I've got the week off, which means I'm sitting by the phone waiting for work to call me in because the dozen people above me in seniority didn't answer their phone. I really like working in a Teamsters shop overall (better pay, benefits and very well defined rules for what the bosses can say and do), but weeks like this bite. It's the bad that goes with the good, so I guess I shouldn't bitch. Indiana's unemployment checks aren't anything to brag about, but they're enough to almost get by on during a layoff.
I could get some work done on Black Helicopters, the novella I promised to start excerpting here a month ago, but I just dread it. I'm not blocked, exactly; it's more like taking something that I've already put so much into and have such a fondness for and fucking it up. The characters deserve more than I've shown of them thus far, but I'm afraid of doing too little or too much. In other words, I'm procrastinating.
I could clean the house and do some laundry, but that holds about as much fascination for me as it does for you.
I could watch a movie, but I sat up until 5 this morning watching Dazed and Confused. I had forgotten how many good actors were in that little gem. Parker Posey personified the perfect high school bitch. I was 9 years old in 1976, but I was surrounded by a shitload of young aunts and uncles who always seemed to be around our house. And many of them had no compunction about smoking pot in front of my sister and me.
My nostalgia, as well as my respect for Richard Linklatter, were dissipated a bit when I flipped down a channel and tried to watch A Scanner Darkly. I'm all for pushing the envelope, but motion capture annoys me and I've never understood Philip K. Dick's status as a Genre God. I've read a few of his works and they're fine; nothing less and nothing more. I guess I'm just not a fanboy.
Anyway, I've killed enough time. Seder v. Maron starts in about 10 minutes at samsedershow.com, so I think I will saunter on over that way.