In which I whine a whole bunch.

I'm tired.

My back aches. My hip (pelvis, really) is in constant pain.

I conducted three interviews in 24 hours. They didn't go too badly, as Will swooped in on his white charger and helped me come up with questions, but I had to resort to primitive recording methods. Now I have to transcribe the tapes, which is something like a game of Mad Libs with a French accent (two of the interviews were with native French speakers). I hate transcribing under the best of circumstances. This is pretty much a nightmare. Oh, and one of them should have been typed up yesterday, another tomorrow, and the third ASAP. I'm screwed.

This weekend is Fangoria's Weekend of Horror Con, which I am looking forward to. I'm really nervous, though, because I'm not good at doing anything for eight hours straight (hence the lack of day job). I get tired. There's never anything good to eat. I have to carry around a huge, heavy bag, and still always wind up not having the thing I need most. I just hope there are places to sit down. If not, you just know I will show up at some poor sucker's table and demand to be allowed to sit with him while he signs autographs. Or her. But probably him.

(Lest you think I am totally unappreciative of my mostly awesome job, yesterday I talked to Jennifer Tilly on the phone and this weekend I GET TO MEET BRUCE CAMPBELL.)

Last night we went to a fancy-pants screening of Ninotchka, another movie in the list of proof that 1939 was the greatest year on record, war be damned, at the Orpheum Theatre on Broadway in the Historic District. It was hosted by the Los Angeles Conservancy and Turner Classic Movies, and featured a newsreel restored by the UCLA Archivists and of course a cartoon. It was generally awesome, though the seats were really uncomfortable and my back is really aching now. Unfortunately, like Most Things Hollywood, there was a catered cocktail hour beforehand. We got there at 7:00, half an hour before our average dinner hour. I had not eaten, since I don't tend to get hungry until it's time to eat (convenient, isn't that?), so we headed straight for the "food." Even with the quotes, I can't rightfully call it food, and wouldn't even call it provender. It was DISGUSTING. First of all, nothing was vegetarian. There were these little pastry-like things with spinach (I THINK) in them that were vaguely edible, though I could taste what was either bacon or disgustingly blue cheese. That is, edible until the second one, which had HUGE PIECES OF PIG IN IT. Everything downtown closes at 7:00. Even the convenience stores. I'm sure there are restaurants open for dinner, but not where we were. I had to settle for Burger King french fries (the most disgusting of fast foods) to keep my stomach from eating its own lining. I know that if it weren't for the fact that I knew I couldn't eat, I'd have been fine till after the movie and we could have just stopped somewhere on the way home. But no.

The catering was provided by Ciudad Restaurant on Figueroa. They are on the BOYCOTT FOR LIFE list.

I'm really just a little bit grumpy today.