Well, Christmas is back. I’m trying not to hate it, ’cause I don’t want to be that guy. It’s hard. I hate Christmas carols (I can be that guy) and going to any store is just a headache. My friend, Nic, says I should just break down and move to a non-Christian country. That’s what he did.
My parents came in to town yesterday. I picked them up from O’Hare. Right before that, I picked up my sister from her building downtown, and I was driving down LaSalle St. when I was overcome with the feeling that I had ridden down that street before . . . but it had felt much more dire. Lo and behold, turns out that’s the street that the monorail races down in the climactic battle of Batman Begins. It goes right past my sister’s building. So that’s pretty awesome.
Something happened to me while I was on the way to pick my parents up as well. It was immediately followed by a strange calm, then overwhelming sadness fighting for dominance over a sick glee. I had decided in a flash of clarity to kill one of the characters in my gangster story set on Mars. It came to me very suddenly, and I thought “How perfect will that be!” and it felt somehow right. Then I thought about that character actually dying and I got sad, and I thought it was a little weird that I could decide a character’s fate so quickly and so finally. Then I thought about how sad my readers might be when this character dies and I kind of giggled. I’m an ass. Still, we’re going for emotional effectiveness here–and murder ain’t supposed to feel good. Sigh . . .
Who’s it go-nna beeeEEEeee?
I’m not go-nna teeeEEEeeell youUUUuuu.
When’s it go-nna beeeEEEeee?
I’m not go-nna teeeEEEeeell youUUUUuuu.