In which I chime in on the writers strikes

Not that I really watch TV, but I take some solace in being abroad during the writer's strike and the knowledge that I'm somehow missing less pop culture than I would during a normal year. I'll be sad if the Oscars happen this year; for now there's this promise that maybe no one will get to watch the Joan and Melissa Rivers pre-show, and I won't be left out at all.


I'm listening to:
Spoon- Kill the Moonlight

p.s. At what point can I ask my guesthouse owners to change my sheets? (the answer is clearly: Never. Continue to hate them passive-aggressively until you leave and pay them an enormous bill that your company will take months to reimburse you for.) I've been (literally) sitting on stains since night 3 and it's night 7 of 13 now and they show no signs of ever being washed. Yesterday I came home to my towel spread out on the balcony drying. I know we're in Africa and in what is apparently the 22nd driest country in the World but even I, Ms. Not-Holly-Homemaker, change my sheets when they're dirty. Guh