Jeff Ellis: It's Impossible To Start A Fire If You Have No Desire To Burn

Fear not the reaper, America.

Here's a message of hope (and yes, change as well) to all of my fellow hysterical, easily deluded countrymen!  Fear not the so-called pandemic.  Fear not because--

Obama Says U.S. Can Manage Swine Flu

To which Jeff Ellis says, "No shit, Barry."

Sorry, my friends.  The world's not going to end tonight or tomorrow.  Life is going to go on. 

Seriously, the current fear over the Swine Flu has got to be the most pathetic American panic since the whole Satanic Day Care Abuse Panic of the late 1980s.

Earlier today, one of my coworkers came into the office and, as usual, started in with the usual list of reasons of why he shouldn't be expected to do his job well.  This morning, the list started off with, "I've been sneezing a lot."

"Maybe you've got Swine Flu," I replied.

His response?

He walked out of the office and drove across town to see a doctor and discover if I was right.

(I was not.)

If that wasn't enough, my commute home was dominated by the sight of pedestrians wearing surgical masks.  It was all rather surreal, as if my neighborhood had suddenly been taken over by an army of Michael Jackson clones.

Tonight, I ate dinner with the lovely Lisa Bowman.  We went out to a small, quaint little Italian place located near the SMU campus in Dallas.  As always, the food was great.  The music was relaxing.  The atmosphere was cozy.  The ambiance was romantic.  It was a wonderful dinner until we noticed that our waiter was wearing rubber gloves. 

And now, as we sit here watching TV, we are confronted with a nonstop, scrolling list of all of the weekend activities that have been canceled in order to prevent a Swine Flu pandemic in the Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex.

Classes have been canceled.

The local meeting of the Girl Scouts?  Canceled.

(Strangely, there is no mention of the Boy Scouts.)

All outdoor, civic-related gatherings?  Canceled.

I'm going to call my neighbors and see whether or not the weekly wife swapping party is still on.

Hopefully, the nation will have calmed down by the end of the weekend or else it's going to be a truly disappointing Cinco De Mayo this year.

But, as I said before, fear not!  Your president has just announced what, if you had any common sense, you would have known already.

America will survive the Swine Flu.

You Tell Me

They served us turkey at work today.

I've spent the rest of the day throwing up.

Coincidence or conspiracy?

Hell's Kitchen's Final Two or How Wikipedia Saved The Day And Ticked Me Off All At The Same Time

Another season of Hell's Kitchen is coming to a close.  It's a bizarre show, really.  It's hard to imagine that a show about chefs could ruin one's appetite but this show manages to do it.  After a season of watching various chefs attempting to send out food that is either overcooked or raw while all the time being screamed at by Chef Ramsey, I've pretty much decided to give up on eating out.  The risk that one of those failed Hell's Kitchen contestants might be in the kitchen is just too great of a risk.

That said, I do love the show.  It's a guilty pleasure but a pleasure all the same.

Plus, it's one of the only reality shows currently on the air that doesn't feature Mary Murphy and that's certainly a point in it's favor.

(Sorry, folks -- the Hot Tamale Train collided with that ill-fated Amtrak train from The Happening and ended up stopping on top of a bunch of swing dancers who were too busy jitterbugging to hear John Leguizamo shouting "Get off the tracks, you annoying wannabe hipsters!")

After tonight's show, we're down to two chefs remaining.  It comes down to Christina, the pretty young thing who doesn't let her lack of any apparent skill get in the way of her bizarre success on the show, and Petrozzza, who seems to be a really nice guy.  He certainly doesn't deserve to have his name misspelled so let's try that again -- that's Petrozza with two Zs and not three.

(Thanks for clearing that up Wikipedia!  You're the best!  Now, where's my entry!?)

(I'll admit it.  I now spend more time searching for myself in Wikipedia -- and hey!  There I am at the end of this article -- than I do on Google.)

(Oh, like you haven't done the same thing!)

(Oh, and if the person who wrote that article on my old high school happens to read this blog post -- "a personal remembrance of Jeremy Delle's suicide by Jeff Ellis? " Like so many people, you have missed the point of the original essay.  Do me a favor.  If I ever do get an entry in the Wikipedia, let someone else write it.)

(Seriously, it really is in bad taste to cite something that you obviously haven't come anywhere close to comprehending.)

(But back to Hell's Kitchen...)

Me, I'm rooting for Petrozza.

Here Come The Ladies

Tonight, the top 12 girls are performing on American Idol. Will they improve on the guys last night? Well, to be honest, they can’t do much worse. Not that any of the guys were really amazingly disastrous. They were just generally bland and inoffensive; a perfect combination for pop stardom but not for a chance to be anything unique.

When all is said and done, the only thing that you really need to know about American Idol is that Elvis Costello, David Byrne, Patti Smith, Elliott Smith, Jeff Buckley, Johnny Lydon, and Penelope Houston would probably have never made it past the audition stage.

I’ve got Big Brother on in the other room. I’m taping it so I can see which white trash couple got voted out and which remaining white trash couple will then proceed to become the new Head of the White Trash Household.

American Idol has just started. Ryan Seacrest just reminded judge Randy Jackson that Randy said that the boys “could really blow” last night.

Is there any way we could get Randy to no longer make that comment? Seriously, it’s a little bit creepy.

The girls, like the boys, are singing songs from the 60s tonight. Hopefully, they’ve actually selected some good songs from the ‘60s as opposed to Moon River.

As I wait for the time filling “Where They Started From” clip to end, now would be a good time to comment on the fact that a lot of this year’s finalists are actually professional musicians who have been involved in the business for quite some time. This really doesn’t bug me. After all, it’s just American Idol. I’ll save my moral outrage for the political prisoners in Cuba. Still, it is somewhat annoying that the show’s producers and judges still insist on pretending that this isn’t true.

There’s a commercial on for a new sitcom starring Parker Posey. She’s cool. It’s been a while since I watched Dazed and Confused.

Okay! The show’s back. Our first performer is Kristy Lee Cook who is obviously being presented as the second coming of Carrie Underwood. She’s singing Rescue Me. She’s got a good enough voice (though not a really interesting one) but this isn’t a good song for her. She’s too blonde and wholesome in her presentation. It’s hard to believe that she’s ever had to be rescued from anything in her life. She’s the epitome of safe, nonthreatening sexiness. I’m sure there will be a lot of very happy dirty old men when she gets around to posing for Maxim. The judges are giving her very qualified praise, i.e., it wasn’t good but that’s okay because you’re under pressure. Is she one of the ringers?

Joanne Borgella is next. She is better known as the plus-sized model that made this competition. The exact name of what she’s singing slips my mind. It’s that one that goes “Forever and ever and never will part…” At the beginning, she seemed pretty nervous and I really thought I was about to see a real disaster. But, her confidence obviously grew as she got used to the stage and by the end, she was actually pretty good. She narrowly pulled it off. Hopefully, she’ll stick around if just because I like her last name. It sounds close enough to Borgia to remind me that someday, I’m going to write a historical novel taking place during the time of the Borgia Popes.

We’re on commercials. My mind wanders. It was cold and wet yesterday. Now, it’s hot and dry. That’s Texas for you. Schizophrenic weather for a schizophrenic state. Know what I hate? Those car commercials that go “Zoom Zoom Zoom!” Seriously, isn’t it time to move on to something else? Car commercials always leave me wanting to be a pedestrian.

Okay, we’re back.

Next up is 16 year-old Alaina Whitaker from Tulsa, Oklahoma. She’s another blonde. She’s actually doing a pretty good job with that song that goes “I love you more today than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow” (I know, my memory for song titles is not good.) As opposed to the superficially similar Kristy Lee Cook, Alaina actually seems to understand that she’s singing about sex as opposed to holding hands. Of course, it’s a little disturbing that she seems to understand this at the age of 16.

More commercials. Just saw one for the upcoming big-budget-sure-to-be-disappointing movie 10,000 B.C. I really can’t work up much enthusiasm for any caveman film that doesn’t feature a mysterious black monolith from space or Racquel Welch.

And we’re back. Amanda Overmyer is up next. Amanda’s been described as a “rocker.” I think this is because the front of her hair is dyed a different color from the rest. She’s also been compared to Janis Joplin on every episode she’s appeared on. I have no idea what she’s currently singing but I kinda like it. I don’t think American Idol is going to be the best place for her style of singing. It’s not pop friendly. That said, I always find myself feeling that she’s trying a bit too hard to live up to this “Joplin” title that has been pushed on her. And, quite frankly, she’s not Joplin. Lita Ford, maybe.

More commercials. My telephone’s ringing. Why do people insist on calling my house? Seriously, don’t they realize that there’s no way in Hell I’m actually going to answer? The new Wendy’s commercial is on. Finally, they’ve abandoned those grotesque commercials featuring the men in the red wigs. Good for them. SCREW THE VISA CHECK CARD! Seriously, those commercials just annoy me. Now, a commercial for another new sitcom. “Meet four new recently single friends…” Uhmm, no thanks.

We’re back and professional model Amy Davis is about to go on. Davis has also been compared to Joplin. Maybe every one of the girls gets compared to Joplin at least once. Maybe that’s in the contract. She’s singing Where The Boys Are which, like last night’s Moon River, isn’t so much a song of the ‘60s as it’s a song that happened to be written in the ‘60s. Well, I don’t think we’ll be hearing any more Joplin comparisons as a result of this performance. Amy sung the Hell out of the song but it doesn’t help when the song in question is as amazingly dull as Where The Boys Are. As opposed to Janis Joplin, one gets the feeling that Amy Davis doesn’t have a really developed sense of irony. Paula Abdul just critiqued the song by saying that the camera loves Amy Davis. Hmmm, you think that might be why she’s a professional model?

Following Amy Davis is Brooke White who is singing So Happy Together. I actually think she’s doing a pretty good job with the song. It’s not great but then again, that song has got to be one of the most overplayed songs in the history of popular music. One gets the feeling that Brooke is a far better singer than what we’re seeing right now. Brooke is another one of the blondes and gives off an appealingly spacey vibe. She comes across like the type of girl that you always wished most hippie chicks were like.

Commercials. The GMC President’s Day Sale commercial with its amazingly annoying remix of Hail to the Chief. God, if I never hear that again…oh wait a minute. I am hearing it again. They always play that commercial twice in each commercial bloc. Way to be obnoxious, folks.

We’re halfway through the girls. Our seventh performer is Alexandrea Lushington. Check out that name. Lushington. That’s a great name though it works better for a fictional supporting character than for an actual breathing human being. She’s singing What Goes Up Must Come Down (yes, I’ve been reduced to identifying songs by lyrics as opposed to title) and she’s doing such a good job of it that I’m reminded that she’s supposedly one of the ringers. The only problem, to be honest, is that whenever I hear the song, I am reminded of the great Jeffrey Tambor singing the song on an old episode of The Larry Sanders Show. Tambor’s performance of the song was so brilliantly overdone that I’ve never been able to take it seriously since. Simon Cowell just complained that Ms. Lushington sounded like she was performing in some “terrible ‘60s musical.” Well, who decided they had to sing songs from the ‘60s in the first place!?

More commercials. I always find amusing when I’m told that if I start to have thoughts of suicide while taking an anti-depressant, I should speak to my doctor. Gee, ya think!?

Screw this. I’m getting a Coke.

Okay, I’m back and so is the show. Our next performer is blonde from Houston named Kady Malloy. Kady does Britney Spears impersonations and a pretty good one too. I can’t help it. I like Kady. Kady’s singing Groovy Kind Of Love. It’s a technically good performance but it really doesn’t have any individual personality to it. It’s kinda dull. Kady’s trying too hard. Loosen up. Sing some Britney. Kady looks like she’s getting a bit ticked off at the judge’s critique. I don’t blame her in the least. Randy’s a flake, Paula’s a nut, and Simon’s English.

Up next is Asia’h Epperson. Her father’s dead. This is relevant because that’s what we’re told every time she appears on the show. Asia’h just sang – oh, who knows? It was pretty good whatever it was but Randy just compared her to Janis Joplin.

More commercials. Time for a cigarette.

Outside, my cat stared at me the whole time I was smoking. His eyes said “Loser!”

Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose. Do you think Kris Kristofferson gets sick of hearing that?

Our next performer is Ramielle Malubay, the tiny girl with the big voice. She’s singing a very serious song which is kind of a mistake for her. She does a good enough job but it’s nothing great. She’d be better suited for a song with more energy to it. She could be a really fun performer.

Speaking of sad songs, my friend Gloria was singing Yo No Tengo Nada earlier today. It was pretty cool. Myself, I found myself singing 99 Problems at work this afternoon. What can I say? It’s just stuck in my head. If you’re having girl problems/I feel bad for you son/I’ve got 99 problems/but a bitch ain’t one…

More commercials. 99 problems but a bitch ain’t one…

And we’re back!

Our eleventh performer – hey, we’re nearly done! Syesha Mercado is up. Is she another ringer? Are they all ringers? Who knows? Who cares? Syesha is the one who got through despite losing her voice during Hollywood week. I actually like Syesha’s performance. Can’t understand a word she’s singing but she’s got more genuine energy than most of the other performers we’ve seen tonight. Randy said she had a couple of “pitchy things.” What the Hell are pitchy things?

More commercials. God, so many commercials. Fear not, we’re nearly done! You’re crazy for this one, Rick!. Sorry, I’m still trying to get 99 Problems out of my head.

The last performer is Carly Smithson. Carly is the most infamous of the ringers in that she actually had a much hyped, little bought album released in 2001. Well, I don’t care. I like Carly. She’s Irish and dammit, we need more Irish accents on American television. As for her performance tonight – well, don’t ask me what she’s singing. It’s a dreadfully boring song and a boring song usually makes for a boring performance. Carly sings the Hell out of it but the song is just flat. Randy’s going nuts over her performance. So is Paula. Look, guys, I like Carly but it wasn’t that good a performance. Oh, Simon disliked it. Well, he would being English and all. Good God, Simon, haven’t you people already done enough to the people of Ireland!?

Okay, it’s over. In the end – well, all the girls were good but it’s hard to think of a single one who could really claim to have made a name for herself on the basis of tonight’s show.

I’m off now to revel in the pure trashiness that is Big Brother. How many times will Julie Chen screw up tonight?

I can’t wait to find out.

The Perfect Drug

After years of being banned, absinthe is now being legally served in, amongst other cities, Boston, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas.

Finally, I have an excuse to visit Boston.

Actually, I find myself strongly suspecting that what's currently being served is so strongly diluted that it probably takes the sin right out of the absinthe, leaving the perplexed drinker with just a glass of abthe...

John Edwards Learns Something New Everyday

John Edwards, apparently, isn't sure whether or not Cuba has a state-run health system.

Perhaps economic and governmental theories were not his strong point when he was in college.

Anyway -- Yes, Sen. Edwards, Cuba does have a state-run health system.  It also has beautiful beaches, damn fine cigars, slave labor, scores of political prisoners, and Elian Gonzalez.

Cuba's leader is still, technically, Fidel Castro though his brother Raul Castro is officially filling in for him while Fidel deals with his current health problems.  That said, his ill-health has not prevented Fidel from appearing as "The Most Interesting Man In the World" in a recent spate of commercials for Dos Equis.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

15 More Random Thoughts

1) I’m watching Dateline NBC right now.  Is it just me or does reporter Keith Morrison look like a cadaver with an expensive haircut?  Seriously, it’s disturbing.

2) The original Dirty Harry is, in my opinion, one of the best cop films ever made.  That said, the first sequel – Magnum Force – is actually a pretty good movie as well.  Magnum Force is the one that features Clint Eastwood battling rogue highway patrolmen.  What’s especially interesting is that David Soul, Tim Matheson, and Robert Urich play those rogue motorcycle cops.  One rather infamous scene features Suzanne Somers getting gunned down by Soul.  When one considers that Eastwood himself first became prominent as a supporting player on Rawhide, Magnum Force almost becomes sort of an extremely dark version of one of those old Battle of the Network Stars specials.

3) Isn’t time for another Dirty Harry film?  It’s been nearly two decades since the last film in the series (that would be The Dead Pool, in which Eastwood investigates the murder of Jim Carrey) and, all things considered, I think America needs one last chance to see Harry Callahan in action.  How about Clint Eastwood teams up with another ‘70s film icon?  Yes, I am thinking of the one and only Pam Grier here.  Dirty Harry and Foxy Brown team up to take down Osama Bin Laden (played by Sid Haig).  Trust me, it could be a classic.

4) I love Texas but I hate the heat.  So, yes, even my relationship with my home is dysfunctional.

5) I was working on my novel In God’s Country earlier today and I finally found an excuse to have one of my characters (a rather neurotic tabloid journalist by the name of Ciara Conway) utter a line that’s been clanging around in my head for a while now.  The line?  “Have yeh gone out of yehr fuckin’ mind, then?”  I can’t explain why that line has held such a grip on my imagination but I’m glad I finally found an excuse to use it.

6) Speaking of the unexplainable, has anyone seen the commercials for the upcoming film Superbad?  For some reason, I start giggling every time I hear the line “Oh no, it’s the cops!”  Strangely enough, I’m actually looking forward to seeing the movie just so I can hear that line.

7) As much as I’ve blogged about the current season of Big Brother, I’ve actually grown somewhat sick of it.  I doubt I’ll still be watching it two weeks from now.

8) I miss Phil Hartman.

9) Chester A. Arthur was a far better President than most historians give him credit for.  That said, it’s probable he was actually born in Canada and therefore, should never have been allowed to succeed James Garfield in the first place.

10) 1989 was a good year.  Everything pretty much went downhill afterward.

11) Last time I checked my junk mail folder over at my hotmail account, I had about six e-mails all with the same subject line: "Kirsten Dunst Goes Bra-Less."  It's nice to think that apparently six different people that I've never heard of before decided to inform me of this.  Thanks guys!  However, I've got Crazy/Beautiful on DVD so, seriously, I doubt you guys have anything to show me that I haven't seen before.

12) Isn't it a little bit scary to consider the fact that all the members of the Brat Pack are rapidly approaching 50?

13) Chicken-fried steak.  A lot of people like it.  I've never understood why.

14) Best meal I ever ate?  A serving of Octopus and squid which I ate in Greece back in 1996.  That was -- as they say -- good eating!

15) I don't sleep enough.  So, I'm off to remedy that problem right now.  Thanks for reading.

Hell's Kitchen and the facade of reality

Hell's Kitchen is back!

Summer tends to be the time when, along with countless reruns, we get some of the more bizarre examples of primetime television; the weird little hybrids that never quite fit in with the rest of the primetime schedule but are still a slight step up from Jonathan Silverman's latest unsold pilot.

(To be honest,  I really can't say that there are all that many unsold Silverman pilots out there but it certainly seems like there should be, doesn't it?)

If Hell's Kitchen is nothing else, it certainly is bizarre.  This is the show where aspiring master chefs compete for their own restaurant while the very English and very blond Gordon Ramsey screams at them, ridicules them, and violently throws undercooked food in their faces.  This is the show where, inevitably, every third word uttered is a bleeped profanity. 

This season has seen the usual oddball collection of contestants.  Already, Aaron the Asian Cowboy has broken down into tears.  And this was without even getting yelled at once by Ramsey.  One wonders why someone that sensitive would apply for Hell's Kitchen in the first place.  Did he not see the first two seasons?

Amongst the other contestants, we got Julia (who, at this early point, I am actually rooting for) who is a short order cook from a waffle house.  She spent the entire premiere episode being rudely ignored while continually offering to make some eggs.  For three hours, apparently, her team struggled to make one plate of eggs until finally, Julia was allowed to make them.  She ended up getting the job done in a matter of minutes and good for her.

There's Eddie who, because of a kidney defect, looks like he's still a kid.  I think he might actually become the most annoying physically challenged reality show contestant since the Amazing Race's Charla. 

There's Vinnie who snapped back at Ramsey after that night's dinner service was abruptly ended.  There's always one every season and it's always fun to see Ramsey bit their cocky heads off.

And there's a lot of other chefs who, when not poisoning diners with poorly prepared meals, seem to be inching closer and closer to going over the cliff.

Technically, Hell's Kitchen is a reality show.  However, anyone who has ever watched Ramsey jumping up and down in the kitchen, screaming and turning red as flames burst out of pans and various aspiring chefs sit in the corner and have their own uniquely individual nervous breakdowns, know the truth.  Much like the Office, Hell's Kitchen is a brilliant comedy of (bad) manners hidden behind the facade of reality.

It's nice to have it back.

That said, I do have to wonder who all those hungry people are who keep showing up at Hell's Kitchen night after night.  Haven't they seen any of the previous episodes?  Don't they know the risk they're taking?

Thoughts on Babel and Campisi's Egyptian Lounge

Over the past two days, I have seen two excellent films featuring one of my favorite actresses, Cate Blanchett.  I saw Notes On A Scandal on Sunday and I just got back from seeing Babel.  Babel is one of those depressing films that leaves you feeling strangely exhilarated after seeing it.  To be honest, I'm still a bit too overwhelmed by it to really try to do a detailed review of it.  For now, I'll say that, for me, Babel is one of the best films I've seen in quite some time.  I'll also say that I understand why a lot of people probably won't feel the same way.  Still, it's a movie that I'd recommend to anyone interested in seeing what a true artist can do with film.

As a side benefit to the film itself, I saw Babel down at the Angelika Film Center.  The Angelika is in a relatively new upscale retail complex in Dallas.  The infamous Campisi's Egyptian Lounge sits right across the street and, as I had both a digital camera and some time to kill before the movie started, I spent about twenty minutes taking pictures.  According to some, Campisi's served as a sort of clubhouse for the Dallas Mafia in the '50s and '60s.  For the conspiracy minded, Campisi's was a supposedly a favorite hangout of both Lee Harvey Oswald's killer Jack Ruby and Officer J.D. Tippit, the police officer that Oswald supposedly shot after shooting John Kennedy.  Outside of the JFK connection, Campisi's has also been a frequent hangout for various members of the Dallas Cowboys over the years and practically every Cowboy scandal over the past few decades (whether it's Joey Heatherton's husband exposing himself to children in the '70s or Michael Irvin getting caught with cocaine in the '90s) seems to include at least one drunken visit to Campisi's.  In the Dallas popular imagination, Campisi's Egyptian Lounge is our own humble equivalent of New York City's Plato's Retreat; a place where our rich and famous engage in activities that the rest of us aren't supposed to know about.

(And, from what I've heard, the food's pretty good, too!)

What's interesting is that Campisi's, itself, is a rather nondescript looking building -- a bland little building with a white stucco facade and a faded sign out front that looks like it's been there since 1950.  (It probably has.)  The rather uninteresting look of the outside only tends to excite the imagination about what may or may not have happened inside there over the years.

As I stood across the street from Campisi's snapping pictures, I suddenly felt as if I had wandered into my own novel-in-progress, Life During Wartime. 

The plot of Life During Wartime deals with a young woman named Lisa Bowman.  Lisa is originally from Dallas but she's spent the last few years of her across the ocean in England.  An agoraphobe, Lisa is -- like most of the world now -- obsessed with thoughts of terrorism.  She lives her life terrified of the prospect that, at any moment, she could be killed by some anonymous fanatic acting on motives that she cannot begin to truly comprehend.  She's dealt with this fear by, more or less, isolating herself from the world.  Independently wealthy since the death of her husband, Lisa spends her days locked away in a flat in London. 

Her older brother, Jimmy, still lives in Dallas.  A talented writer, Jimmy is one of those intelligent people who somehow never managed to find the great future everyone expected for them.  In Jimmy's case, this is largely because he is a paranoid schizophrenic.  Jimmy goes through phases, alternating between being what society deems as "sane" and "insane." 

Life During Wartime opens with Jimmy calling his sister late at night.  Over the course of the incoherent conversation, it becomes quickly apparent that, after years of "normalcy", Jimmy's again showing signs of being unstable.  It also becomes apparent that, if left alone, Jimmy will become a danger to both himself and others. Their parents having died when they were children, Lisa and Jimmy have no immediate family and their own neurotic natures have pretty much prevented them from making the type of close friendships that most people take for granted.  As a result, Lisa is literally all Jimmy has and vice versa. Lisa forces herself to leave the safety of her own little world and manages to, if not conquer, deal with her own fears enough to actually board a plane and come over to Dallas to take care of her brother.

When Lisa reaches Dallas, her brother is nowhere to be found.  He's missing and, what's worse, the police are looking for him specifically so they can arrest him.  Lisa has to search for Jimmy on her own and it is a search that leads her into an underground world of conspiracies that threaten to confirm every one of Lisa's paranoid fears about leaving the safety of isolation in the first place.

Standing there across the street from Campisi's, I thought about all the secrets that some people believe that bland location hides and suddenly, it was as if I was in Lisa's mind, confronting a world where every image has something far different lurking behind it.  As I said before, I found myself standing in the middle of Life During Wartime and it was a transcendent feeling.  Every writer has, at least once, dreamed of that feeling; that moment when you know that you're imagination is producing something more than just a walking tour of your own secret obsessions.  It was that moment when fiction becomes reality.

So, in short, it's been a good day. 

And now, I'm going to go write.