Calling Willy Wonky! I find myself addicted to Gobstoppers these days. It all started two weekends ago, when I went to see Baby Girl in Sweeney Todd (the H.S. spring musical). As an aside, Sweeney Todd was very good—I’d never seen it before but had heard enough about it to prepare myself for the gore. Wasn’t prepared for the humor—it was a nice surprise. Anyhoo, I ended up buying a box of Gobstoppers from the concession stand, and I’ve been hooked since. I might need an intervention.
I definitely have to kill off a doctor in one of my future books. One in particular comes to mind, and getting my irritation out on paper might be better than having a hissy fit of monumental proportions. Which might look bad to all the other patients... Therapeutical homicide is definitely a perk to being a writer. Hey, we take what we can get when we don’t have 401Ks.
The Potential to Frustrate Me Beyond Belief
I believe (and this has nothing to do with the doc from above) that I might have CHS. Crazy Hair Syndrome. Don’t worry—I don’t think it’s contagious. All of a sudden, my hair has gone psycho on me, sticking up all over the place. A can of hair spray might hold the strands down for a few seconds, but then sproing, up they pop again. The medical community should look into this phenomenon. Maybe NASA too. Some good should come out of what’s going on atop my head.
Mr. W’s Picture of the Day:
Will read this week: Heads You Lose by Lisa Lutz and David Hayward
What's everyone else reading this week?