The summer hours thing sure aren’t making this week go any faster, I can tell you that much. I have this weird fear that on Friday morning they’re going to tell us that it was all a hoax, or that they’ve decided to call it off, and we’ll have worked nine extra hours for nothing. Of course, our e-mail server has been pretty unreliable the past couple of days, so I guess I could always claim that I didn’t get that announcement. Either way, I’m looking forward to leaving early on Friday, but I’m definitely already feeling those extra forty-five minutes each day.
With the exception of conferences, I haven’t really worked any “overtime” in years. (And even conferences include a free trip somewhere.)
This evening, I took a different train out of Manhattan, to meet my parents at the eye doctor and drive them home. Which is about the extent of the excitement here for this Wednesday.
I did, however, finally decide to close Kaleidotrope down to submissions starting August 15. I’ll re-open on January 1. This will hopefully ease some of the pressure at my end, since I’m already at least two or three issues ahead; while the slush pile is pretty manageable, a break is always nice, as is being able to publish stories less than two or three years after acceptance.
Given the continually rainy weather we’ve been having — no real relief from the humidity, though — today it’s “Storms” by Railroad Earth. A favorite from last year, making it on to my “Best of 2009″ mix,” which just happened to come up on my iPod shuffle earlier this evening before I left the office.
I’m very proud of the fish-slapping dance we did in Python. We rehearsed this silly dance where John Cleese hits me with a fish and I fall into Teddington Lock. We were so intent on getting the dance right that I didn’t notice the lock had cleared and instead of it being a 2ft drop into the water it was a 15ft drop. I’m very proud of doing that.
The rest of the interview is pretty interesting too — he didn’t think A Fish Called Wanda was a good script when he first read it — although residents of his “worst place ever,” Prince George, British Columbia, might not love it.
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