I was hoping to finish PPS tonight but I just fell asleep in the middle of typing a sentence and figured that might not be the best condition in which to write truly miraculous material, so that will have to wait for another day.
I'm really not trying to be Mr. Excuse, but it's hard to come home after working for ten hours logging footage and doing maniacal transcribing and then sitting down in front of the computer to type some more, even if it's on a much more invigorating level. I don't like writing in two/three-hour bursts. I like writing in two/three-day chunks.
Tomorrow night I've already made the decision to go back to BAM for the final screening of the Sam Peckinpah program. I wanted to see more, but life got in the way, and as I've never seen PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID, in mutilated or extended form, I feel that it's my obligation to attend. I know, I'm not cool, there are lots of things I haven't seen, but I'm trying, kids, I'm trying.
I just wrote out my rent check and realize that I'm broker than Joe Theisman's tibia and fibia. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, watch this. Yeah, I'm broker than that.