I'm sorry I haven't written a journal entry in a week. It's not for lack of desire -- it's for lack of time. I've taken a temp second job and it's the graveyard shift, so I will have little to no free time until Thanksgiving. Checking in on the blog, however, is not a problem.

New Bachelor recap is up. I don't even feel that bad that it's so short, because it's the reunion special and nooooooothing happened.

Congressional filibuster? No.
Dumont Network? Well, yes.

I'm going to be in New Haven all day tomorrow. Anyone in New Haven wants to come and meet for snacks, you give me or Tracie a holler.

Pamie, help!!!

I just received the newest product endorsement email from Glark, and - god, I'm so ashamed - I don't get it. Here's the link.

Can you please help me? I hate being out of the loop. Like when I was in seventh grade and that hooch Shirley had all of these inside jokes with her stupid puppy dog friends. Yes, my soul still burns with hatred for that girl, but that's beside the point. The REAL point is I want to know the low down on that shirt, and I'm too embarrassed to ask Mr. Glark himself.

Thanks Pamie. You make me want to shimmy.

Emily

Dear Emily,

I have no idea. Some kind of science fiction toy thing. I asked stee, and he said, "I don't know. I didn't play with that shit. I was out having fun. Getting sun. I didn't geek out over toys and shirts."

So, you know, it's much cooler that you have no idea. Neither do we.

-p

"For a guy who once equated gayness with bestiality, he's awfully familiar with...the theater." Jon Stewart, about Rick Santorum, in a story about --wait for it -- filibusters.

When you have a job that requires writing approximately 6,000 words a day and you've been doing it with some level of consistency since October of 1999, you (if by you, you mean "me") start to fall into some familiar patterns to get you (again, "me") out of trouble just when you start to think you may have thought your last ever original thought. When in doubt, a recapper tends to retreat to a writing safety zone, something of the "fishcakes" or "shut up" or "or, not" variety, that saves him or her (or me) the extra mental strain of actually having to come up with a new end of a sentence. It's been pointed out to me more than once that I return to a very odd safe space in a lot of my writing.

And now, an annotated bibliography of the skipping record inside of my head. Please find attached excerpts from nineteen -- NINETEEN!!! -- recaps I have written over the course of my not-at-all-short recapping career, all of which have one thing in common. See if you can figure out what!

Show: Oz
Airdate: 8/30/00
Excerpt: Back in Em City, Supreme "But Go Light on The Mayo, I'm Watching My Waistline" Allah approaches Mondo Brown and Ambiguously Angry Incarcerated Extra Number Four Billion and, somewhere midway through his congressional filibuster of the Oxford English Dictionary's entry for "fuck" ("Fuckabilly"? "Fucktomotron"? Who even knew these variations existed? This show knew. Okay, no it didn't. But he says it, like, a lot of times) tells the two in numerous parts of speech (pluperfect infinitive? I didn't even know that tense existed in the English language) that they're not moving enough drugs.

Show: Oz
Airdate: 8/16/00
Excerpt: Schillinger Sr. is sitting down to a meeting with Beecher's lawyer and Keller is being released from the hole as we find ourselves back in Querns's office. He speeches the two podmates and lovebirds (for a riveting congressional filibuster ripped straight from the pages of the OED on how that word came into being, stick around and all will be explained! Don't, actually. I'll probably be skipping right by it for a change) that they are not to touch each other ever again "in love or in war," and tells Keller he is being transferred to another pod.

Show: Oz
Airdate: 8/2/00
Excerpt: Fade up on Augustus "Congressional Filibuster" Hill, using the cumulative store of words with which he has at one time or another become acquainted throughout a lifetime's exposure to the English language, and manipulating the order of the entirety of said words to form a speech about the human inclination toward mercy.

Show: Push, Nevada
Airdate: 10/24/02
Excerpt: Pawn and Prufrock lapse into his Sorkin-esque walk-and-talk gait as we wind through the hallways in the catacombs of the Versailles, I'm Not Rapaport kicking it congressional filibuster style: "My organized crime task force tracks dirty money from the five biggest mob families on the east coast. About three years ago, we noticed huge amounts of cash being driven into this little town in the middle of nowhere, Nevada."

Show: Push, Nevada
Airdate: 9/17/02
Excerpt: I can always return to my endless congressional filibuster about the manifold joys of Winslow, Arizona while you guys call that number and report back with findings.

Show: Roswell
Airdate: 11/20/00
Excerpt: Liz and Max sit on opposite ends of the room, as a teacher congressionally filibusters, "A black hole. That's what's left after a star dies. And that's exactly what happened last week, my friends. The spectacular, stellar implosion of a Red Giant. Unheard of in the history of…" Zzzzzzzzzz.

Show: Roswell
Airdate: 10/2/00
Excerpt: And just like always happens to me after a lifetime of watching one riveting congressional filibuster after another, a large, dorky patron of the Crashdown recognizes Pierce and proclaims him to be "that guy from TV…that crazy FBI guy."

Show: Roswell
Airdate: 2/16/00
Excerpt: She’s ranting about a totally unrelated non-plot point for the better part of the episode, indicating that it is indeed Congressional Filibuster Hour inside of Liz Parker’s brain once more.

Show: Roswell
Airdate: 12/1/99
Excerpt: Why not just throw in a lengthy congressional filibuster on C-SPAN and an accountant very slowing explaining the process of doing my taxes and make this scene into a compendium of the most boring visceral experiences known to the human imagination?

Show: Skin
Airdate: 11/3/03
Excerpt: She tells him that she's given the whole "porn lasts forever" congressional filibuster from last week some serious thought, but that she still wants someone to make her oven hot for a living.

Show: The Bachelor
Airdate: 5/18/03
Excerpt: Inside, Kirsten's congressional filibuster continues with nary a breath, as she prattles, "Probably one of the most important things about making a relationship with Andrew and I work is the fact that I need to be where he is I couldn't be long-distance I think that's important like I wanna have my life and where I'm going but also at the same time I think he would make it so much better and so much happier."

Show: The Bachelor
Airdate: 4/2/03
Excerpt: I'm not sure which is right, but if I'm right, it makes her congressional filibuster on the merits of having somebody there for the "last call of the day" sound kind of invalid.

Show: The Bachelor
Airdate: 1/8/03
Excerpt: Not to mention the fact that it sounds from Chris's congressional filibuster like people started to send in these aforementioned "applications" back when Trista's heart was broken by the first bachelor, which was, like, two years ago.

Show: The Real World
Airdate: 10/22/02
Excerpt: Basically, I just strung together all of the disparate bits of Alton's congressional filibuster until I could create one cohesive thought.

Show: The Real World
Airdate: 1997
Excerpt: For my recapping dollar, they may as well have just aired a still photograph of Strom Thurmond reading out of a cookbook during the middling moments of a C-SPAN congressional filibuster for twenty-two TV minutes.

Show: The Real World
Airdate: 1997
Excerpt: Elka willfully attempts to answer the question, "If love is thinking about someone all the time..." before Jason gives new meaning to the words "rhetorical" and "why did you even bother to show up?" with his continuing congressional filibuster, "Like let them in, to the softest part of you, man? That could...they could hurt you? It's the scariest damn thing that I've ever had in my whole life."

Show: The Real World
Airdate: 1997
Excerpt: Anyway, back at the firehouse, Montana reads Kameelah's exhaustive list of "two hundred things a man needs to be to date Kameelah," congressional filibuster style, to the attending housemates (everyone but Syrus).

Show: The West Wing
Airdate: 2/26/03
Excerpt: Toby paces and paces -- he must be looking for his tie -- informing the other conversational party that he's happy to lend Sam whatever help he needs for the last week of his campaign, ending off his rapidly expanding congressional filibuster: "By the way, you know what they don't tell you? You can post bond with a credit card."

Show: Mondo Extra
Airdate: 11/15/00
Excerpt: Drowned out momentarily by the deafening roar of Roget spinning in his grave, I rejoined this congressional filibuster in progress to find Jerry Slimefeld smack in the middle of his riff on the Florida recounts: "What? A bunch of crusty old people will decide the next president? But they're so…old!"

Coming up: similar exercises using other such Blau brain buzzwords and phrases including "Massapequa" and "Dumont Network," "Dippity-Do," and, not to mention, its hilarious cousin, "Dippity-Don't."

EVERYONE'S A CRITIC -- What if a TV episode that attempted to address every forum topic and recap ever written about a show? You'd get this mess of an episode, where everyone's trying to get in a line or two, resulting in semi-arguments, overuses of the word "jerk," and a five-minute discussion of different types of food.

GOING APE -- T-minus three episodes left on everyone's least favorite WB show. This week...like you know what's going on anyway. Who cares? Just sit back and watch the destruction of one recapper's hopes and dreams.

When is it too early to download and watch the Paris Hilton sex video?

8 a.m.

I still don't feel good.

A letter from Susan:

I'm as associate editor at Strange Horizons, which is an online science fiction magazine. (We actually say "speculative fiction" instead of "science fiction", to let people know that we publish a lot of contemporary fantasy, slipstream, and magical realism as well as the straight-up science fiction.) We're a non-profit donor-funded magazine (like the NPR of science fiction), and we're in the middle of a fund drive.

We publish the magazine every week, available free to the public, no ads and no subscriptions. As a non-profit, one of our goals is to increase the visibility of underrepresented groups (women, cultural and ethnic minorities, and the lgbt community) in science fiction publishing; as a magazine we're committed to publishing the best science fiction short stories we can find. (Including one by John Scalzi a year or two ago--I think we were his first fiction sale.)

So that's the long version of the pitch. The short version is that we're doing some damn fine work, and we need people to donate money in order to be able to keep doing that work. Donors get gifts and prizes, too.

Not to get too meta, but if you haven't been reading the comments on this post you're missing out.

This is the one that just about broke my heart.

I wrote this song -- this entire scene, in fact -- during a period of otherwise crippling inactivity quite some time ago. In an airport. In Philadelphia. Where I had driven to pick up a freelance interior decorator and drive her to a furniture store in rural Quaker country, where she was to give a seminar on home decorating to suburban women looking for tips on how to feng shui their Jesus candles next to their husband's La-Z-Boys.

Yes, that was really my job then.

The show had already been conceptualized, considered, laughed at, forgotten, raised from the dead, forgotten, and forgotten, all somehow without being introduced to anyone besides Tracie and myself. This was a scene that kickstarted my Monica-writing process after it had lain dormant for going on a year, and made us think we could at least finish the first act. And, after a full year of writing, this was the first actual appearance that Monica's character made in the show. Does anyone out there wonder why we're still editing? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, in the original script, Monica enters the show (on Page 36) and is immediately accosted by dozens of gorgeous women, all vying for one of the coveted intern positions in the nascent Clinton Administration. She's out of place. She's a stranger in a blah-blah land. She's wearing shoulder pads. It's going badly, and the WASPs want her to know.

Performed at the May 7th reading and ditched amongst a fair amount of (mostly my) protest shortly after, this song had a fully orchestrated demo version, a live performance, and at least six brilliant New York actresses who are now able to spit out the words as fast as they come. If every song is like a child and the other songs I've posted here so far are children that never got around to being born, this song is the child that turned thirteen and then ran away before anyone had a chance to see how pretty she might become.

Ladies and gentlemen…meet "Nice."

Fuck it. Meet the whole scene.

(Just outside the Oval Office, a seemingly endless procession of beautiful, WASPy young women parade around confidently. They talk, they laugh, they pretend to kiss each other on one cheek and then the other. Each is decked out in the finest corporate formalwear DKDC has to offer, and the monochromatic black of their clothing is offset only
slightly by the vague flourishes -- beige, brown, navy -- of their giant leather-bound planners. Their model-esque, Stepford sameness is made only more bizarre by the fact that they all seem to know each other.)

WASP #1
So I said to him, "Oh, please. You just have to take a personal check. So what if it's from Daddy's account!" I mean, my God, it was only a Lexus. Something to tool around in. I mean, do they honestly expect me to show up at my Meals on Wheels route driving the Beamer? Seriously? It's my responsibility -- my civic duty, even -- to show these poors that I can slum it, too. Those adorable dirty little heathen darlings.

(The action freezes as the lights go off, save for a spotlight that shines on MONICA LEWINSKY. She stumbles in from Stage Left, holding a giant clunky briefcase, one thin manila envelope, and two cups of Starbucks coffee in a container. Her tomato-red dress is very prom-like, and is accentuated by a confounding amount of frills and extremely conspicuous shoulder pads. She stands alone in a corner of the stage, alternately opening her manila folder and fanning herself with it. She sneezes the lights back on, and drops the manila folder when she does so. During the following sequence, then, MONICA is taking pains to recover her dropped papers, but she is still far away from the other girls, who are mostly concentrated on Stage Right. When the action begins again...)

WASP #2
So they just let you write a check?

WASP #1
They let me walk right out of the dealership. Like they wouldn't honor Daddy's account with me standing right there. They know Daddy's good for the money. After all, girls. You know what it is they say...

ALL WASPS
You can always trust a trust fund girl!

WASP #3
I know! About the car thing I mean. Remember when I had Jacques drive me, Melissa, Mandy, Holly and Audrey to the '92 Democratic Convention in the limo? Oh! I thought old Billy was going to have a fit!

WASP #2
Something about his volunteers needing to make him look like a down home member of the party.

WASP #1
Well, he can't be too mad, else he'd never have asked us to apply for the position.

(The WASPS break. Meanwhile, still standing in the same spot, a nervous-looking MONICA surveys the situation. Among the milling of the other girls, she eventually approaches one of the WASPS, standing by herself quietly repeating the words, "Daddy said try to be a good girl," under her breath, over and over and over again. MONICA advances, retreats, advances again, and finally taps the girl on the shoulder. The WASP turns around.)

WASP #4
Muffy, I told you not to...

(seeing MONICA)

Oh. Hello.

MONICA
Hi.

WASP #4
Oh my! Don't we have on just the most delightful frock! Don't we now?

MONICA
Well, um, thanks! I made it myself with a sewing pattern I cut out of the back of Reader's Digest. Oh, um, sorry. Didn't mean to brag. I also designed this handbag to go with it, which I sewed all by my...

WASP #4
(turning back to her WASP cohorts, her voice dripping with venom)
The part I thought couldn't be any more gauche was when she wouldn't stop
droning on and on...

MONICA
(stepping toward the girls and suddenly much less timid)
Hey, that wasn't very nice.

(At the sound of this word, all WASPS turn to face her.)

WASP #1
Nice?

ALL WASPS
Ha!

WASP #1
Nice, darling, doesn't put the gas in the Porsche in this town.

WASP #2
Nice, sweetheart, doesn't put the brioche on the table in this town.

WASP #3
Nice, pookie, doesn’t put a chicken in every uninhaled pot in this town.

WASP #4
Nice, honey, doesn't get you the job of intern to the 42nd President of the United States of America, Mr. William Jefferson Clinton. In this town.

WASP #1
Sister? Lemme tell you something about "nice."

SONG: NICE

WASP #1
WELL YOU GOT YOUR “PARENTS PUT IT TOGETHER” DRESS
AND YOUR FEATHERY FARAH FAWCETT HAIR
YOU’VE PERFECTED YOUR DOWN-HOME FARM GIRL ROUTINE
AND YOUR SOMEBODY-PLEASE-LOVE-ME PUPPY DOG STARE

WASP #2
YOU’VE GOT YOUR COMPLIMENTARY REVLON GIFT SET MAKEUP
FREE WITH ANY PURCHASE
AND YOUR CLOTHES THAT ARE WASH AND WEAR
BUT IF YOU LACK THE ITCH TO ACT THE BITCH
IN THIS TOWN THEY WON’T CARE

WASP #1 AND WASP #2
'CAUSE IF YOU WANT NICE WELL HERE’S A HINT
YOU’LL PAY MORE OF A PRICE THAN THE WASHINGTON MINT
IN YOUR EYES, CRUELTY’S VICE, THERE’S NOT EVEN A GLINT
THEY WON’T LOOK AT YOU TWICE IF YOU TRY AND STAY NICE

WASP #3
THE SO-CALLED “FRIENDS” YOU’RE MAKING ARE REALLY
YOUR CORPORATE LADDER CLIMBING COMPETITION
BUZZING AROUND YOU LIKE A SWARM OF BEES
SO DON’T WASTE YOUR TIME TRYIN’ TO IMPRESS ‘ROUND HERE
WITH A POINTLESS "THANK YOU" OR EVEN "PLEASE"

WASP #4
DROP THAT GOOD GIRL ROUTINE YOU’RE CLEARLY FAKING
FILLED WITH INNOCENT “SHUCKS” AND “AW GEES”
‘CAUSE IF YOU’VE GOT THE WILL TO SATISFY BILL
YOU’D BETTER GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES

WASP #3 AND WASP #4
'CAUSE IF YOU WANT NICE WELL HERE’S A HINT
YOU’LL PAY MORE OF A PRICE THAN THE WASHINGTON MINT
IN YOUR EYES, CRUELTY’S VICE, THERE’S NOT EVEN A GLINT
THEY WON’T LOOK AT YOU TWICE IF YOU TRY AND STAY NICE

WASP #1
SO I THINK YOU’D BETTER UNDERSTAND, GIRL
BEFORE WE SET YOU OUT ON YOUR OWN

WASP #2
YOU’LL GO LESS FAR WITH A WAN SMILE
THAN YOU WILL WITH A WAIL OR A GROAN

WASP #3
YOU’D DO YOURSELF A FAVOR
IF YOU’LL TRY ONCE THIS CATTY BITCH TONE

WASP #4
‘CAUSE IF YOU AIN’T CORRUPT WHEN YOUR BOSS GETS IT UP

ALL WASPS
WHAT YOU DO WHEN HE THROWS YOU A BONE?
(big chorus, now)
'CAUSE IF YOU WANT NICE WELL HERE’S A HINT
YOU’LL PAY MORE OF A PRICE THAN THE WASHINGTON MINT
IN YOUR EYES, CRUELTY’S VICE, THERE’S NOT EVEN A GLINT
YES WE’LL TELL YOU IT TWICE, GIRL, DON’T EVEN TRY NICE
OH YOU’RE FREE TO ENTICE THIS I NEED TO IMPRINT
OF YOUR COY SAD DEVICE, THOUGH, WE ALL GET THE HINT
YOU’LL BE SWATTED LIKE MICE, BRUSHED AWAY LIKE STRAY LINT
THEY WON’T LOOK AT YOU TWICE IF YOU TRY AND STAY NICE
(A singular chord is held during the following, spoken speech.)

MONICA
Hey, thanks for the tips, gals! I really appreciate everything you've told me.

(then, suspiciously)

But say, why on Earth would you choose to tell me all this?

(lighting up again)

You know what I think? I think you try to act all tough, but deep down you
really want to help each other out. I bet deep down you girls are all, like,
mint. And whatever. I mean, why else would you have chosen to help me out with
your super advice?

WASP #1
Because sister...you don't have a prayer.

(A final chord for "Nice" and the WASPS exit.)

Nice stuff, eh, Pamie?

Everything is eventually ruined. Oh, and Richard Donner sounds like a crazy person in this interview. This entire article sounds like a joke, doesn't it? Thanks to Lisa Q for the link, and for helping me find Chunk, so when we skip the interview for Lost Idols this afternoon due to another meeting, we won't feel so guilty.

Also, in the shower this morning I saw an image of myself scrambling up the hill toward the Hollywood sign, the camera right behind my ass as I lean back and scream, "Hurry up, Stee! What's wrong with you?"

I feel comfortable geeking out in front of you guys, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to do it on VH-1.

WHAT?!?!

In December, John's writing three Christmas-themed fiction pieces: Two short stories, one poem. Everyone who donates money through his PayPal account between now and New Year's Eve will receive access to a Web site where he'll post these stories, as well as provide the stories in downloadable/printable format. All monies received (minus PayPal's processing cut) will be donated to Reading is Fundamental, which supports child and family literacy here in the US. The Suggested Donation is $3, but anyone can donate more or less; it's entirely up to them.

If, like me, you're a fan of John's work, this should be entertaining, as well as give you that do-goody swirly feeling in your tummy.

Boys and girls can now wear lipstick like Eddie. I think if I put that color on I'd look like a sad, scary clown.
[Thanks, Alex B, for the link]

Some of you book-loving, hit slut, blogger types might want to visit Kevin Smokler's site and volunteer for one of his Virtual Book Tours. You know who you are.

Then there are days when I get email like this. Wanna flatter me? Start out by misspelling my name, and then mentioning you really have no idea who I am. Always end with a compliment!

Dear Pammie,

Just found your website. I was snooping around on the
off chance that someone had posted a list of songs
that women thought were really sexy. I'm a performer
who wants to be hot, damn hot on stage! I want to hear
you telling me to get my kit off!

So I'm going to have to ask every woman I can find
what they think are sexy songs, what songs they've
heard that have had them thinking the singer was dead
hot.

I'd really appreciate that. Especially from a great
writer like you.

Thamks,

Rob Sturgess.

Because he thamked me, I think we should give him a list of the un-sexiest songs of all time. What song hollows you out inside and makes you wish people would stop touching you?

For me it's "American Pie." The song makes me nauseous.

I forgot to mention that the last link came from here. Many of you write asking for suggestions on getting an agent or selling your manuscript, and some of you just want to know how one goes about entering this weird writing world. This is a good place to get some of the basics.

This guy sent over a thousand query letters through e-mail, thinly disguised as an attempt to gather information for a creative directory. Then comes the ol' switcheroo -- he happens to have unpublished manuscripts for the taking!

On this website, he's reprinted all of the correspondence. It's his responses to the pat rejections that make you shake your head. Like this:

Dear Claudia: You're totally missing out, man. It could make your whole career. You'll see. Tee hee. I don't just have a character vaguely resembling Oprah, I have Oprah herself reunited with the kid she had when she was fourteen who she told everyone had died shortly after his birth. Ha! He's now thirty-three and has been living with his powerful daddy on a mountain top in Tennessee. It was his daddy who helped make Oprah the billion dollar industry she is. How about them apples? There are publishers who can take a joke aren't there? I'm betting even Oprah can take a joke, since she and her fictional son are incidental to the main character and the coolest, most riveting plot ever. It's way good. You'll be sorry. You'll be kicking yourself. Thanks anyway. G.

And this:

Thanks for taking a look and for getting back to me. You would fall in love if you read the thing. It's gorgeous and funny and smart and sexy and thoughtful and has something to say--the sort of book that people will keep buying for a long time. I should probably write ephemeral fluff like everyone else but what fun would that be? The tougher the nut the sweeter the meat. If you change your mind, let me know. G.

And then:

Hey, Paul: I'm more amazing than I even know. The way I'm going to work this thing is simply to stick it up in a website for free, with no advertising and no popups, along with a place where people can give me money if they want to do so. There's more pertinent and useful information in my project than there is in LMP ($389 a year), Jeff Herman's hopelessly out dated book (another $50 a year) or any of the Writer's Digest rags or websites--so I figure a few people might give me a buck or two. If you know anyone who might want to publish a cheap, sanitized, print version, let me know. I get a little outrageous with the stuff on the website, but it's America, land of the free, home of the brave, and it's not a commercial venture so I can say whatever I want. I mainly just want to get the sucker done and let it take care of itself so I can satisfy myself that I've done everything I can do to sell what I write, then just get back to writing it without any hope in hell of ever selling it. I'm slowly coming to the conclusion that writing that doesn't get published is the only writing that has any possibility of being any good. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. G.

The site's enormous, but it might make you feel a bit better about your last rejection letter.

Pretty As A Picture - An episode with this many townies written by Daniel Palladino could have been as interesting as watching paint dry. But it clips along at a steady pace and is over before you know it. That doesn't mean it's full of exciting adventures. In fact, it's stuffed with some of the oldest jokes known to comedy, including a "Stevie Wonder is blind" joke. But remember the new rule: pretend you're not watching a television show, but rather just hanging out with the Gilmore girls, and then it doesn't feel like such a rip-off. Yes, this is what we're forced to do in order to love this show we want to love so much. Shut up and lower your standards! Kirk's funny!

To all concerned industry power players: Pamie and I now come as a package deal. She can be on The Daily Show as long as I've written the jokes for the opening news segment. As a staff writer. On The Daily Show. Thank you in advance.

It would be the ultimate in Fun Stuff. A veritable Basic Cable Fun Stuff bonanza!

Sara Nelson explains why she didn't have a book tour, causing Jennifer Weiner to stick up for the practice. Based on my own experiences, I'd tour a book all over the country if someone would let me. But I didn't have a dime when this book came out, and was already into Save Karyn territory on my credit cards, so finding out what Cleveland looks like was not a possibility. My book tour was very similar to Sara's:

I was going on a tour-lette, to just a couple of places where I actually had some friends and thus could beat the drum and send mass e-mails and call in old favors to get people to show up—and oh, by the way, this was not necessarily an all-expenses-paid-by-the-publisher boondoggle, but rather a cobbled-together financial plan involving my publisher, the venues that were hosting me, my day job and my very own bank account.

When I sold the book, it was the first question everyone asked me -- "Are you going to have a book tour?" They also assume it's out in hardcover, that I went to a fancy school, that I always use flawless grammar, and that I now can afford anything my heart desires. If there's one thing I promise to do with this site, it's to disappoint you repeatedly as I shatter your hopes and dreams of the life as a published author.

Consider it your "Life in Hollywood" Extension Course.

My dream guest spot as an author? The Daily Show.

I haven't even had a cup of coffee yet this morning, but I'm already doing a jig because I got reviewed over at chicklit. If you've never visited their site before, you're in for a real treat.

Yes, Dan. I mean "Fun Stuff."

As I write this, I'm sitting on a Brooklyn-bound Q-train, somewhere underneath the expanse between between 34th Street and Union Square. I've had this laptop for over a month now, and I can tell that the insidious creeping of this computer into every aspect of my life is now utterly complete. I can work in the park, I can work at the Starbucks, I can work on my couch, and now -- and it is with great terror I realize this -- I can work on my way to any of those places as well. I used to read a book in some of those places. Now I write about the fact that I used to read a book. Because it's all about me. Me working. Me writing. Me typing. I am once more the main character in the story of my own thrilling life.

A week ago, this wasn't the case (when, as readers of Da Blog will note, I was barely communicating through any medium at all). But last Monday in New York was unseasonably warm (above forty in November! Above forty and then double that in November!), so I went straight from a meeting to a shiny, grassy expense behind the New York Public Library called Bryant Park. I had plenty of writing to get done and no actual, immediate need for Internet access (also five days ago, my forums were slightly lower-maintenance than they are at the moment…slightly). Aaaaanyway, I booted up my computer, and lo! My Explorer browser opened and went right to my homepage. No 404. No "cannot find server." No "screw you, guy without a plug guy, but perhaps you haven't noticed that you're OUTDOORS IN A PARK." It just worked. Like in that one time called "the future." As it turns out, Bryant Park is leading the wireless initiative, allowing free and unfettered web access to users during the four total days a year that it's not too hot or too cold to sit outside in New York.

Well. If that's what it felt like getting stuff for free, imagine how much more I would enjoy when I got to start paying for it! Within the day, I was working at every Starbucks in Manhattan -- I was at three separate ones on Wednesday, a day on which the cost of the lattes almost eclipsed the cost of the monthly access fee -- a Borders, and the ground floor of the Citicorp Building on Lexington. Now I'm using my computer case as an ad hoc desk before I get home and figure out how to transfer episodes of shows I'm recapping (entirely by legal means, of course) onto my computer so I can recap The Bachelor on my flight to Vegas.

I can't decide if this whole thing is good news or not.

Currently reading: shit I write myself, sadly.