You guyssss, I need to say something funny here. BUT I’M DRY. My brother and his delightful co-host just called and asked me — in my position as the local zombie expert — to comment on the plot of some zombie musical theatre being put on in Northland. THERE ARE THESE KIDS, AND THEY GO ON AN ADVENTURE. AND THERE IS BOTH MYSTERY AND SELF-DISCOVERY, AND ALSO THE UNDEAD. PLUS A JEWEL MINING OPERATION. IN SONG. PROVIDE COMMENTARY FOR THE GENERAL PUBLIC.
Thanks, Will and Jax. The joke is on you, because there is nothing amusing and off-the-cuff to be said about that particular confluence of events. I am jealous I didn’t think of it first, so I talked about the dude in America who cut off his own arm instead. THAT DUDE IS AMAZING.
It amuses me that when I am talking rubbish around here, I spend a lot of time concerned that no one will take me SERIOUSLY, and believe I have SERIOUS THOUGHTS about SERIOUS MATTERS, and thus spend their imaginary pennies on my imaginary novels. Which are mostly about people having hilarious conversations about nothing anyway (Kelly’s feedback on Sparks: Katie, people are not ALWAYS WITTY. The dialogue is too clever; I am struggling to feel their pain. Katie: BUT DID YOU LAUGH?), so it’s not like I am competing for a slice of the highbrow literary market, anyway. At least not until I wake up as Justin Cronin (is there a passage joke to be made here? I’ll leave that with you, internet).
Anyway. Then, when I stop blogging about, like, SALAD, and the dream I had about Puck last night — omg, Puck, that got KIND OF WEIRD, right? But, um, call me sometime anyway — I get all WHOA, I NEED TO LIGHTEN THIS MOTHER-TRUCKER UP, BEFORE THE INTERNET (hi internet!) REALISES I AM A JOYLESS BLOWHARD.
Where is the BALANCE, universe?
So I wrote my first thousand words on Sunday. I felt pretty good about them until Monday, when I had to go to bed with the first season of Party Down until I stopped hyperventilating. On Tuesday, I thought about writing, and then I got slightly drunk instead. Yesterday I wrote my second thousand words, none of which take place in the scene they are meant for. It’s okay. A zombie apocalypse takes time. AND, APPARENTLY, SONGS ABOUT MINING.
I am not mocking the musical theatre, so we’re clear. It’s a high school production, and high school musicals are awesome, especially if they are about adventures and treasures and zombies, and even if they do not star Zac Efron. Mmm, Zac Efron.
Later*: feminism, and why it is not a dirty word! Shoes! Recipes! Pictures of cute kids! A guaranteed abuse of capslock!
* Before the end of time. Followers of Mayan calendar: YMMV.