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This week has been and will continue to be a good week for me at work. The reasons are many but basically it boils down to me taking Friday off, and, most importantly, my office manager’s battle with a rhinovirus.

I work in the office with just him, so when he’s not here I have free reign of the territory. Don’t get me wrong, I like having my boss around. He’s a good guy and we get along, but sometimes it’s nice to have the place to yourself. Its pretty cool for me as I get to keep the thermostat where I want, can get up and walk around, crank my music up, dance, pee in the corner, throw things, catch things, and host elegant tea-parties and act the part of a proper gentleman. But what gets to me is that he’s still sick and came into the office today.

My immune system is pretty awesome. It’s like the pirates ninjas of immune systems. I’m talkin’ throwing stars, nunchucks, katanas coming at any sort of foreign threat. My lymph-nodes are to viruses what talent is to Damon Wayans. But the long and short of it is, don’t come to the freakin’ office if you still sound like you’ve crammed a sock in your nose and your orificium are still leaking more fluid than…a…a…something that leaks a lot of fluid.

If you’re one of those peoples who would rather go to work and be sick then use a sick day, remember: You’re not staying home for you, you’re staying home for the delight of your co-workers.

Living in New York has taught me a lot of things so far – like how to take a zombie’s head clean-off with a shotgun, or how to trap and cook rat when your paycheck runs out 3 days after you get it. But all-in-all it has taught me how to be single.

You see, every time the weekend rolls around I typically look for something to do during the day. At first I used to look for something at night too, but that has gradually gotten better as I actually get invited out now (well, most of the time anyway). But being single in Manhattan can get pretty old as when you want to say, go to a movie, the zoo, a museum, a jazz show, whatever, you have to do it alone. I even find myself walking to places just because it will take up more time that I’m not just sitting in my apartment flipping through the channels for Felicity reruns some kind of sport.

I’m sure most of you know what I’m talking about and it’s not a strictly New York thing for sure. Just moving to a new city it takes time to make those really good friends. You know, that person you can call just to hang up on because you think it’s funny. Or the other person you know you can ask to do anything because their mind is just as numb as yours and they just want to get out of their apartment too.

This weekend I’m headed home. It’s a good friend’s birthday and, well, $1 for a mixed drink just kind of makes life a little sweeter (if not blurry). I’ve also got some buddies of mine from my studio in undergrad who also enjoy drinking – and sure, my parents are there too (just kidding Dad).

Anyway, this post was supposed to be about how nice and weird it is to see green and trees and mountains everywhere when I head home from the city. I guess it got kind of sentimental. But whatever. At least I didn’t resort to another Jesus and Satan dialogue.

I don’t really work in the “music industry.” I work kind of along side of it. Every so often, someone who has no clue what my company does decides to send us a demo of their CD. Typically we listen to them, have a laugh at how terrible it is, and then throw it away.

I got this one yesterday. It is quite honestly the funniest letter I have ever read. But not because of the poor grammar and obvious Miami-like language skills. But because it appears that he had his 6 year old brother write it for him. I’ve left out his contact info and last name so, if you want to contact this guy…well if you want to contact this guy you should be shot.

And the head shot….

Yes ladies and gentlemen. The most preposterous untalented 9 year old ever…from 1986.

I only wish he would’ve included a CD of himself “singing” and “playing” guitar.