A story from Ben (via Drudge) on our president's remarkable but tenuous connection to reality. Yeah, working three jobs is uniquely American. Especially in what is supposedly the wealthiest nation on earth. My step-dad works three jobs. He's 50 years old. Will he be able to retire in fifteen years? Twenty? Ever? Ask Bush. Oh wait. Don't.
I rented 'Wicker Park' last night. I thought it might be good. Besides giving me pleasant dreams of Rose Byrne and Diane Kruger, it was a disappointment. A non-thriller thriller. "Yeah, I'm sorry about ruining your life. But I have to live with it, so it's all better now." Ok.
Wrote eleven pages of chapter 15 (or the half of it that will become chapter 17) the last few days. Up to 375 pages now. Didn't quite finish the monster mash yet. I think I'll take tomorrow night off since I'm absolutely exhausted. I can tell because toward the end the prose started reading like a police report. Time to take a break. I wrote maybe forty pages this week, which is well ahead of my average. Plus I need to give a little thought to where I'm going next. I know, just don't know the details. After forty some pages of running jumping and falling, I'm thinking I'll dial it back a bit.