Oh, I don't need snotty.
Heh. I am NEVER snotty to people; I meant, the post I put up sounded like I was practising being the ubersnot.
And I need to corner her at her house and get Who/POTUS gossip.
Yes, dear, you honestly do. It's not like you don't live, what? Ten minutes away?
It's a brilliant story, summed up by a simple fact: Someone put Keith Moon in a hotel suite one floor directly below Gerald Ford's suite. Lordy, what an evening. And yes, there's a lot more to the story, but I ain't a-posting it here. It does, however, feature the deathless line: "Don't shoot! You'll cause an incident! They're aliens!"
Hint: that line was not spoken by anyone with a UK accent.
Deb, I posted the change to my fic in Bitchy Fic...
jengod, yay for you! A start is wonderful. Now all you need is to build a little momentum! Go, you!
Still haven't gotten into the daily songwriting routine. Or at all, really.
The conversation here did lead me to realize that where I am on the continuum is at the ritual by fucking around point. Jamming around deliberately and on schedule is new for me. I'll worry about ritual by method and education later.
I bet they put Keith Moon there on purpose. Conspiracy, I tell ya.
Thanks Beverly! I think I've got a good writerly buzz goin' on in 2003. Hard to explain.
Go, team Jen!
Liese, the entire Band, with entourage, had one floor, and Potus and entourage had the one above. I first twigged there might be a wee problemo when I spotted the Large, Suited Men with Big Heavy Shoes in the lift.
Then there was the Incident in the basement. Covered up my piano player, yelling "firefight! down!" on the floor of the limo.
Life was more interesting then.
I thought the haircuts were also a big ol' giveaway?
They were large men who were so obviously designed to be invisible that in San Francisco, they might as well have been wearing marge Simpson wigs with tiaras spelling out "SECRET SERVICE" in flashing rhinestones.
Haircuts, pale colourless suits, shoes, muscles, eyes looking everywhere and never locking, bulge under arms...
Gah.
