Monday, September 26, 2005

September 26, 2005
November issue goes out the door today. It’s a big puppy. Looks like we'll stick with the perfect binding, everyone seems to love it. The only downside is that cross-overs don’t work as well (that’s when a photo or artwork crosses over to the opposite page and on perfect bound, it disappears down into the crack, whereas a saddle stitch allows the image to cross over cleanly.)

Robert Ray is studying to be a sea captain (“Yo soy capitan, soy capitan, soy capitan.”). He is taking lessons on Tempe Town Lake and everything. It’s his burning passion to sail a big ol’ yacht and do it well.

Tomcat Bell kind of hit the wall with the exotic model he’s dating. Much angst regarding flirtatious behavior. Ah, the twenties. Wouldn’t go back for all the tea in China (however I might go back for all the circ. of Maxim).

I’m going to have to put in a double shift tonight. I’ve been putting off doing the tags on the paintings and now I have three days left and 100 tags to do in duplicate. Ay-yi-yi. Kathy’s coming down to help me. I bought her a salad at Bad Donkey ($11 cash, includes meager tip, Hey, it’s takeout!).

I mailed the new book on Wyatt Earp to Wyatt Earp today. A reviewer from my old paper New Times called and asked me to forward the book to Wyatt (he’s local, that's his real name and he and his wife do one-person-plays on Wyatt, Doc, Big-Nose-Kate and Josie). It's a clever idea (Wyatt Earp reviews Wyatt Earp!) but I am so suspicious of those cynics down at NT that I confronted the guy on the phone, “You’re not going to sandbag Wyatt are you?” I demanded. The reporter said coyly, “No, not him.” For all of you who’ve never seen New Times nor worked there (and I realize that's not many of you), that’s N.T. speak for, “Get ready to grab your ankles Authorboy!”

Got a call from the BBC in London today. Thought it was the same office of my friends from Ireland who came in last summer, but this is a different deal. I was talking to Bernadette Ross in the “Specialist Factual” Department, deep within BBC White City (the name of the huge facility in London where they plan the takeover of the world and occasionally program stuff). They’re doing three docudramas on three big, American icons that I imagine you could guess if you really tried. Had a nice chat with her.

Received an Email from an old girlfriend who has been reading this blog and bemoaning the changes I seem to have gone through ("You used to be so artistic. Now you're a businessman who keeps track of his lunches?").

“Is it strange I should change, I don’t know, why don’t you ask her.”
—Neil Young, “Mr. Soul”

No comments:

Post a Comment

Post your comments