The Curse of Future Tom has been going strong for over two months now, and things are going quite well. Better than I ever could have expected after such a short period of time.
I’ve been worried that something serious could happen – I could get violently ill, or I could get in a car crash, or I could get arrested for attempting to rob an armored car. The world is a crazy place and incredibly old – all sorts of things go down. You never know.
So I’ve been worried that something like that would happen, and pure circumstances would keep me from putting up Future Tom. Not even a direct meteor strike is a decent excuse – I said every single day.
Like for instance when I went off on a corporate rant, WordPress coincidentally had problems the next day, and I nearly couldn’t get the next one up in time.
I got it up there, but I’m capable of some pretty serious paranoia. My immediate alarmed suspicion was, holy crap, The Man caught wind of my corporate rant, and He shut me down. Better go peer out the window between the slats of the blinds, start pacing around and stocking bottled water.
Shawn and my brother thought the same thing – they were prepping the Alpha Site at an Undisclosed Location for nearly forty five minutes before WordPress came back to life with my rant intact.
It would have been a good time to admit we were all paranoid, but instead we drank whiskey and celebrated – because we knew The Man could shut us down.
So after surviving a direct assault from the evil corporate cabal which rules the world, after verifying there were no meteor strikes and pushing back the timetable on the armored car job, I thought we were in the clear.
Imagine my surprise when the entire thing was nearly derailed by what is now known as The Fried Chicken Incident.
See, many of you may know that I like to eat delicious food and that I have lost all interest in cooking it. So what I do is, I purchase the ingrediants, and I arrange them in a visually pleasing manner in the kitchen or in the fridge.
Then I see what happens. Usually what happens is, my wife cooks the ingrediants. It’s pretty cool.
So last week, I went on Facebook and started shooting off my mouth about some fried chicken I had at Sarah and Jason Courtney’s house. I had been walking around for days shooting my mouth off about it, so it seemed fitting.
Sarah had explained to me that she soaked the chicken in buttermilk before preparing it, so I went to the store and bought chicken, bought buttermilk, and placed them front and center in the refrigerator, with a six pack of Corona.
The week before I had done something similar with pancakes, resulting in a spectacular plate of them – two days later.
So I wasn’t sure if I was going to experience the same time lag or not – I kept popping by the kitchen, checking things out, and eventually found the chicken soaking in a bowl of buttermilk in the fridge.
Marilyn then took the girls to go drive around and pick up more girls. I stayed home and worked on a massive revision of my book, which I’ll go into later. This massive revision had nothing to do with the daily post on Future Tom, and that was the reason I was doing it first.
What typically happens is, when I’m pressed for time, I sit down and have maybe an hour or two to write something and post it at the end of the day. It’s a terrible feeling, the clock cruising right up to the cutoff time – it’s eight o’clock on Worpress, for whatever reason.
So frequently it’s seven-fifteen and I don’t know what to write about, and then for instance, my cat drags a stuffed monkey into the room for an out-call, and that’s what you wind up hearing about that night.
Once I’ve managed to post whatever I’ve managed to write, if it’s the end of the day, I tend to be a little exhausted and relieved, and also I have a family who likes to sit in the same room with me sometimes. Working on the massive revision is usually something I assume I’ll be doing tomorrow.
So that was why I started the massive revision while the house was empty, while the chicken soaked in buttermilk – because I wasn’t tired yet, and I knew I’d post something later because I have to.
Suddenly it was six o’clock, and I thought, well. I’d better get started on part two of the ghost hamster story. I liked the ghost hamster story.
So I sat down to do it, and then Marilyn came home, with a large number of squawking girls.
And it turned out, Marilyn was fine with making buttermilk fried chicken – even though I hadn’t asked nicely, and even though she is a vegetarian – but the idea that she was going to do it while I sat downstairs in the office and typed, well she wasn’t crazy about that.
I wasn’t crazy about it either, so I sat up there watching her make fried chicken, which turned out to be delightful – corn on the cob, mashed potatoes – but it didn’t allow me to focus very well.
And I almost forgot completely about it. It taught me a lesson about buying ingredients and hanging signs on them and then putting off writing until exactly dinnertime.
That’s also why we’re talking about fried chicken today instead of a ghost hamster – I’ve got to put a spacer day in here, get time to think this thing through. I’m not a hundred percent positive where I’m going with it.