friskin

I woke up and rolled out of bed pre-9:00 AM only to find that we are not going to work today. We are moping around the house, lamenting lost moments of sleep or solitude. My room is still cooooold but that's no surprise. The documentary has been building itself in my head the past few days. Final Cut is swank compared to iMovie, but not as friendly looking. The buttons are rather small and difficult to see.

I can't remember how long it's supposed to be. Twenty-five minutes? Tops? I feel badly about cutting entire interviews, but some of these people mumbled sour little nothings into my camera so I suppose it's not my fault that they wasted their own twenty-five minutes of Beloit fame (average slightly longer than the rest of the world due to small population and high-speed gossip). Progress goes slowly and surely, but not the time. As anticipated, hours are spent getting one transition just right. Perhaps this is a sign of ill efficiency? I am lucky to be so patient. For now.

I need money.
I have to go to work.
(Jan's replacement has thus far only been referred to as "The New Gay Guy." Once I learn his name I shall make him my new best friend and drag him around to all of Troy's coffee shops and antique stores.)

I should go back to bed. Call if you want to try to lure me out of my dark lair/sinister laboratory/insomnia induced haze.