I don't know if anybody reads these things. And for that matter, I don't know why I continue to write them. Maybe it's because I think in some way that my thoughts are special and worthwhile in some way. Maybe I don't have the nerve to talk about these things to anyone, and this is the only way I can let it out. At any rate, what happened to me yesterday proves to me that my life isn't in any way ordinary, for better or worse. Basically, I went to the Engine press conference I was telling you about on Friday, all primed to see what Oslowe, my old mind-reading friend from the Rock, was up to. But they didn't mention a thing about Oslowe, or mind reading, or any of that. So after sitting through a bunch of promos of lame TV shows they were planning to start shooting and broadcasting, they brought on Caldeburg Flint, the guy who is supposed to be the head honcho of Engine. He wasn't actually there in person, they had him projected up on a big screen. It was an interactive setup, and he started taking questions from the audience. Press people asked the usual sort of softball shit, designed to get nifty little quotes to go with the story, not to probe what was going on. So after a while I got sick of it and I stood up and asked the guy flat out what was up with Oslowe and the whole cult thing. Apparently this wasn't a very cool thing to do, because the guy just sorta stammered and then the screen went black. Everybody was talking at once and the whole press conference came to a screeching halt. I think I fucked up. Quint, the guy from my paper that I went up there with, said something about slander and unfounded accusations, and what the hell did I think I was doing? I feel completely duped. That guy from Time Magazine had been so certain all that stuff was happening up there. Why did he lie to me like that? Am I just a sucker?
I'm not looking forward to going into work tomorrow.
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