I began the new Christmas story all over again this morning. Now we're on the way. I'll see if I can get this done before the holiday and share it with some people. I've had an idea where this will go, book-wise, for a while, but I'll have to see what it is when it's all done.
Wrote an op-ed yesterday about the Boston Tea Party. Highly unlikely it will run.
I really should try and finish this Christmas horror film piece today.
Excercise hasn't been great. I've been out there every day walking, doing the push-ups, running stairs, but the numbers have been low. Three circuits in the Monument, 3000 stairs at City Hall. Yesterday I did a single circuit in the Monument, which is pretty bad. There's a lot to get to. I need to do better with the exercise, though.
Watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas! last night. The proper one, from 1966 with Boris Karloff. He's great in the part. The Who's are kind of annoying. In a way, I can see where the Grinch was coming from.
I had a friend in college who'd vocalize that main song you here at the beginning. Sometimes I don't think he knew he was doing it. We'd be studying together and he'd be vocalizing that song. I'd say, "What are you doing, man?" and he'd be like, "What?" like he had no clue what I meant. If your heart swells to three times the normal size, you have a problem, though. That's not a happy Christmas cheer thing. That's more of a death's door deal. You know what's weird? This guy steals all the stuff on Christmas Eve, then he rides back into town with it, and he's a hero. They have him sit at the head of the table and carve the roast beef. He just robbed you. So, yeah. The Who's. I don't know about those whatever they ares.
Want to know something telling? So last night, I sent a bigot a story: "The Installation," which is remarkable. Someone recently read it and they bring it up each time we speak now, saying they have never seen anything like it. They thought, at first, it was going to be this one kind of thing, and then it wasn't at all. I've never made anything finer than "The Installation."
Moments after I sent this letter to this person last night--in other words, before they even opened the initial email--I wrote the letter that I'll be sending them in a bit, because I knew exactly what they were going to say. That's the level of bigot we're talking. That's how in-the-bag predictable this is. This person isn't going to like what happens next and how everything plays out on here for all to see. Everything that is going to follow them around, everything that will be the first thing anyone see after searching their name, and so forth.