The invite, and then the revelry. The night-of editing, the blog postery. After the First Printer. (or was it First Press? First three-shots-of-tequila-in-one-glass establishment?)
Originally scheduled for a handful of great working hours (on … some projects I may or may not be pursuing), tonight was diverted to a pile of Cambridge goodness. ‘Soon as one of us gets a good idea, these photos will be in Fortune Magazine along with an article describing the billionaire incubator that is the Border Cafe.
Back now to a pre-sleep date with A Million Little Pieces. The sensational memoir-turned-scandalous-not-non-fiction work from a couple years past. Some advisors said “Who cares if it’s not all true, it’s an incredible emotional experience even as fiction”… or something equivalent to that. AKA reading a possibly fictitious account of a no-anesthesia, no-painkiller dental surgery session, aided only by old tennis balls to squeeze. I couldn’t bear to read it before dinner…
Hey, thanks you two!