No Writing Tonight

So yeah, I noodled around with Chapter Four of "Strange Weight" a bit--I think I have the general shape down, plus I inputted a bunch of notes I'd made on Mac's first meeting with Fr. Gowther, the guy he'll eventually credit with getting him into the Jesuits (even though Fr. Gowther himself didn't end up thinking it was such a great idea). But I didn't really write anything, per se; same with "The Underneath", which I think is going to be my secondary choice for the next little while. Blame drill-man; I do.

Instead, I worked out, then ran home to watch the SYTYCD Canada pre-finale. The finale itself--two hours' worth, which isn't bad for a first season, if I say so myself--will be broadcast on Sunday, thus momentarily alieviating the vague discomfort that Steve and I have experienced on that night ever since Mad Men Season Two wrapped up. And while I could bore everybody by doing a point-for-point run-down, I think I'll just confine myself to observing that--

A) I think Nico is going to win, and not just because I voted for him.

B) I also think everybody who was part of the Top Ten (and possibly the Top Twenty) should be immediately snapped up by whatever enterprising production company--probably Quebecois, naturellement, seeing as they're the same guys who are responsible for stuff like Maelstrom, C.R.A.Z.Y. and Nitro--is prepared to develop films around each and every one of them, in infinite combinations. You want to know where those prospective Canadjun "stars" we're always complaining that we don't have any of are? They're right here, folks; this is a CRAZILY pretty, talented and charismatic bunch of people we're wasting on reality TV, and we need to do something about that, ASAP.

Oh, and C)...much as the judges may have politely crapped on Natalli and Allie's go-go number, it was still roughly one hundred thousand million times more exciting than any girl-on-girl number the people at SYTYCD U.S. have been able to come up with, thus far. Aside from Wade Robson's "foxes" routine, that is.;)

Anyhoo. I'm for packing for JK, drugs and bed. Let's hope today's bout of drilling accomplished its purpose, whatever the fuck THAT might have been. Tomorrow, I want to write.

Ergh

Still got that vague "needle through the eyesocket/temple" feeling, though Mister Man next door has thankfully stopped drilling for the nonce. Last night I began re-watching The East is Red: Swordsman III for the first time in a long while, and revelled in its general craziness; if I was feeling in a slightly more entertaining mood, I might even amuse myself (and others) by trying to post a list of lines/scenes from it. But my head hurts--a LOT--and I want to get some writing clocked today, before I have a migraine, or something.

Amended to add: And now, for some insane reason, Safari won't let me access my mail, while Netscape will. And Cal very definitely has a cold--constant babble, constant movement, rash-'stache. He broke one of the track-lighting bulbs he's always fucking around with, then wept bitterly and kicked at me when I took offense. AGH!