1. I had a pretty good weekend, although it was alternately busy and frustrating. It was around 76 degrees on Saturday, which occurred, according to my 2008 Workman Publishing 365 Tunes Calendar (written by LJ's own hipsterdetritus), on January 5th. Which is madness, pure madness. Also, sorry, ma, forgot to take out the trash, but I did get a surprising amount of work done on a hunk of fiction I've been batting around. And by "a surprising amount", I mean "a very small amount, but any time I get to work on fiction surprises me these days".
2. Speaking of fiction, in the last week, I encountered two different ones – a novel and a movie – in which part of the plot hinged on someone buying a gun from the want ads in the paper. Both of these stories were set in the past, because you can't do that shit anymore. GOOD TIMES, weren't they? Back when you could buy guns from the want ads? They took it all away but at least you can still get a hooker from Craigslist.
3. Speaking of guns, I've sort of come to terms with my insomnia and am even learning to enjoy it in a certain level, as it's allowed me to watch a lot more movies and has given me a great outlet for my driving-around-stoned-at-3:00-A.M. tendencies. But one of its major downsides is that I have a sneaking suspicion that if I keep not sleeping, I will eventually find myself in a convenience store on a Sunday morning before sunrise standing over a dead body. In order that this experience be as non-intrusive as possible, and to respect the needs of my host and fellow travelers, I'd like to hereby announce my intention not to sleep at all during my entire trip to Paris. I've never not slept for a week at a time before, and I figure if I give it a shot, it should be in a country where I have no access to firearms and with a relatively easygoing penal system.
4. Speaking of punishment, I am trying to get together a spoken comedy reading of the sort my funky fresh friend zulkey used to do (and still might) in Chicago. The problem I am having is that this town doesn't have much of a literary scene, let alone much of a literary humor scene, and the last thing in the fucking world I want to do is have this turn into a couple of hours of bad yet self-impressed stand-up. (Nor, as it happens, do I want it to turn into a goddamn poetry slam.) Does anyone have any advice? Should I just extend the franchise and invite Austin and Dallas people? Is there a secret way of discovering where a city's funny people hide? Should I just kill myself? Any advice on these questions is appreciated.
5. I just got an e-mail from Bill Clinton, saying that he and I have two things in common. Surprisingly, one of them was not "we both like getting our dicks sucked."