Herr Pollack is back. My services are no longer required.

A hard April 1 deadline stares back at me on the play, which is doubly interesting given that a character’s gender switched over the weekend (thanks to a very simple and obvious observation from my producer, which explains all the homoeroticism that found its way in). So while I contend with this madness, you won’t be hearing much from me this week, except via the usual afternoon subterfuge.

But I will have more on the Academy of Arts contretemps very soon.

I don’t know what in sam hill this will do for you, but Susan has been nice enough to create a LiveJournal RSS feed for this place. Me? I feed on the blood of live bats.

I owe emails to a lot of people. You will get them tomorrow. Even if I die without food or water in a locked room, I am determined to answer them all. Or come close.

There are numerous spelling mistakes on these pages — all of them inexcusable, all of them correctable. Just not now. Because time to care for an outside project does not exist in a workplace environment. For those who have been sullied, and the frequency is apparently substantial, not quite as bad as that Knowles guy, but still enough for some of you to plot my demise, the management apologizes. Just be grateful this wasn’t put into print, the way McSweeney’s books are with slipshod proofing. This is what happens when you type at a rapid rate, generally trying to get something off before being disrupted by something else, and all this without a single revision. Several small children will die because of these mistakes. I am prepared to stand trial in a bulletproof chamber for my sins against humanity.