I have a few cool architectural shots for you from the Big City, but I’m not there any more.

Yesterday’s meeting with The Computer Guy went well, as they always do, and I think we’ll be able to do a good job for the chocolatier. The Art Teacher finished up our PA site, with just a few little tweaks needed, and the site that the KC designer and I were working on went live with some holes, errors, and missing links. Fortunately, The Computer Guy gave me a heads up on that last night, so I was able to get in and fix it.

I’m making that sound easy, but the truth is that I did the whole FTP bit with an instruction book on my lap, and then the site was full of php code, which I don’t know, so it took me two hours to make the corrections.

I learned stuff, though, and the site is very cute. Wanna see it? Click here. We do not say “click here,” we practitioners of the Dark Art, but I am getting a little nervous about my xanga, and fearful of having people follow links back here.

I’m entirely too relaxed here for someone whose colleagues and clients might read it. If someday this goes friends-lock and you want to see it, you don’t hesitate to say so, okay?

Anyway, that was a bit exciting. I like my new class, too. We’re going at a rapid clip, it being summer school, and I have some ESL students who may not be following everything, but that’s the only warning signal so far.

My online class, the one I’m taking, started by giving us Intro to Photoshop instead of the right course, but everything got fixed after a bit and I got my first assignment. I was happy to find that it was all stuff I do all the time, and therefore very easy.

Today I’m going to the gym, then to the IRS to get a copy of my tax return for #2 son’s school, then to class, and then I have three hours for the New York financier and urgent ad copy for the men’s magazine, where the client said I was their “power hitter.” It seemed a bit early to be saying that, since I’ve only done a couple of jobs for them, but I like to hear it.

I also got several assignments from the other online magazine I’ve been writing for, which I’ll begin as soon as they pay me for the previous work. They go to press on Monday, so there’s a bit of a race on.

  I have a lot on for today, with grading of papers as well, and bells and choir this evening.

It is because I am so busy that I was pleased yesterday to be interrupted by a phone call.

Odd sentence, eh? But this was from an entirely unexpected person. “I’m the cleaner?” she said. “CD told me you might need me.”

CD and I were discussing work-family balance, and the subject of hiring a cleaner came up. It’s cheaper to hire someone than to take time out of work to do it ourselves, because a) cleaners are cheaper by the hour than we are (even though they get a nice hourly wage — the same as I do for teaching) and b) professional cleaners do it faster and better than we do.

So this nice woman is going to come in once a month and clean my house for me, for the price of an hour’s work on my part. A house that gets thoroughly cleaned only once a month doesn’t sound like an enormous improvement, but I think that right now it’s never getting thoroughly cleaned, so that sounds good to me.
She came over to see the place and checked to see whether I was fussy about anything. “Some people like me to use special products,” she said, “or to make their beds.”

Actually, I had made my bed, so I didn’t have to accept the proposition that getting the beds made once a month would be helpful.

I waved around vaguely and assured her that I wasn’t fussy about anything. I don’t use toxic chemicals, myself, but I’m not planning to tell her how to do her job. It’s the manufacture of the chemicals that I’m not happy about, and I’m not going to make any difference in her buying habits.

After a few months, I may have a chat with her about chlorine.

Now if I could get someone in to look after my paperwork once a month, I’d be set.

The Computer Guy paid me while I was there, in a slap-dash way — writing out a check and handing it to me — completely different from his usual style. Normally there’s a check and copy of the invoice in an envelope waiting on the table where we meet, with his invoice for me tucked in as well. I asked for his invoice for me.

“What?” he said.
“Don’t you have an invoice from you to me?”

I paused and regrouped. I listed the items I thought I owed him for — domain registrations for clients, stuff like that — and he shook his head. “I haven’t had time for any kind of paperwork.” So it’s not just me.