El Gringo Muerto

Setember 6, again

Hey, homies. Good evening to you all.

Today was fun. I ran all up and down the hill all day, running a variety of interesting and diverse errands (Mail Was Picked Up; Photos Were Developed; Checks Were Deposited). I also talked to my boss about the possibility of my writing some reviews-- and I have my first assignment! (Well, I said "Hey, can I review [this slightly off-topic book]?" And he said. "Wellll... if you keep it short." That's all the encouragement I need!) He might not buy the review, though, so I shan't elaborate just now.

Flyboy is a good book-- the dude who wrote it was 26 when it got published, and before that he was managing editor at Adbusters. I am palpitating with envy. But enjoying the read.

Me and my ladylove got a ton of books in the mail today-- yum. Pratchett's Guards Guards, the first Bridget Jones book, the new Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, a posthumous Tiptree collection, and Spirits, Fairies, Leprechauns and Goblins: An Encyclopedia by Carol Rose. That last is a really great book-- just the sort of broad general resource that I love (and it's more encompassing than its rather Eurocentric title would suggest; there's plenty of stuff about Caribbean supernatural beasties, and African, and Middle Eastern, and so on therein). I can always do deeper research, but I like broad references as a starting point, and it's got all kinds of cool subject- and geography-based cross-references. It makes me salivate.

I did more writing today; I'm into a nice rhythm on the book, writing a few pages each day. Heather and I went out to get burgers about midnight, and on the car ride I enthused about what's happening in upcoming chapters...

I also got Weezer's Pinkerton, finally-- my housemates always owned it, so I never needed to purchase it. I can't believe Rivers publicly regretted making this album. Man. He's a musical genius, but he can be kind of a twit. Heather and I listened to "El Scorcho" about 8 times in a row, making out on the bed all the while, singing lines back and forth to one another, nuzzling. It's the best song ever. "How stupid is it/ when for all I know, you want me to/ and maybe you just don't know what to do/ and maybe you're scared to say/ 'I'm falling for you'".

We've got more framed art on the wall! A Paul Kidby Discworld picture, the one of Jack Frost and the what-do-you-call-it, the cavity fairy... Heather did it, because she's all homey like that. Our living room looks increasingly grown-up.

Hmm. I made a big Greek Salad for dinner (which was good, but not sustaining, as we did go out for burgers six hours later). We spent some time sprawling and reading and talking and watching the last of our Buffy episodes on tape (big sad sigh over that one; anyone happen to have lots and lots of old Buffy on tape? Preferably second and third season stuff? Drop me an e-mail if you do: timpratt@sff.net.)

Good good night. One of the best. But so many of them are so good...

(Oh, the journal title: Me and Scott and D. used to joke about opening a Mexican restaurant (being as none of us are Mexican or even remotely Hispanic, though I believe D's got some Portugese in him)-- we were gonna have a super-spicy burrito on the menu called, yes, El Gringo Muerto. That shit would get us in stitches, yo. We're so funny it makes our eyes water. For real. Scott had surgery yesterday, on his knee; give him good wishes in your thoughts, huh?)