Trini was at her wedding shower yesterday, and I don’t know how it went because I was already passed out by the time she got home, stinking of kitchen gadgets and stripper musk (her, not me [I think]), but I had the place to myself all day and it pretty much went like:

—What if you wrapped a granola bar in a slice of mozzarella cheese. Would that taste good. Would it constitute an actual meal.

—“2 Become 1” by the Spice Girls is forever locked in my head. It interrupts every single waking thought. It courses through my very soul. It’d totally be better if it had a longer coda with bigger, sweepinger synth-strings.

—What kind of bird is that. It’s yellow. No as a matter of fact I will not pick up A Field Guide to the Birds of Eastern and Central North America which is sitting right there because I can never find the right bird before it flies away and I don’t need that kind of disappointment. Ignorance is better than disappointment.

—OK. Bastila. Mission. Let’s make it ladies’ night out in Kashyyyk.

—What’s this. What is this wide swath of unshaved face. How did I miss all that.

—This is the most perfect movie scene ever. Every line is alive with flavor. It hums. It refracts light. You’d think I’d be able to do better than a vague paraphrase: “I called her every night.” “Every damn night?” “Every night, man, that’s what I’m saying.” “On the telephone?” “What this boy talkin bout, ‘on the telephone’?” “Esplaaaaain it to him.” Etc.!

—I need to nail down the tux situation. With nine inch nails — like Jesus!

—It’s OK for this book to be one chapter in this big ongoing saga, but it still has to be self-contained, and have enough payoff at the end to be satisfying. It either should or shouldn’t be like the end of Starship Troopers.

—I have so many dreams about my teeth falling out that even in the dreams themselves I mention how cliche it is. But still.