well, it's time to go...

I never expected to have to spend more than the spare week here or there proclaiming the blissful sanctity of the weekend. But, there you go.

Not much tonight, as I am tired and a little blurry. The book creeps, creeps, fucking crawls, on toward its ends. Wrote a few thousand words this week and reread the first 60 or so pages, which held together with where I am now more than I expected and did not plunge me into the anticipated depression and distraction. I'll be glad when the first draft is through, though I'm equally glad the writing has paced out as such. If that makes any sense at all.

it sounds like there may well be an outstanding album of classical arrangements of Radiohead songs out there somewhere. I will report back if such is true.

Our president is a liar. This is not news.

Subscribe to one-story, even if by now you'll have to write and ask them to send you the Alan DeNiro issue. (Though the latest one is nice.) Read "Dust." Watch live-action episodes of The Tick with Joe and marvel at how much better it was than you thought at the time.

Read Edna St. Vincent Millay before bed. Dream good dreams.