"Factor" this!

No word from the O'Reilly machine. Which means: I win. And you, sir, are a COWARD.

I guess it could have been worse, though, since I gave him my number and all: the man's an infamous drunk-dialer, with a libidinal imagination (falafel, anyone? I'd link to this, but someone has to think of the children) that belies the moralistic, grandfatherly character he plays on his nightly sitcom. Anyway, if half of the things alleged in last year's sexual harrassment suit last year were true, he's infinitely more creepy than our last President ever was. At least women liked Clinton. (Well, most of them. But sexual harrassment is a total numbers game: there's always going to be one Paula Jones for every few dozen Monicas, right? Right.)

Anyway. I just had to refocus my annoyance, as I'm still getting over the sudden death of my laptop. I think the motherboard's probably fried--the Dell guy's coming out later this week to replace it--which means that this unlimited warranty thing has already paid for itself.

Two interviews last week, both of which felt pretty good. More about these next time.