tea.
It's okay -- I can go get the right kind later.
Hey -- in that book -- Buddha in Suburbia -- the narrator is obsessed with tea (as Nora would say). He hates Typhoo tea, and people are always giving it to him.
I've been listening to Liz Phair CDs. We have two - I'm not sure how many there are. I have to listen to them when the kids aren't home, because at least the first one has at least two songs about fucking.
Someday they will be old enough for that, but certainly not in the immediate future.
There's a cover for a book called "legacies of dachau" sitting on my desk. It's written by the grandson of Herbert Marcuse. It's probably a good book, but I think I need to take the cover away.
Actually (I'm reading the cover now) it does look like a good book.
On the other side of my desk I have the amazing adventures of kavalier and clay. Another good book, although I think one that could have been shorter.
Other books on my desk: Malice on the Moors -- I picked it up from the free circulating paperback collection one day when I was xeroxing nearby. Thought it might be okay, but it's never been okay enough to actually read. And double fold -- Nicholson Baker's expose of how libraries are throwing away old newspapers. Probably interesting but, finally, not interesting enough.
I have other books lying around, too, but they are truly, hideously boring. novye zakony uzbekistana -- I can't read enough russian to even tell you if there's one interesting thing in that book. kartellverbot und verhaltenskoordinationen im sport. I can read enough german, I think, to reassure you that there's nothing interesting there.
Interesting how you can tell who's come to the copy machine, which lies on the other side of my cubicle. My boss swishes the papers around in a distinctive way. He walks up quickly, makes a sort of paper-swishing noise, walks off.
Other people tend to sort more.
Okay. The egg sandwich helped. I am feeling human again.
I think I feel like writing letters, today.
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