I read that author John Grisham uses the names of his college buddies for the villains in his books. So now that I’ve started writing a novel of my own (if you count one page as a start), I asked my friend Natalie what sort of villain she’d like to be. Here’s the note I received in response:

I’d like to be the intelligent, deceitful, calculating woman, beautiful of course, that turns everyone’s head but is out of reach except to the handsome lead man who is able to turn me around from a life of deceit and crime to a life of law and order. We ride off into the sunset to perform good works. Will it sell? Do what you can.

I think she’s trying to take over the main character's role. I just might have to make her a gum-smacking ne'er-do-well instead.

Happy 40th birthday, Russ!

A family friend called Information last week in an attempt to locate her periodontist. The operator couldn't find a listing under the doctor's name, so my friend tried to offer more detail. But the only area of specialty that came to mind at the time was "podiatrist." Finally, she said, "He's a gum guy!" The operator cracked up and said, "This one's going on the wall!"

So now I have a new goal in life: to say something that will make the Information "wall."

Does anyone know where I can find an article or photo of Brad Pitt or Jennifer Aniston? I'm having a really hard time finding material about them these days (unless you count the last 112 magazine covers I've spotted....)

A coworker seemed impressed with my healthy eating habits when he caught me eating raisins at my desk this morning. Then I had to confess that I'd had leftover birthday cake for breakfast. (But only because I'd planned to have some last night, but forgot, and it's becoming staler by the hour.) Tomorrow, it's back to my usual yogurt and whole-wheat toast....

I think the Post Office should make a set of really ugly stamps that people could use when they mail in their bills.

My Saturday afternoon realization: the odds of running into someone you know at the mall are directly proportionate to how bad you look on that particular day.

Why do so many Christian speakers sum up the attitude of today’s society by quoting the once-popular expression, “If it feels good, do it” - even though nobody’s seen the bumper sticker, or heard the saying (by anyone but Christian speakers) since circa 1980?

I just spent 54 minutes on the phone - mostly on hold - trying to resolve a computer problem. The phone system plays a catchy little instrumental tune for callers while they're on hold. You know what I discovered? No tune is catchy after 54 minutes.

Karen's self-serving blog entry:
Today is my birthday.
Let the well-wishing begin.

I found a punctuation error on my renewal form for Copy Editor newsletter. I am bitterly disillusioned.

I've had a cold since Thursday (or at least something with symptoms in the cold/flu/West Nile virus category). One of my odder symptoms: I went almost deaf in one ear for a couple of days. I went shopping with my friend Kim on Saturday, and warned her ahead of time that she might have to repeat herself a lot. Actually, we had the opposite problem. Since I couldn't judge the volume of my own voice, I ended up talking more softly than usual, and she kept having to ask me to repeat myself. About half of our conversation was made up of the word "Huh?" She was a good sport to spend the day wandering the mall with a lackluster, half-deaf, muttering friend.

Jamba Juice is my latest food fad. Orange-A-Peel and Peach Pleasure are my standbys, though I think Mango-A-Go-Go is more fun to say.

The trouble with being a writer is that I overanalyze everything I put into words. I need a rough draft to write a simple message on a Post-It Note. (You think I’m exaggerating, don’t you?) When I compose a work-related e-mail, the topic at hand often calls for an expression of appreciation. Usually, I'll start with a simple “Thanks.” But the word looks cold, sitting there at the end of the message with a simple period at the end. So I’ll change it to “Thanks!” - which seems to have too much of a perky-cheerleader tone for the workplace. So I’ll go back and forth between “Thanks” and “Thanks!” before I finally rework the last sentence, or just pick one and send it.

No wonder I haven’t managed to write a book yet.

I read an article quoting a telemarketer who said half of her calls ended with cursing or hang-ups. I don’t think I’ve ever been rude to a telemarketer (I figure it’s pretty close to the bottom of the list of desirable jobs), but the calls do try my patience. My friends Mark and Brenda decided to turn the annoying calls into a source of entertainment. Before the telemarketer could jump into his/her spiel, they would ask, “If you could have anyone struck mute for a day, who would it be?” The question caught the callers off guard, but most came up with an answer. The funniest response came from a guy who said, without skipping a beat, “My girlfriend.”

Some coworkers and I were discussing the fact that a person can’t get AIDS from ingesting blood. (I’ll spare you the details of the news story that prompted the conversation.) Our college intern, not completely convinced, asked, “What if you ate, like, a bag of blood?” Somehow that doesn’t make my list of Things I’m Worried About.

I never watch “Will and Grace,” but Kevin Bacon’s guest appearance on last night’s show was hilarious. I’m not sure which was better - the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon reference, or the “Footloose” dance reenactment.

I was going through my checkbook the other night and had one of those “Where does all the money go?” moments. My spending over the summer was fairly lean, and it seemed my checkbook balance should have been much larger as a result. This morning I happily discovered the real problem: I’d forgotten to record one of my paycheck deposits. It looks like I’ll be able to buy groceries this week after all. Maybe I’ll go on a mall spending spree to celebrate.

I have piano-playing phases. I won’t touch my piano for months, then I’ll suddenly develop renewed interest and start playing every day. I tend to lose track of time when I'm at the keyboard, especially when I put something on the stove and then head for the piano - supposedly to kill just a few minutes until my dinner is ready. I’ve burned more food that way....