This interminable bug seems to have gone at last, but has left behind a persistent, wracking cough. The less I talk, the less I cough. But, I have always been prone to these coughs after illness, and Altoids help. Oh, and not only have they gone and changed the tins again, they've taken out the artificial flavouring and the glucose syrup, which are good changes (that have affected the flavour not at all). But, yeah, cough, cough. Oh, and I stink like Tiger Balm, because I'm learning it's not so much the fits as the damage I manage to do to myself during the fits. There was a smallish seizure night before last, and I pulled a muscle in my neck, which made yesterday all sorts of fun.

But, there is sun coming in the office window, and it looks like spring, even though another cold front is about to bring rain and freezing air down upon us.

Yesterday was maddening, workwise. Having finished the piece that is not called "Untitled 33," I sat here trying to find a second piece for Sirenia Digest #27. I thought and thought and thought, and prowled through books of Symbolist painting, and talked with Spooky, and looked at the most deviant internet porn I could find (I have become quite skilled at the latter), and all to no avail. Nothing would come, nothing that would make an erotic vignette and not a full-blown erotic short story (which I presently haven't the time to write). However, two things did occur to me:

1) My writing is giving future generations of feminist literary theorists loads of stuff to demonise. Even though I myself am a feminist, they will vilify it as blatantly misogynistic (though it's not), indicating some deep-seated insecurity and self-hatred on my part, probably arising from our society's persecution of lesbians and those who fall outside normative gender states. That I am a lesbian who falls outside normative gender states will matter not at all. They'll do it, anyway. The way Bram Dijkstra used Idols of Perversity to demonise the Pre-Raphaelites, for example. My erotica will be at the centre of this, because, you know, no self-respecting woman would ever write these things, no woman who respects other women. That I am a witch, they'll warp that around somehow, as well, perhaps citing my assertion that a Divine Androgyne must, logically, be as important to Wicca as the Goddess.

2) I got to thinking, wouldn't it be incredibly cool if I could offer Sirenia Digest subscribers multimedia content each month? I still have a lot of thinking to do on this one, but it may be a whole lot more feasible in the near future than it currently is. Basically, I would invite graphic artists, photographers, makers of short films, etc. the opportunity to showcase their material on the Sirenia Digest website, and to perhaps even adapt some of the vignettes into other media. For my part, though I am a writer, the best erotica is almost always visual, and it's a project I would love to work on. It would come to subscribers at no added charge.

So, yeah that was the productive part of yesterday. I will try again today to find a second vignette for #27. But I also have to call my agent, and that always seems to derail the day.

As for the Academy Awards last night, not a bad 80th Oscars, if you ask me. I actually got six of my wishes. And I was utterly delighted that "Best Supporting Actress" went to Tilda Swinton, who, last night, was even more ravishingly androgynous than usual. Though I still maintain that There Will Be Blood was the best American film of 2007, I am perfectly happy with No Country For Old Men, with seeing Cormac McCarthy at the Oscars, and seeing the Coens get Oscars #s 3, 4, and 5. I was surprised and very happy to see Best Art Direction go to Sweeney Todd and Best Visual Effects go to The Golden Compass. My only real regret is that The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford received no award. I will say that the three songs we had to endure from Enchanted left me with no desire whatsoever to see the film. I loved the Gaultier worn by Marion Cotillard and the Georges Chakra worn by Helen Mirran, but my favourite dress was the Lanvin worn by Tilda Swinton. I think I'd give a "worst dressed" notice to Diablo Cody, who apparently thought it necessary to try to bolster her street cred as an ex-stripper by dressing like one. Anyway, yes, a wonderful Oscars ceremony.

Okay. Coffee, I am ready for you.

Just something quick. We've begun two new eBay auctions earmarked specifically for the medical bills: a copy of the Japanese translation of the Beowoulf novelization (with a free copy of the UK edition) and a copy of the Tails of Tales of Pain and Wonder chapbook, which I am auctioning before the release of the collection, with Subterranean Press' kind permission. Please have a look at these. Thanks.

Also, thanks to robyn_ma for this link to a rather thoughtful, and sometimes hilarious, summation of the '08 Oscar ceremony @ Salon.com (written by Cintra Wilson):

In a year where most of the actresses were shielded from their own regrettable taste by professional stylists like Rachel Zoe, best supporting actress winner Tilda Swinton, at least, was bravely and refreshingly fashion-forward enough to look bonkers. She wore no makeup and what looked like a velvet Isamu Noguchi coffee table, and spoke in insouciant, artistic free verse about Oscar's naked buttocks in the great weirdo-artiste tradition of Dustin Hoffman.

That was pretty much it for iconoclasm during the evening. They really should learn to invite Björk every year.

Oh, and:

This Oscars was noteworthy, though, if only because it featured the worst musical interludes since the Great Debbie Allen Interpretive Dance Meltdown of 1999. The Disney movie "Enchanted" somehow had three completely unsingable, perversely idiotic, overproduced, melody-free songs nominated. Amy Adams sang the first of these: a frantically upbeat anthem about being vermin and doing menial labor -- kind of a "Whistle While You Work" number that had suspiciously happy housewife/sweatshop/totalitarian overtones.