February 7, 2017.
So here’s a little story about me and my glamorous life.
When I am not writing critically acclaimed and adequately selling historical sci-fi books, I work in an office here in the city that never sleeps.
At work on Friday our whole department moved from the 25th floor to the 38th floor, and we all had to put stickers on all our stuff so that it would be delivered to the right place, which meant that my 52-year-old body had to climb under my desk to put stickers on the gigantic – I don’t know, let’s guess it is a “computer drive”? While I was down there I looked around to be sure that I wasn’t missing anything, and then I stood up, and this was my mistake: The whole standing-up-idea. A bad thing to do while one is under a desk. I blame the teachers, you know. When they were learning me the Oxford comma, they could have been learning me not to stand up when I’m under a desk.
The whole thing ended badly.
So I suffered from some headaches and dizziness and blurred vision all weekend, and while I was lying around on my couch, I watched The Million-Dollar Ripoff, Freddie Prinze’s only movie, which is better than you may have heard, if you’ve heard of it at all. It’s a bit of an inaccurate title, because it is about a million-and-a-half-dollar ripoff. It’s the 40th anniversary of the death of Freddie Prinze, and it kind of seems like yesterday.
Here’s a picture from the movie.