Thursday, March 19, 2009

Online Songs (Blink-182)

I have officially become the master of gratuitous mass emails. I feel like an e-mail stalker.

I've been sending messages and requests for information to people nonstop since yesterday in preparation for the International Flair fashion show I was put in charge of all those months ago. I've nagged people about submitting lists of the models who will be appearing on behalf of their organisation, scheduling trips to go shopping for decorations, checking to make sure that food has been ordered and posters have been hung. I think the woman in charge of renting us the room in the university centre has gotten tired of hearing from me and my several cohorts about whether or not we want 4 or 6 tables or ordering another platform piece for our runway or what sorts of decorations we're allowed to use in the space.
(of course, in this scenario I am Daniel Craig, and the others are all my loveable but slightly deficient henchmen. Don't I look gorgeous?)

I've racked up working hours like points in 3D Space Cadet Pinball. My fingers have flown over the keys on my laptop as if I were attempting to play some convaluted piece of work by Liszt. (That would be fun...) Constantly I check my email to make sure that the DJ has been contacted, a playlist has been compiled, videos have been completed, models have been coordinated, and that everyone will indeed show up for dress rehearsal on Saturday evening. If living in a cardboard box with the pitiful salary of a college professor doesn't pan out, at least I know now that I have the kahonies to plan events for the rich and famous. As long as I have a slew of minions to send on errands, I could tackle anything. Well...reliable minions, anyway.

My one disappointment in the midst of my manic messaging today was that the t-shirts I so lovingly and painstakingly designed have been scrapped. No good reason, either: they just took too long getting around to putting in the order. The money was there, and everyone was excited to have commemorative shirts - me most of all - and then by the time my contact had figured out how to place the order - the shirts would have come a week after the event. I don't think she tried hard enough. I scowl on the inside and wonder if she even bothered to consider forking out the extra cash to get the shirts delivered to us double-time (only 1 week rather than 2). I'm inclined to think not. I mourn the death of my lovely paintballed-globe design. (Tear)
(RIP, my child.)

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