The Apocalypse has begun.
Tori Spelling is now an ordained minister.

Thanks to everyone for their help on my character’s name. I especially appreciated the past student who suggested his own name. And the former friend who listed an old grade school boyfriend (I still can’t talk about that one). And of course, there was Aloysius—which I have to look up every time I reference it to make sure I spelled it right (and I haven’t). So the boy wonder in The Big Picture is still Tate. One syllable Tate. I think if I named him Aloysius or Clovis he would be serial killer Aloysius or mad bomber Clovis. Nobody survives names like those without psychological damage.

Speaking of psychological damage, word is Nicole Richie is pregnant. (Please see above note on Apocalypse.) In an interview, her dad Lionel Richie (Say you! Say me! Say I’m a grandpa. That’s the way it should be!***) says he doesn’t know if Nicole’s in the family way or not and sent out a message for his daughter to call him. If daddy was my bankroll, I’d totally call him and fill him in. The Simple Life will not go on forever, as Paris has seen the light and decided she’s not so simple. And your DJ boyfriend—well, he spins records. For a living. Mama’s baby’s daddy is Sir Mix-A-Lot. Yeah, I’d be calling Lionel. Maybe say, “Hello…? Is it me you’re looking for?”***

*** (If you were born after 1980, that’s a song reference. Insert laugh here.)

Off to see Monty Python’s Spamalot! Very excited about this. I’ve been listening to the CD, and I applaud anyone who can find a quality rhyme for “take a pee.” It takes just the right word combination. Should be a good time. We are headed to Tulsa, OK. Coincidentally, this is the setting for my next series. Are bawdy plays about men in tights tax write offs?

A good weekend to all.