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Faux hillbilly quote of the evening:

Guy (slow southern drawl): Do you need something for your marshmellows? You know, when a lady accepts a man's poking stick...(regular voice, horrified) Oh wait! No, forget I said it!

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I just informed my mother--in all sincerity--that her gold fish were named Humphrey and Wainwright.

What kind of person doesn't name her goldfish?!

There's a fine line between crazy and CRAZY and that sound you heard was me trampling all over it.

One more interview to pump out before two AM.

My day has been a mess of writer's block and cookies. So many cookies...

If this is swine flu, I want you to know it's been a pleasure knowing you all.

Writers Note: I need to find a way to make my craft more tactile. A musician gets blocked, he can shred on his guitar for a bit. A potter doesn't like her work, she can smoosh the clay back down and start over. If I throw a hammer at my computer, I'm dead.

I just did something that wasn't on my list for the day--and in a panic grabbed my list, wrote down said item...and crossed it out.

Is there a name for this sort of disease?

Memo to musicians everywhere: The English language is broad and deep. The next one of you I catch rhyming "down" with "town" or using any variant of the "Bird with clipped wings" metaphor, I will personally eviscerate. Words are beautiful! Use them! They're one of the few things we lonely people have.