MANCHURIAN CANDIDATES ARE WEAK

I think I may be Manchurian Candidating myself. Kenneth Belasco is the kindest, warmest, gentlest man I know.

Seriously. I woke up this morning feeling like ol' Golden Arm himself, still halfway logged into a Jack Bauer dream with that song—that evil, evil song—echoing off the sides of my skull. Tears of a Clown. When there's no one around, THIS IS ALL I HEAR. This is not a miracle. I'm terrified that if I try to purge that song from my computer, John McLaughlin will show up in my livingroom wearing nothing but a Queen of Hearts costume.

Did very little work on #6 last night. I really needed to step away from the computer for a night. A bottle of red, five episodes of 24, a couple of sandwiches (ham'n'onions) and I just enjoyed a night off. I am closer to working out the ideas for #7, though (doing some writing on the day job).

So, now I'm just one day ahead of the revised schedule. This is good. I feel uncomfortable being too far ahead. Next schedule needs to take fix-the-fuckups time anyway. Technically, I'm still targeting the same day for completion, so I won't be ahead until the fat lady sings.

The phrase of the day is, "Speculative Autobiography."