In the early mornings, it’s quiet except for the drone of CNN humming from dozens of TVs around the convention office. There’s one in the lobby, one in every break room, one in the open space where our campaign staff lives, and a few more scattered around the floor. I’m currently resisting the impulse to change all of them to “MTV Video Wake-Up.”

It’s possible the fourteen-hour days are adversely affecting my sense of humor.

So, if you go to double check the time your flight leaves, because you’re flying home to be a bridesmaid in your high school friend’s wedding, and it turns out that your flight leaves two hours before you thought it did, and you haven’t packed, and you’re across town from your suitcase, and you have no cash for a cab ride home, and you tear through your bag in the elevator to find your ATM card, don’t drop your ATM card down the elevator shaft. That’s inconvenient.

In addition to fine pirate supplies, 826 Valencia is offering adult workshops. (Unfortunately less kinky than they sound.) If you’re a writer, or you want to be, these workshops can help. Also, your cash goes toward teaching little kids how to write, which will set you aglow with goodwill.

So, I’ve worked with interns and “assistants” before. You know the ones. The ones who are reduced to tears because the copy machine needs toner. The ones who surf the Web all day, because their mom is your boss and you can’t fire them anyway. The overeager ones who want to take on important projects, but can’t seem to alphabetize correctly.

The interns around here aren’t like that. They meet you with files full of the information you were about to spend hours gathering. They say things like, “I thought you might need this when you arrived, so I’ve been keeping a database.” They smile and nod politely when you ask them to do something mundane. They’re efficient, bright, focused, and just a little bit creepy. Perhaps that’s because I’m bracing for a coup.

My hosting service sends out a monthly newsletter. This month, the hosting service decided to start supporting a worthy cause, and they’re enthusiastic about it. I know because the newsletter reads:

“New DreamHost Charity: Leukemia!”

Apparently, Leukemia is something we should all be excited about.

Hotel 71 in Chicago has three TV screens at the front desk, and several more in the bar. These screens play repeat-loop performance art of two guys in various positions in various boxes. (Now I’m standing in a box! Now I’m upside down in a box! Now the box is filling with water!) It was like a series of David Blaine tricks, without any of the discomfort or peril, or like sad little mimes who haven’t yet graduated to imaginary boxes.

Other amusing aspects of the hotel include the purple ribbon that says “NOURISH” hanging from the door of the mini bar, and the rockin’ electronic music piped into the elevators–in case guests feel like having a tiny little rave after they’ve nourished themselves with six or seven miniature bottles of booze.

In Quincy, we drove around the old neighborhoods playing How Much is that Mansion in the Midwest? This is a fun game where you guess how much the mansion would cost in San Francisco, California (about $6 million), then you guess how much it costs in Quincy, Illinois (about $300,00?), then you get the flyer out of the little box to find out how much it actually costs ($180,000!?!), then you weep silently and go for lunch at the nearest Applebees.

All in all, it was a good trip.

This man is walking along the street in a pair of sweats and a rain slicker. His hair is long and gray, bald in patches, and it seems to be reaching away from his scalp in every direction. He is holding a sign that says DOWN WITH DIKS. He passes someone with a video camera, and the man mugs, turning his sign round and round:

DOWN WITH DIKS

UP WITH CHIKS

DOWN WITH DIKS

UP WITH CHIKS

And so on down the street.

Josh Cagan, is a peculiarly good guy. The guy to whom you’d give your spare set of keys, the guy who would be extra-careful with your newborn infant, the guy who worries about you when something has you down.

Josh recently sold his first screenplay for a jillion dollars. He was in LA, and he flew up to celebrate with us. We baked cookies, played Scrabble, and drank too much, while Josh shook his head in disbelief. He flew back down… and sold another damn screenplay. For those of you who are counting, that’s two screenplays in two weeks.

This officially makes Josh a rockstar. And, in my book, he is exactly kind of guy to whom that stuff should happen. Thanks, karma.

Do you ever watch “Newlyweds?” I’m ashamed of how much I love it.

Yeah. I can’t look away.

She’s so greeeaat.

Yeah, have you seen her latest video?

No.

It’s all about her being a super-cutesy inept housewife. You can tell it’s not an act because at one point she tries to be all sexy by removing her rubber cleaning gloves with her teeth. I just about hurked. That’s a girl who has never scrubbed a toilet in her life.

Ha! Yeah. I love Nick. Like how he can’t believe the things she’s saying sometimes, but he wants to help, you know?

I don’t like him. I think he’s kind of mean to her, especially because she tries so hard. She’s like, “I married my dad.” He’s scratching his head, like, “I want to sleep with her, but I also want to tell her what to do.”

Aaaaaaaa.

Cannot look away.

Totally.