Well, dear readers, what can I say about yesterday that hasn’t already been said? Oh, wait, I said that yesterday, so it HAS already been said. I hate when that happens. The real yesterday is another story, a story of yesterday. For example, I got nine hours of sleep, and I needed it. Once up, I answered a lot of e-mails, I put on some clothings, went to Gelson’s and got one chicken boob, an onion, and some sour cream. One Chicken Boob, An Onion, and Some Sour Cream – that’s the title of my next novel. I came home and made the faux chicken stroganoff over rice, and it was excellent. The tags and registration for the motor car arrived and I put the tag where it belonged and I’m now up to date for the next year. What else? There must be something else. Oh yes, I got proofer one’s second go-through of the book – he only found a few things, but most of ‘em that he found were doozies. Some name misspellings that would have been quite embarrassing, I wrote Lost Angeles, a though for thought, that kind of thing. Once I have proofer two’s second go-through, then all I’ll be waiting on is the sixteen pages of photographs and then all that can go to the designer. Should be sometime next week. Let’s see – I watched some high-speed car chases – three yesterday – and I watched the first thirty minutes of a turkey called Hollywood Homicide, a seriously awful movie with Harrison Ford and Josh Hartnett – the latter is certainly one of the most boring actors I’ve ever seen. It’s a winky-winky, unfunny, ridiculous movie and the culprit is surely its director Ron Shelton. After thirty minutes, I could stand no more. I then watched the first thirty minutes of Night of the Comet, an 80s movie from the 80s starring Catherine Mary Stewart. I saw it when it came out because I was friends with a gal who was in it – Lissa Layng. She hasn’t appeared yet, but it’s a weird little movie and is probably the last time the El Rey was a movie theater before becoming a rock club. When I’d made the faux chicken stroganoff, I’d only made just a bit over half the chicken boob, so for a snack, I made the balance of the boob and ate that – just sauteed it and ate it, just like that. Finally, a more than reasonable calorie day. I must do more days like that regularly, calorie-wise. I simply must. It must be done. I currently look like both ships passing in the night. Seeing myself in Together Again the other night, at 137 pounds and a size thirty waist and seeing myself now in my Alfred Hitchcock phase – well, I need to drop fifty pounds and while I know that will take a while, I will damn well do it. If I have to eat nothing but chicken boobs and salads for the next year, I will do it. I can do it, I’ve done it before, and it must be done.
Today, I’ll be up when I’m up, I’ll finish liner notes, I’ll write, I’ll eat something calorie-friendly – perhaps a salad from Stanley’s would be tasty, or I might even go somewhere and have a salad of some sort. I’m gonna try and take it easy on the bread, and I have to have a no desserts rule for a while. At some point, I’ll watch, listen, and relax.
Tomorrow is more of the same, and then this coming week I’ll write stuff for the project with David Wechter, I’ll pray for a modern major miracle – even a smaller one would be most helpful – I’ll hopefully get the book to the designer and get that in the works, we’ll start taking pre-orders for the book in a couple of weeks, and hopefully we’ll have the two latest CDs come in so we can get those shipped out.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up when I’m up, finish liner notes, write, eat, and then watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: What are your favorite movies starring Mr. Harrison Ford? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, happy to have had faux chicken stroganoff with one chicken boob, an onion, and sour cream.