(Originally ran May 9)

It doesn’t do much good to complain about a job like mine.

Example:

Person With Normal Job: What a day! A client canceled a major contract, the mail room lost some essential documents and now I’m going to have to work all weekend!

Me: Tell me about it. I rolled in at noon, had to go through a big stack of free CDs and interviewed Paul McCartney. And now I have to go review a U2 concert. Or is it Bruce Springsteen? Oh well, the name will be on the ticket.

PWNJ: (Curses, clenched fists)

See what I mean?

And then there’s this little jewel, which I think we all know would be just as entertaining - perhaps more so - were it created by drunken lemurs skittering across the keyboard.

(Fortunately, Florida prohibits the employment of lemurs for column-writing purposes, although they can, and do, serve in the Legislature.)

So yeah, not too much to complain about here.

I still do, of course. Mainly about deadlines.

All writers hate deadlines. I used to be a copy editor and I thought missing deadline showed lack of both discipline and professionalism. Now that I’m on the other side, I realize it’s a sign of a creative mind unfettered by petty concepts such as time. It’s amazing what you realize when you need to rationalize something.

The worst thing about deadlines in this job is that they often mean I miss the encores. I know, boo-freaking-hoo, but dig: The following phone conversation took place just after David Bowie finished his show in Tampa a few years back:

Me: Tribune, Curtis Ross

Friend: Dude! The encore was amazing! Five songs from “Ziggy Stardust!” “Hang Onto Yourself!” “Five Years!” Dude, it was FANTASTIC!! It was the best thing I’ve ever seen! (Pause) So, how’s it going?

Me: (Unprintable)

So that’s my work life. Missing encores and filling space.

Speaking of which, I’m almost out of space here.

Just as well.

Time to feed the lemurs.