What can we, The Lords, do with a punk like you?

This morning I came across this article on advertising in books.
( full text here )

Which, of course, squicks me out. Then again, if some big company contacted me today and wanted to give me boatloads of money to write a story prominently featuring their product, I can't say I wouldn't be tempted. Maybe that's what pseudonyms are for. Except, I'm guessing the reason they would approach me in the first place is name recognition. Perhaps I should start establishing my whoring nom de plume now.

Last night I went to see "Dawn of the Dead" with vimandvigor, starring the Canadian Uma Thurman and the poor man's Hugh Jackman, which was a pretty horrible movie. I don't mean "horrible" because of it's gore and horror factor, I mean it was crappily made and acted. But you know, I can still have lots of fun in a bad movie if I have the right attitude and right company, which I did. Especially since it was in the realm of so bad it was good. In addition to zombies-on-fire! there was also zombie-baby! Unfortunately or fortunately there wasn't a zombie-dog. I was hoping it would happen even though it would creep me out more and I'd probably make Sophie sleep in a crate for several nights.

I had dreams based on the movie, but they weren't nightmares. I was just packing up food and supplies for a long trip in an RV where I would be isolated from civiliation for an undetermined amount of time. But I don't know why I was doing it -- there didn't seem to be any zombies present.

Perhaps I should have just rented the original. Except I doubt that one has such highly amusing montage sequences. I'm mildly obsessed with them. I want to make a montage movie of montages.

Quietly whisper while my heart wants to scream

I'm in the midst of a literary journal campaign, which basically means I'm researching publications, both print and online, to send my stories. I've come across a couple times mention of Shelley Jackson and both times I sit and sit and sit and think, "damn I thought for sure she was dead -- are these posthumous stories her estate has sold? She's certainly dead". Then today I saw Shelley Jackson will be at a reading on Friday night in town. And then I finally realized that Shelley Jackson is alive and well and writing (about what, I don't know) and I was thinking of Shirley Jackson.

Which makes me think I should write under the name Raymond Carter, as a marketing ploy to be on the shelf next to Raymond Carver.

Some white guy is sitting in Next Door Co-worker's desk doing data entry and I don't like it. She's having surgery today. As soon as she leaves for good, I'm adjusting the cubicle half-wall so that the window between our desks is gone. I will miss her dearly, but hopefully her absence will inspire me more to get myself out.

I had a dream last night that I received a letter in the mail and I was really looking forward to reading it but got distracted and then woken up before it happened. It feels significant.