February Sweeps - Day 386

Last night on "Saturday Night Live," they actually did a sketch about Olivia Rodrigo's "drivers license."  I guess I'll post it here:

The thing that's so funny is that it can't just be me.  The best part is when Kate McKinnon as some old Italian dude says it's been fifty-five years since he got his driver's license, and it still hits him so hard.*  I felt truly blessed (and I mean that in the lamest POSSIBLE way) that I heard that song this week, so that I got the joke of this SNL sketch.  It makes me feel less alone.

Oh, but I am alone.  Who knows what I have spoken to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night?

...when all my life seems to shrink.

Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In February: 2229

So, I spent the late morning and early afternoon out and about, having taken my gross, corroded car battery out of my car and, borrowing my mom's car, replacing it with a new, clean battery from the store.  I got home, installed it into my own car and . . . it wouldn't start.  Wouldn't even try.

My uncle fears that something terrible has gone wrong in the car, and he's probably right, but I'm choosing not to think about it right now.

Push-ups Today: 55
Push-ups In February: 2015

I've mentioned (several times on my podcast, and plenty of times whilst straining on the toilet) that I find the era of the pulp magazines to be a romantic one.  The idea of HAVING to produce a new story every week (or multiples, depending on how many contacts and pseudonyms you had) is a daunting one.  It makes me wish I were a bit better at producing content.

But Rish, you say with all charity, you do plenty!  You wrote every day for a year, and put out a ton of podcast episodes!  If we count audio sketches, you easily wrote two stories every month in 2020!  And you're not nearly as fat as you think you are, as long as we turn down the lights!

Well, thank you, stranger.  I appreciate that.

But still, I had this idea about the twins (I want to title it something like "Unidentical Twins" or "Inexact Duplicates" or something like that; if only there were a word that was the opposite of "identical"), and I doubt I'll ever write it, despite thinking about it on Friday's run, trying to figure out how it could end.**  

As far as writing goes, I got almost none done today.  I jotted down some notes for a story for a contest I'm not going to enter (if I can come up with a satisfying ending, it'll be a good one), and I discovered I had not only never recorded my story "Murdertown - 1 Mile," but that Gino made a cover for me years ago and I never published the story on Amazon.

So, I will remedy that this week.  Also, should I do an episode of the podcast about it?  Seems like I could talk for a little while about my fascination with little towns that have their own effed up rules and traditions.

Words Today: 348

Words In February: 14,882

*I don't get it either, but this sketch aired on that kid's eighteenth birthday.  Imagine that.  I hope she understands . . . but there is NO WAY she can . . . that it will never get better for her than it is right now.  The number one song in the world, when has that happened except for charity singles and Christmas tracks?  Of course, the pandemic will lift and she can play her piano to sold-out stadiums and stuff, probably win awards, probably date Tom Hiddleston or Ryan Gosling, maybe have kids of her own, but seriously, it's all downhill from here.  This is her "Thriller" moment, this is her "Ed Sullivan Show," right now. 

**Mostly, I just wanted to come up with a good--yet not overused--explanation as to why the sister of the main character has changed.  Is it all in Layla's head?  Has her sister been brainwashed by some evil organization then sent back into suburbia like a less-spectacular version of Blofeld's plan in ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE?