Nixta Sinks

Briefly, for those that might be interested (particularly those to whom I still owe repayment of financial aid/soul/first born - you know who you are and I *will* find you, oh yes, if I have to track you down to Hades itself (sorry, I just watched Sling Blade for the first time, Mm Hm)), I start two jobs tomorrow. One a continuation of the work for ATOS Origin and DEFRA in London (for this admirable initiative), and one here in Bronxville for a real estate company that wants maps of properties on their web-pages and that wants to be able to find out where their agents are being the slackest to fire them with greater refinement.

Bronxville sounds scary to the uninitiated (me), but after disembarking the standard Metro North railroad piss-and-blood-stained railway carriage and wending my way along the narrow pedestrian ledge that passes for a sidewalk on the underpass, I was greeted by thatched cottages, enormously expensive automobiles and boutiques with dresses never under the price of a slightly less-than-enormously expensive automobile. My concerns about my paychecks melted on the warm chocolate scented breeze, and I picked up and pocketed a couple of unwanted solid gold kittens tarnishing themselves at Lady Godiva's Precious Kitten Pound before a homeless person took pity on me and handed me a $100 bill. Contrast this to Hempsted in Long Island which, despite being half way to The Hamptons, is manned by crazy knife-weiding toothless vagabonds. The INS has an office there, but so does the county court or some such shit. Eugh. I'm glad I went there before Bronxville.