And sold! to the gentleman from the South Shore. Yes, folks, it looks like I’m about to be a full-fledged wage-slave. I’ve never had a real job before - I’ve always been self-employed or temporarily employed or employed part-time or paid to go to school (all of those being scams on the employer’s or contractor’s or university’s end to avoid the expense of benefits, not to mention a market-level salary). Don’t get me started on wage-slavery, though - the bitter maggot saga would pale by comparison.

So I was faced with the unfamiliar task of writing an acceptance letter. I found some helpful advice at WriteExpress. Anyway, that’s why I’ve been blogging so much - I have the week off before I start work.

Speaking of letters, I got a pleasant little note from the Postmaster General of the United States this weekend, warning me about anthrax without once using the word anthrax. It’s already been targeted by comedians and wags for the immortal line, “Don’t shake it, bump it, or sniff it.” Oh, and I’m on high alert (again? still?) for goodness-knows-what impending terrorist attack, and my poor mayor has been wrangling with the Coast Guard and the federal government over the right of large, potentially explosive natural-gas tankers to pass through Boston Harbor. Much as I’d like to side with the mayor, it is practically winter already, and many Bostonians use natural gas for heat.

Maybe they can burn stacks of pleasant little postcards from the Postmaster General instead.

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