Stacy Horn

From now on when I can’t do something, that will be my answer.  No explanations.  Just a simple, “unable.”  I would give examples, but I don’t want to alarm the people who are asking me to do things I fear I can’t do.

I passed this store yesterday.  I think it said “make-up for professionals” or “professional makeup,” I forget.  In any case, it’s a Makeup Forever store and it reminded I have to start seriously thinking about what I look like.  I’m going to be getting up in front of people again and again to give talks, readings, etc., and I’ll be miserable if I don’t feel pretty.  

I need to pick outfits, schedule a facial, a pedicure—no one will see my feet, but it will put a necessary spring in my step.  And maybe I should stop by this place? We better not have this conversation though:

Me:  Make me pretty, please.
Them:  Unable.

I may change my mind tomorrow, but for now, I think he has it better.  Or maybe one of those pet daycare centers might be better.  By the way, I was walking behind them, and this was one of the most well-behaved, most laid-back pack of dogs I have ever seen.  Good doggies, all of them.

Everyone has their Valentine’s Day themed windows up.  I like pink and red and flowers, so I’m pleased.

So.  American Idol.  Still not tired of it, still enormously entertained.

Oh God, I have nothing of substance to say this morning.  I’m feeling completely panicked and frazzled still and that I have to jump right back into work promoting this new book and cannot waste a single second.  Or my world will end, I guess.  No more American Idol for me.  I have to do everything I can think of.

I do want to read that Times article about the National Academy of Sciences report about forensic science in the country, though.  I just skimmed it and immediately posted about it on my blog for The Restless Sleep. The original title of my post there was simply, “Uh oh.” But I decided that was unprofessional and changed it.

So yeah. I have to get to work right away in order to dispel this feeling of certain doom.  I need a fairy godmother or something.

From time to time I try to capture the bigatude of Finney. Just as I clicked to take a picture he started licking my face, so that’s why my face is blocked.

You can tell how big is he in this, right? His body takes up my whole upper half. And I think that’s more of him extending below the arm that is holding him.

He’s bigger than a lot of dogs.  Imagine me holding a chihuahua compared to this.

He’s a monster beast of a cat is my point.

That reminds me, my favorite part of whatever award ceremony I was watching, the Golden Globes maybe, was Mickey Rourke’s tender love for his dogs, one of which is a tiny chihuahua.  To see this hulk of a man completely in the thrall of a little dog is just irresistible.

I’m taking a break from doing everything I can to promote my book.  There’s going to be reviews in Marie Claire, BUST and something in the Washington Post, although I don’t know if that’s going to be a review per se.  I can’t wait. Hoping against hope that they all say something positive.

I took this picture of the hippie van that’s always parked on Perry Street yesterday afternoon, while we were still at the level of a dusting.  By the time I left for choir it was a winter wonderland out there, but I forgot to bring my camera.

A little panicked about all I have to do today. My to-do list:

– Send out Facebook invites.
– Write pitches for science articles.
– Decide about launch party and firm up.
– Verify projector available for presentations.
– Get posters made for places without projectors.
– Finish presentation.

Not very exciting, I know.  I’m going to this WTC Tribute Center event later. Should be interesting:

Lower Manhattan History Tour
Wednesday, February 4 – 6:30 – 8:00PM

Local historian Oliver Allen shares stories about neighborhoods and architectural landmarks.