Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled databases yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore;
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!*

*when i wrote this, i meant it with exasperated sarcasm. i really meant, “please, please stop giving me your tired, poor, huddled databases…”

• on doing quality work
• On writing about feelings (or how to avoid writing about being in a foul mood)
• International Orange
• i woke up late this morning
• outline of a day