Second anthology story down, minus editing. One to number three. Sing out, Gloria! I will survive!
R.I.P. Nora Ephron. She made me laugh many times. Should have lived longer.
I have set out to solve two fairly basic backyard creature identification problems in the last week, and both have led me into fascinating and confusing lines of zoological inquiry. This stuff is hard, at least when you only have books and the internet, but I can see why people devote their lives to such things.
Besides the second Bobby Dollar book, HAPPY HOUR IN HELL, which I’m just finishing, I’m also working on four short stories at the same time. The titles (working, at this stage) are: THE OLD SCALE GAME; GOD BRINGS HIS DAUGHTER TO WORK; MEDICINE DANCE, ARIZONA; and BASHO. (I don’t know how to do that Japanese “O” with the line over it.) With luck, I’ll have most of them done in another week or so. And not be dead.
Reading and greatly enjoying Deborah’s (my wife Deborah Beale) Frankie Wah collection — the tweets of our self-absorbed Chihuahua. Coming soon to an electronic marketplace near you. Also available in liberally-sprinkled liquid form, suitable for any vertical surface close to the ground!
Okay, Sunday. Impress me.
I’m off to the land of deep thought-thinking, then sleep. Well, possibly with a bit of Futurama snuck in between. Anyway, we’ve been singing this (or bits of it) a lot around the house because Boy just finished performing in Pirates of Penzance. And because we’re scientific!
I love the idea of faking your own death, but it’s so done. Instead, I’m going to record a bunch of messages to be played after I die, in which I will claim that I have actually been dead for decades, but I have totally been faking my life all that time.