2004-01-16 - 11:44 a.m.

I'm at home, listening to my Guided By Voices album.

Yup. Took the day off.

I haven't had a four day weekend in forever and ever, and I did work on Christmas Eve, when I could have just taken a vacation day, so I don't feel like I'm wasting one right now, cause I paid it forward. And things are a little slow at work right now, so I won't be missed.

I can't keep a goddamn secret to save my life, so I told the Roommate about the day off when I got home last night. Part of the reason why I took the day is because she has today off too. I wanted to keep it a secret and stay up late and get up really late in the morning and be obnoxious about it and make her make coffee for me and get me in the shower while I whined about it and then miss my bus and then go outside to wait for the next one--take it that far--and get a pack of smokes down the street or something and come back and lay the surprise day off smackdown.

That woulda been funny. (Don't think I'm cruel--she likes when I play elaborate jokes on her.)

So I have four days off, and it was colder in some parts of New England than it was on Mars yesterday. I'm serious. So there's not a ton to do. I think I'm going to set up my recording equipment and see if I can get something done there, but I'm not promising myself anything.

Last night was fun. Sometimes, maybe too often, I like to just veg out and watch TV. Seinfeld, Simpsons, King of the Hill, King of the Hill, news, M*A*S*H, (Ex)-treme Dating (the most underrated show on the planet for what it is), Third Rock, and then the new Cosby show where he's still with Phylicia Rashad but he's not Cliff Huxtable anymore, which is surreal to say the least.

And beer.

I don't have cable, obviously.

The commercials they run are mostly for technology training schools, and one of them starts with this kinda young guy with close cropped hair and a button down oxford introducing himself as something like Paul Verroommaster, but I used to hear hi, I'm Paul, the Room-master.

Wouldn't it be fucking awful to have an arbitrary master assigned to your room, sitting on a stool in a corner? Having to put up with some kind of forced camaraderie to stay on his good side? Having to say hey Paul, can I snag another one of my beers? and being worried he might cut you off, and having to pay sycophantic attention to his boring interests (probably wrestling and cars and girls with breast implants) as a trade off for getting to watch the next TV show and not go to bed?

So fuck you, Paul Verroommaster, I, and I alone, am the sole master of my room!

So I like to give Paul Verroommaster the finger whenever he comes on.

Fuck you, Paul.

Fuck you.