Taking Control of the Means of Production

Dateline, London. I'm in my office, sipping down the last drops of my tepid Starbucks coffee and getting ready to head to the gym. My office is deserted. In fact, no one is really here until noon and most leave by 7:00 pm. The office isn't open on weekends either. According to Dan, these kind of hours spell disaster for productivity. He went through the math one night in the tube and triumphantly told me how many hours England lost in a year. "Don't even get me started on France," he added. I thought of my work schedule, which includes all seven days and is stretched from morning to night, and then I thought of the time I was actually working, and I bit my tongue. Might as well let him think that I'm grinding away all the time instead of incessantly checking perezhilton.com. I have nailed down an interview for Thursday. It's with an ex-Trotskiest (sp?) who is also one of three paid members of the party. Wonderful. This will be a good experience, but I'm always amazed by people who still cling to Marxist ideals. I feel woefully conservative. I have not had one celebrity sighting yet, which is sad. The holy grail is Gwyneth with Moses and/or Apple in tow (I'm not picky, really). Next would be Kate Middleton. I read that Sienna and Kyra were boozing it up all weekend, but I haven't seen them either. Truth be told, unless any of them are walking around University College, I won't be seeing any celebrities.