2007-06-02 - 12:52 p.m.
Talking with my friend Kevin just now, he was talking about Steven Segall movies and I think I thought up the title to his next one: Sudden Death Impact Syndrome. Not real sure what that means, but I think it should have something to do with skydiving. Which reminds me of the name of my all-female hip-hop-style backup singer-group, should I form such a thing. They'll be called An Embarrassment of Bitches.
Lazy Saturday here, and hot. Summer's here and it's sticky and makes my back sweat through my T-shirt when I drive anywhere. I've got vinyl seats and mirrored sunglasses that I'd wear more often if I wore my contact lenses more often. But I don't, and since I'm typically seven to forty minutes late for everything, they often get left behind.
Turned in my final grades on Tuesday night, which means that I'm free and clear for the summer, except for my job. So, the hope is that I can get some more writing done. I hope so. I've got ideas and urges but sitting down and spending an unbroken hour at the keyboard is always the toughest thing. I probably need more actual deadlines. I remember when I was a reporter, I'd have to write six stories a week. I never had that much trouble getting them done. In grad school, I'd have three or four major deadlines in a semester, for workshop days, mainly. And I was good at those. Without due dates, though, things tend to get pushed away. My graduate school friend, who lives in Fort Lauderdale now, got an agent for his young adult novel. She's already showing it around to editors. I hope he sells a million copies. He deserves it. He must be beside himself. He'd been looking for an agent for a year and a half.
Went to a high-school graduation party for my girlfriend's brother last night. It was at a NASCAR-themed yacht club in Harford County, on a slow tidal river that feeds into the bay. After a few dollar-forty drafts, we all piled into the other brother's car and bought the graduating brother a hundred and forty dollars worth of Yuengling, Jagermeister, cheap vodka, and Jack Daniel's. He's going to Ocean City for senior week. When we unloaded the booze into the van he's driving down, the stunned sparkle in his and his buddies' eyes looked like they were calculating scenarios of glorious mayhem. All things, in that dark parking lot on the Bush River last night, were possible.
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