I am sad to report that I am going crazy. Not really. Just more kind of antsy. I'd been writing pretty much non-stop for, jeez, let's say the past two years, which included laboring on the Norse book, laboring on rewrites for the Norse book, re-writing those re-writes yadda yadda and then rewriting them again and then the YA book which I kind of blasted through, and then proposals for a couple more books and I haven't written anything in a week and a half, and so what, right, because that's not very long and I could use the time to recharge and life is a rich pageant of things that don't involve writing and it's not like I'm not enjoying those things I even got a sunburn while eating fried chicken and BBQ potato chips on the beach and life is good and the rich pageant and all and I've got workshop reading to do coming out of my earholes and I could always try to resuscitate my dormant short story writing career ha ha but my heart wants to write novels which I have not even really thought about in a week and a half.

Soon-ish, I should be revising the Norse book, this time for keeps. And in a week or so I'll be at Blue Heaven getting feedback on my YA book. So, it'll be revisapalooza this summer. But for now, I am a sad, pathetic, mewling wretch. Although actually it's more kind of like I'm a bit wiggly with nervous energy than I am sad and inert.

Also, I am such a Kobe hater that I'm actually going to be routing for Boston in the NBA finals, which, when I think about Magic and Kareem and James Worthy and Kurt Rambis, makes me shake my head and muse about HOW MUCH I HATE KOBE BRYANT.

Also, I like pelicans, and the way they soar up the coast in rubbery formation, looking all Jurassic and stuff.

Shaq debuted with the Suns last night against the Lakers. I thought he looked good. He was moving well, hustling, diving on the floor for loose balls, and if he's not the dominant monster in the middle any more, he's still a monster. The Suns seemed out of sync with him in the offense, but they've only had a few practices together, and it'll take a while for them to get used to each other.

But, man, it's weird not rooting against Shaq. I used to hate Shaq. Now I'm laughing at all his press conference quips. Oh, that Shaq, he's a pistol!

Sports are so weird.

***

I am angry. I am angry at my writing for not being better. I think it owes me.

Stupid writing. This synopsis is starting to get worse with each new draft.

Maybe if I change the font...

Oh, god, the coffee's not working. The coffee's not working!!

Dead flower edition, because I'm feeling emo:

I've just watched last night's 2008 NBA All Star slam dunk contest on YouTube, and I think it might be the best I've ever seen. Right up there, anyway, and certainly the most creative. Dwight Howard was Kryptonian and deserved to win, but in terms of fun, I think Gerald Green got a little robbed by the judges.

His cupcake dunk is one for the books:

Hey, in celebration of Valentine's Day, they're giving away free shots at Starbucks.

Of espresso, I mean. If you find out where they're giving away free shots of Jäger, let me know.

***

Another reason I like Steve Nash (yes, it's a man crush): He's got a new Nike shoe coming out. It's made from factory scraps. It's called the Trash Talk.

***

I am a song binger. Current binge is a two-song loop of I Was Wrong (Social Distortion), and Infected (Bad Religion), with a bit of snacking on Los Angeles Is Burning. How's that for romance?

***

A lot of ants died last night. Baited traps seemed to do a pretty good job. I'll lay down some more today to let them know I'm serious. I am serious.

***

At most of the martial arts schools I've trained at, it's considered a no-no to ask when you're going to learn or do a particular thing. You're supposed to be patient and concentrate on what you're learning now, not what you're going to learn later. Be respectful of your current material. So I've been trying to be subtle about asking my fellow students when we get to start sparring.

At my Shaolin Kenpo school, we started sparring at orange belt (the third rank). At my old Kung Fu school, we started sparring on our second day of class. At my new Kung Fu school, apparently, we start sparring at fourth level.

I'm a first level.

I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG TO SLAP A PUNK!

I'm just kidding. Mostly.

I really do miss sparring.

Shaquille O'Neal for Shawn Marion?

If the Suns make the trade today I may have some opinion. But for now ... WTF??!!?

Woke up with the alarm (on a Sunday morning, blech!) for a writing run at the coffee joint. The lemon cake was good, Lisa was vexed by a fly, and I killed Odin.

I'm not going to hit the finish line tonight, and tomorrow's another day of crazy running around, but I got a reprieve on my deadline for Blue Heaven (the way it works is that everybody reads everyone else's first 50 pages, and then two people read and critique your entire novel, and my two people are lovely and cool and told me to take my time), so I can stop panicking just an eensy weensy little bit and have everything wrapped up by the end of the week. Huge relief.



***

wheatland_press is so right about Steve Nash being the toughest guy in the NBA. Tony Parker viciously head-butts Nash and then goes to cry on the bench with his booboo while Nash sinks a three-pointer with brains and blood and gore cascading from his demolished nose before being benched by the refs for uncontrollable bleeding. The Suns didn't play a good game, but with their captain and the rightful MVP out on the floor, the last minute could have gone much differently. We'll take our vengeance Tuesday night after Nash gets his nose re-attached.

***

I honestly don't know WHAT the HELL kind of SHITCRACK I was smoking when I said the new Rush album wasn't exciting me. Now that I've had six whole days to listen to it again and again and again and again, I declare that it's kick-you-in-the-gut-and-make-your-spirit-soar fantastic.

I'm giving up the shitcrack. Seriously. It makes your brain all stupid plus dumb.

***

Dinner. (There were some leftovers. Some.)