1. The Washington Post is hiring a new primary theater reviewer, and several friends and associates from the theater community urged me to apply for the job on the grounds that I am very qualified for it (true) and that I would be good at it (also true). I was dubious about whether I would be considered, especially because a) I fought with the Post critics over their biased and incompetent reviews of my company’s productions and b) a simple search of EA would reveal about a hundred posts critical of the Post, its editors, its pundits and its reporting. But I could use the gig, and I was transparent about my criticism, while making a case why it shouldn’t disqualify me.

Two days later, this story surfaced. It was the Post at its worst, indeed, biased, irresponsible journalism at its worst. I realized that posting this right after my application virtually guaranteed a ding, and I had spent a couple hours on the paper’s absurdly complicated online submission process. I also realized that I had no choice. Several friends told me I was nuts not to just skip one story; it’s not like I cover everything here. But that was a truly awful example of unethical journalism by a major news source, and attention should be paid.

Rats.

2. I had a meeting today in downtown D.C. When I got there, the options were to park in the garage of the group I was meeting with, costing about $15.00 for a meeting that would be more than 90 minutes, or I could park in one of the open spaces right by the building. I parked there, then saw the weird sign stating that on Wednesdays only, there was no parking between 12:30 and 2:30 pm because of “street cleaning.” The street looked freshly swept, it was 1:30 pm, and I didn’t think I’d be towed, plus I calculated, since the cleaning was evidently done, I wasn’t really violating the sign, given that its stated purpose was to ensure the street cleaning get done.

So I put $4.50 on my credit card to get a receipt for 90 minutes parking. As I placed the piece of paper on my windshield, I noticed that he car behind mine had a ticket on it with a 12:30 time stamp—for parking during street cleaning time. The penalty: $45. Playing street-cleaning roulette wasn’t worth that, so I resorted to the garage after all….and paid $4.50 more than if I had just used teh garage to begin with.

3. Everyone has been so wonderfully kind an supportive following Grace’s sudden death. Many friends have been regularly checking in on me, and I’m grateful for that, too: I need to talk to people, and nobody’s here to talk with. However, once someone has called, I don’t feel as if I can tell them that I don’t have time to chat, though I usually don’t. I feel obligated to have a full conversation, and I enjoy them, but I’m also falling farther and farther behind in all the tasks I still have staring at me.

4. My poor dog Spuds is a mess. He misses Grace, he’s lonely when I’m up in the office, and I feel that I have to take regular breaks, not just to walk him, but to let him put his head in my lap. I understand what he’s going through, and I feel guilty if I don’t keep him high on my list of priorities no matter how many metaphorical alligators are nipping at my heels. I’m anxious about everything that isn’t getting done, but Spuds makes me feel cruel and selfish if I don’t do what I can to make him feel secure.