Saturday, June 12, 2004
My brain is like a sieve with very large perforations.
Anyway, I just finished picking over the 2nd-pass proofs of Murder of Angels. For the first chapter or so, my unwavering faith in the human spirit got the better of me, and I thought, just maybe, that production might have done the right thing and fixed all the commas. But then I hit page 41, about one-third of the way down the page. It's like the frelling K/T extinction, except with commas instead of dinosaurs. Most of the non-comma errors were corrected throughout, many of them sitting right next to commas that went unfixed. The production manager had to make a special effort not to correct these. If I did my "job" this way, I wouldn't have one. How can I get a job where pettiness and adherence to arbitrary rules only when it suits my desires would make me a valued employee? I can't imagine being so lazy and taking so little pride in my work. Of course, my name goes on the cover.
But. It's time to move on. I'm sick to death of having to think about this.
I forgot to mention that we saw the trailer for Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11. No wonder The Mouse balked. Were I a billionaire, I'd see that a DVD or VHS copy of this film reached every single American voter before the election. I couldn't make them watch it, or understand what they saw, but at least I'd know the Bush Administration's dirty secrets had become common knowledge.
4:42 PM
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