I Fall to Pieces

Hey! I thought you'd want to know I found THE COMPLETE GODS AND GODDESSES OF ANCIENT EGYPT. They were on a shelf, of all places! Wedged right in between the Oscar Wilde bio we read in the Million Dollar Book Club and MAMMALS OF THE WORLD: A CHECKLIST. You know what else I found? This month's electric bill. I looked everywhere for it for a couple of days and then I just paid it by phone. My friend Quinn had already made fun of me once for still using paper checks. Well, she wouldn't make fun of me. She expressed incredulity. Anyway, it was on top of a tall bookcase for no reason I can figure out. Despite all the efforts of medical science, I'm falling apart. Hey, Ward McCarthy and I once tried to adapt Tom Franklin's short story "Grit" into a feature-length screenplay called I FALL TO PIECES, but as we expanded it, the story became goofier and goofier (it is not at all a goofy story) and, indeed, distored beyond recognition. So no one enjoyed that. We called it I FALL TO PIECES because in the story, the bad guy - and here comes a spoiler for Tom Franklin's short story "Grit," from his first collection, POACHERS, and my description may be inaccurate and misleading, so there are two caveats here, and counting! - as I was saying, the bad guy is put into a machine and ground into tiny pieces of grit. Also, the good guy was falling to pieces in a less literal way, now that I think of it. Pretty good title! And the song that should play over the closing credits is obvious, making the job so easy for the hypothetical music supervisor. Oh, well. This "post" brought to you by the new "internet" that is no longer the godawful AT&T "internet." If I hadn't quit social media like the hero I am, I would be on there every minute of the day griping about AT&T and feeling like a big he-man who was really going to change the world.