Just when I was, once again, enjoying the "semi" aspect of my "semi-employed" status, I got a note to the effect that another cookbook is on the way. Oh, well: I can definitely use the money. And it's a short one.

I told my 67-year-old mother today that I'd finally shipped off the erotica I'd been copyediting, and reminded her that it was the first pornographic manuscript I'd ever worked on (in a professional capacity).

"How is it different from other types of manuscripts?" she asked. "Does it take longer?"

I informed her tartly that, no, I never did have to take breaks to masturbate. As as matter of fact, I was moving at such a clip on those stories that toward the end each time I started a new one I'd start to think, "sex again! Why couldn't it be about food or architecture this time?" This proves that any kind of job can be drudgery if you let your attitude slip. (And please: do let me know if you hear word of any books or magazines that would require knowledge of sex, crime, food, architecture, guns, health, and hunting. I'd be home where the heart is in that kind of setting.)

Of course, I think the fact that my Memorial Day blogging turned into a weird reverie about the two lead actors in Band of Brothers and what it would be like to have a threesome with them shows that these things always have some sort of effect—one way or another. The hormones were in the bloodstream at that point.

Posted by: Attila at 11:29 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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