Another week of juggling manuscripts in various states: rough drafts to polished prizes to final corrections. All to make sure they do one thing: communicate a story without stumbling. What I do requires a whole lot of trying to get into authors’ and editors’ heads, trying to glean the motivation and meaning behind the words. It’s almost enough to give one an identity crisis.
A nice, long walk this morning, followed by an exciting drive in Randy’s Jeep (which I totally plan to avoid driving in the future–no left arm space unless you hang out the window like a leadfooted Big Daddy Roth monster). A little bit of grocery shopping. Retail therapy. La Hacienda for dinner. I needed a cheese enchilada. Time to kick it: KCSM, a manuscript, and an adult beverage. Tonight, I’m cracking open a Rubicon Hopsauce Double IPA. Hopsauce? Promising.
Does this beer smell funny to you? Lenny Bruce is one of my heroes. A tragic hero, sure, not to mention an excellent example of how to be a bad example. But his insistence on fully exercising his freedom of speech: American Dream-level heroic.
So I put on my robe and wizard hat tonight and ventured out to see the latest Harry Potter flick. I’m not much of a bildungsroman kind of guy. I haven’t seen the last four. No worries. HP8 was pure angst and action. Characters I was supposed to care about dropped like flies. People exploded. Banks defaulted. Monsters monsted. A good time was had by all. ‘Cept the guys that died, of course. Plus, Batman trailer. Made me want to […]
Trying to prolong Sunday night by watching the old Thriller episode “Pigeons from Hell” and drinking a Rogue Somer Orange Honey Ale.
It’s been a beautiful summer day. I read a few short stories for pleasure, walked Maddie down to Wickersham Park and back, and wandered downtown with Jennifer to check out the annual sidewalk sale. Now, we’re settling in for the night and watching the Giants/Brewers game on TV while I crack into a Black Diamond Wheat Wacker India-Style Wheat Ale, apparently an “experiment in the Belgian fashion.” Wait, what? Is it a wit? Is it an IPA? Is it some […]
It’s a gentle madness, but a madness nonetheless. I’ll be walking through the grocery store, minding my own business, then suddenly I’ll hear the call of the cooler. Double IPA, it whispers. Double IPA. But Marin Brewing’s Eldridge Grade White Knuckle is not just a DIPA, it’s a “Double IPA Ale.” Shades of “ATM machine” or “PIN number.” But with that fistful of medals on the label, I won’t begrudge them a little redundancy. So long as the beer lives […]
Sunday night is upon us, leaving me wondering where the weekend went. I’m not sure I’m ready for tomorrow to be Monday. I had about eight hundred thousand words I was hoping to read. Instead, I read about eighty thousand, maybe I’ll hit a hundred tonight. Fortunately, most of those were the right words. So I’m pouring a “modern all-malt trippel dry-hopped and bottle conditioned” for words spilled and all those words yet to be read.
We’re over at Jan and Randy’s for veggieburgers and the baseball game. I’m having a New Belgium Lips of Faith Super Cru.
After I tried Ballast Point’s Sculpin IPA, I determined I’d try whatever I could from them. Tonight, Wahoo. What’s a Wahoo? Looks like a flying barracuda on the label.
