Last night was nice. David and I just talked about New York for a few hours. No grief, just fond memories. I can't think of a better way to pay tribute. We looked at two subway maps, one from before and one from after, and dreamed of houses in Sleepy Hollow and apartments on the Upper West Side. We tried to think of most every restaurant that was worth remembering and made Staten Island jokes. Since we moved, New York has kind of been the Giant Elephant in the middle of the room that no one talks about, for fear that the memory might trample us. Sometimes it feels good, for me anyway, to just remember it.
So, that post about not working, I ought not to have said anything, for I am now thrust into a job that is so overwhelming I actually starting crying yesterday. A little advice from me to year, dear readers: don't ever work for lawyers. Just don't do it. On the cool side, I got to hold contracts with Christopher Guest's signature on it, and I saw Larry Wachowski at lunch. Working at Warner has its advantages, to be sure.