I'm Not Celebrating Yet
But close enough to post this gratuitous picture
of Louise Brooks having way too much fun at Can Can--I mean, Joe Zelli's, in Paris.


So, my all-night marathon of writing went apace, I mean, once you hit 3 a.m. what's the point? I do not recommend this methodology for anybody, by the way. Even Miro the Perpetually Annoyed Siamese was even more annoyed and confused that I again wasn't coming to bed. I actually don't feel like I've been to bed in a week.

The Monster in the Box, sans box, got shipped to the publisher around 8 this morning, though I still have some patch work and bibliography to finish, and a whole round of image acquisitions and permissions to go through.

Last night WRIR, perhaps to mess with my head, switched the overnight tape. No "Riot On The Radio," but some head rocking sort of alt country blues and R & B stuff. I can't remember a single one. I sincerely hope that if I'm up that late again any time soon that it is while doing something libidinous and salacious and that music will provide the sound track.

Still, I have the refrain and drum roll up from "International War Criminal" in my head and it won't stop. I think its because of the Karadzic thing. A Washington Post writer said he looks like "Walt Whitman coming off a bender." I think he kind of looks like, well, a grotty Santa.

The Breakfast Blend, preceded by the Loop Tape preceded by Dustin on 'The Flip Side" were all good in the wee small hours. There's really a band called Vampire Beach Babes and I they were fun and appropriate to hear at that hour. And who was playing Bill Cosby routines? I forget. I was distracted but engaged at the same time, and half-asleep without pajamas.

Maybe during the No Volunteer hours RIR should just play Firesign Theatre albums back-to-back. Or audio from old Doc Scott broadcasts (except over-sensitive people would take it serious). Or feed from a "Fistful of Soundtracks" or old X Minus One shows.

Off to the office with nary a wink behind me. I feel about a half past dead.

In an added development, Rob Ullman just up and decided to post the efforts he made to create a logo for "Lulupalooza 2005." Wow. Two thousand and freakin' oh-five! How'd that happen?

I Just Thought I Was Finished
The Writing Jag Part II

[Image: This is my office during the project. No, but, in truth it is photographer Walead Beshty composition, Dismal Science Reading Room, from June 7, 2006, Wit of the Staircase]


So at some point--it was after 4 am.--and the Late Night Mixtape is playing on WRIR, when I realize I'm hearing "Riot On The Radio" and "International War Criminal" each for the second time that I realize, well, I've done it again. And this minor filling task of the Rag-time in Richmond manuscript has turned into a forced march, a slog, and this is still before the whittling down to fit the proscribed size limits and all else that must be done to ready this thing for publication.

Amie got me up, though I complained, to get back at it and now with oatmeal eaten and coffee working here I am. It's October 23, 1909 and things are getting a little hazy. Wish me luck. This puppy has got to get done today, bibliography and all. I sense another very late night.

I'm goin' in.

************************************************************

Yup, still at it. Break for the pool, much needed, but my right eye is hurting and all the joints of my fingers, and I'm daubing with a cotton swab my upper right canine tooth with an alcohol pain deadener.

It's like midnight and I have two day's worth of work still and one night to do it in. And it's Monday, it's not like I can ask off from work. I'm kind of going nuts, slowly, back here in my time capsule.

Riot On The Radio, indeed.

Amie opened an envelope of my checks this afternoon without thinking and wondering if it was my copy of "New Adventures In Pornography." Which I think is a great blog name, and that's appropriate, since she came up--through my not hearing her correctly--the name for this one.

I have to go splash water on my face and weep a little.