Unlike the Grand Old Duke of York, I Never Had 10,000 Men

[Another night at the Cute Vic, after nearly two weeks of not working. The more things change...while I was gallivanting in Merrie Olde, the C.V. was firing yet more staff, economizing itself into serious short-staffedness to try to get back in black. I'm to move upstairs to do "admin" work a couple times a week, and will only be interacting with the public when relieving the front desk folks for lunch and such. Ah, back to chairwarming, opening envelopes and hoping their contents are disposed in the right way. I might as well be back at my old job...]

[John's got a nasty lung infection right now. He called me from home, begging me to leave work early to take care of him. The bellman and I are the only non-cabaret employees on property tonight, so even if he really needed me, I couldn't go. I assume he fell back asleep as soon as we hung up, but I hate thinking of him a block and a half away, coughing up gunk and misery.]

[There are many other things I should be doing (hello, law student...), but between watching cabaret queens enter and leave Paula West's show here at the Friendly Neighborhood Cabaret, I have my legs up on my supervisor's desk, and am reading a silly book about Britain's non-royal dukes. I picked it up in a weak moment at the British Museum bookstore. What is with this queeny fetish for aristocracy and royalty, which has hit me in waves since my first visit at age 7? My comrades at New College (except Violet, who loves it) would be shocked.]

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