Jul. 27th, 2010

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If you read, say, multiple "I was in Iraq in the Naughts" memoirs, eventually you start noticing the writers have agendas. At which point, bravo, I have rediscovered my favorite literary trope, the unreliable narrator.



This weekend's fun and sibling bonding were compounded by an absent wallet. Finally got it back today, lighter a $15 stupidity tax. Nastygraming on the carshare lost and found board is a poor reward for getting my ID, bus pass, and credit card back to me, but it's very tempting.



I am staring at a thank-you email, torn between trying to spin for the job and letting the perfunctory bits stand. Stop looking at me like that, I had no clue that "East Bay" meant "40 miles from you" when the recruiter sent my resume.

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