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John Palcewski's Journal

Works In Progress

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“Ah, here she comes.”
“Who?” Vittoria asked.
“Pushi. Our cat, who you recently named. Do you hear her?”
I bent down, put my hand out. Pushi approached in tentative steps. “Meooooow. Meoooow!” she cried.
“Oh, yes! I hear her.”
“As usual, she’s looking for something good to eat. She’s sniffing my spaghetti.”
“You’re eating right now?”
“No, I just finished making it and put the plate on my chair near the computer, and since it was time, I dialed your number. And I was surprised that you answered because I didn’t think you would, since it’s the weekend.”
“They haven’t come yet,” she said.
“Don’t worry. They’re packed in buses and are on their way.”
“Yes, that’s true. You’re in Italy, so you know about these family gatherings.”
“They all just love to huddle together in a tight group, side by side.”
“Uh-huh. And when I tell my mother that I want to stay in my room she looks at me funny. She thinks I'm crazy. Of course she thinks you’re crazy too.”
“Ha! And she has three good reasons.”
“What are they?”
“One, I’m an outsider, not at all Italian. Two, she knows I intend to put my hands on her daughter. Three, if I can’t be with you I prefer solitude. No matter how long it takes.”
She laughed. “I’m glad. So when are you going to come and take me out of this place, where I don’t belong?”
I paused. “Soon.”
“You can count on it.”

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I'm an empiricist, so just 30 seconds ago I grabbed Pushi, turned her over, and carefully inspected her naughty bits, as the Brits like to put them.

I observed two orfices directly beneath her tail, one anal, one vaginal. NO sign of testicles or penis. To my untrained eye, this is a female.

As for my career, well, in high school I had the enormous good sense (or blind luck) to take a typing course. Turns out that I can type something around 90 words per minute flawlessly, plus I had a special talent for statistical typing, meaning rows and rows of numbers.

Went to New York to become a starving literary artist. To support myself I got a job with a temp typing agency, called Brooks Brothers of Mayfair, Ltd., run by a bunch of lesbians from Manchester.

They sent me to Doubleday Publishers, where I typed rejection notes. They wanted to hire me permanently. I accepted. Soon they gave me a crack at writing promotion copy for the syndicate department. Blurbs for newspaper serialization of books.

With that job on my resume, other writing and editing jobs were no problem. Like on a newspaper in Kentucky, where I was music/drama critic, and Federal Court on my daily beat.

Thence to Corporate America where I made a lot of money as editor of external PR magazines...

And so on.

hey! that's how i got out of minimum wage! i tested well for numeric typing & after a stint doing something on a printing calculator & then one doing checks for ross perot's company, i got a job up on the 7th floor of a bank. had my first business trip w/in the year. it was kinna neat seeing i could pass for one of the normals if i needed to :)

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