This is 30 (for 30)

Just a little peek behind the curtain/a bit of fourth wall breakage to let you know how the blognificent elves and fairies of blogsburgh blog it up, bloggy style. Basically it’s a big smoke filled room with lots of clunky desks. Lots of coffee-stained mugs next to half eaten halves of coffee cake. Katie is dry for ideas and chugging a bottle of liquid antacid. Jane is scurrying around taking orders for the midnight run at the delicatessen that sits across the six lane highway. I sit with my cowboy boots on the desk trying to recall the two night stand Trapper John had in the Adam’s Rib episode of MASH (Merideth… Margie… Mildred…Mildred!) with a bank of clocks set to the times of world capitals behind me. Kerri stews in the big corner office chewing out an intern, who leaves weeping and is replaced with the indispensability and efficiency of a Kleenex box. Jane returns telling Katie that a turkey Reuben is not a Reuben and is just “pregnant lady food”; my veal parmesan has somehow become an eggplant parm. Kerri is furious – “I said a chicken salad, not chicken salad, oyoyoy”. Kerri calls me into her office (aka Kerri’s Lair-ee) to tell me she’s spiking my tribute to Yasmine Bleeth article. “She ruined seasons 4 and 5 of Nash Bridges and she’s not going to ruin me. Write what you know! In an hour….” This process happens constantly with ulcers for all and justice for none. Continue reading