A Typical Day

A typical day for James Zambon.
On a typical day I wake up, wash the crazy glue from my hair and put on my shirt. I say goodbye to Salma Hayak and I take the train to Starbucks where I am a Paramedic. I feel exuberant about what I do, sure IÕd rather be a migrant field worker in Lebanon, but this pays the bills and buys me lots of chairs that I can motivate.
My morning is pretty melancholy. Aside from my 32 trips to the kitchen to make smoothies and my frequent encounter with Chris Chumbley itÕs just the same every day.
I break for lunch and draw with Ken Lemieux over a serendipitous plate of magic mushrooms. A quick jaunt to Borders to socialize with John Zambon, whoÕs a total Frankenstein, and itÕs back to the grind, until 4:20 when I jump in my sporty orange monorail and head for home.
My evening is spent lounging and listening to KMFDM while thrashing around the closet wishing I was Lance Armstrong and drinking all sorts of wine. Then itÕs off to bed where I dream of race cars and Jason Kottke in a business suit.

Taken from