Talking boobs over at the Riskies today.

So, yeah. Anyhoo.

So I have opened the Dreaded Synopsis (no longer titled the Stupid Synopsis, now it’s hateful and dreaded), and have worked through Act 1, as my sharp-eyed bud Liz Maverick said I had written. I need to pump up my hero to make him less immediately hateful, but I thought about that this morning after school drop-off, and I think I have a way to make him more likeable without removing his alphaness.

Which is to say it’s nowhere near done, but at least I am trying.

Wah.

I am embarrassed that it is taking me so darn long to edit the stupid synopsis (SS, for short), so I’m not going to post until I can say I’ve actually worked on it, at least.

Meanwhile, amuse yourself in the comments, if you like, by suggesting things I might like to do LESS than write a synopsis. I’ll start:

–Watch a Tom Cruise movie
–eat lima beans
–watch hockey on a small TV
–wear high heels
–read Ayn Rand
–memorize Robert Frost poems

Honestly, sometimes I can’t believe I can even come up with a topic on Fridays. I’m talking Regency anachronisms and such over at the Riskies today.

With these shoes:

And I haven’t been able to wear them, because we had a freak snowstorm this morning. Might be able to tomorrow, but they require stockings or trouser socks, and it’s going to be wicked cold.

Yes, they were spendy, but I think they’re gonna be worth it. Yay!

If I were really crass, I’d make some sort of Asian flu joke, but I’m not really crass. Heh.

But anyhoo, last night I watched a totally hammy rom-com called Needing You starring Andy Lau, my new favorite Asian actor. You know, I like me some Tony Leung and all, but Lau and Takeshi Kaneshiro–well, geez, heart be still a second. I have even gone so far as to find Andy Lau on YouTube (he’s a pop singer, too). Sad. So, so sad.

At least he’s made some good films. But I bet I’m gonna watch some more of the cheeseball ones he’s made just to see him again. Pa.Thet.Ic.

–saw Inglourious Basterds. I liked it a lot, especially Christoph Waltz’s performance. He definitely deserves all those awards.

–am cleaning the basement. Ongoing drama.

–figuring out financial stuff that makes my head spin, but my life ultimately better.

–bought heeled shoes I can actually walk in. Yay!

–internet wonky today.

–synopsis getting tweaked. Massive outpouring of thanks to the Alpha Sparkle Dog, as well as the remembered utterances of the Faux Critique Partner. The latter is why I am going to commit to killing off a character; it just feels right, and she says to follow your unconscious. I am, unless my unconscious is going to Queens.

–making plans to see the Picky Vegetarian in Portland in the Spring. Triple yay-ness!

Okay. More later.

Not the game, despite introducing my son and husband to it (Irkutsk! How I long for you!)

Over at the Riskies talking reading. And here’s a cover that is too–forgive the pun–titillating for over there, but was too much fun not to post:

One of my favorite musicians is Fela Kuti, not least because his songs are always way over 15 minutes long, so if you listen to just one at the gym while doing your workout, chances are good you’re more than halfway done with whatever aerobic activity you happen to be doing.

So yay for “Coffin For Head Of State,” which kept me going for more than 23 minutes. And then I listened to “Lady” (15 minutes) and ended up with Fela’s son Femi’s song “Beng Beng,” which is only 4:45.

(I worked on the urban fantasy synopsis today, it’s two pages, only a page short of what I’ve actually written on the darn thing itself! I am loving it. I wish I could sit down and blast it all out now, but life and SOMEbody’s son’s need to eat interfere).

Megan

Ruh-roh. I am becoming one of those batty ladies who dismisses things and people out of hand, just because I’ve taken an inexplicable dislike to them (as in, Julia Roberts. What has she ever done to me?)

But in this case, I think it’s entirely explicable. Because really, Mariah, would it kill you to go up a size? Talk about your golden globes:

Plus she does that dumb diva wave thing, where she waves like a three year-old, flapping her fingertips against her palm instead of waving like a normal person.