Hey! Two nights in a row. Not predigous output but definite signs that the butterfly has landed for a while. Just called me Forrest Gumption.
A weird thing happened tonight. The stuff I was trying to right was so bleak (at least that was the intention) that I actually depressed myself writing it. It was very odd. I’m not entirely sure that I can keep this up for a whole book. Which makes me think why the hell anyone would want to read it. I think that until I remember that that is exactly the kind of book I like to read. So, I’ll buy a copy.
Ok, so, the Mr. Sulu story (such as it is, I can hear Stu groaning already). I was working in a bookshop on Princes St. It was summer and the festival was in full swing. Who should walk in but George Takei. He was doing a play in the festival about a Japanese guy that thought the war was still on. We held our breath (am I over-egging the tension here?). He did a few laps of the postcard stand and approached the till with 3 postcards. 15p each, “45p please”. And he replied with these immortal words:
“Is that a fifty, I’m not familiar with your currency?”*
The rest is all a blur. Suffice to say I didn’t utter any embarassments and didn’t get an autograph. All I got was my cheapies.
* Yes, I do the voice normally.