August 15th, 2008

"Deep in your veins, I will not lie."

Middle Triassic
Yesterday did indeed go entirely off the rails, and it refused to be shoved back on. Nothing was written. There was email with Bill Schafer regarding the cover of A is for Alien and with Anne Sowards regarding the cover of The Red Tree. New contracts arrived (details TBA), and I had to spend some time with them. There was deliberation over artists to be interviewed for Sirenia Digest #33. There was printer drama.

By 3:30 p.m., it was clear there would be no writing, and I suggested to Spooky that we just get the hell out of the house and maybe head for Watch Hill, which we've not visited since our arrival in Rhode Island back in June. She agreed it was a good idea, but then remembered we had to pick up our CSA produce bag at Dexter Training Ground at 5 p.m., and, I noted that a line of thunderstorms was sprouting up across South County. Regardless, we resolved to head for Watch Hill after picking up the CSA bag. I took a bath, and I think we actually got out of here about 5:30. Just south of Providence we hit the rain, and I suggested we give it up and turn back. Spooky was reluctant, because it meant we would run into work traffic. So, we changed our plans. Instead of Watch Hill, we just drove down to Narragansett and got some doughboys at Iggy's. By the time we reached the restaurant, the sky was clearing somewhat. We took our doughboys and headed to Point Judith. The tide was high, and the sea seemed oddly calm. Spooky suggested we check out the beach at Sand Cove ("Roger W. Wheeler State Beach"), over on the western side of Narragansett. I'd never been there, so I said sure. Sadly, it turned out to be 27 acres of the dullest, ugliest, most litter-strewn waterfront I've seen in Rhode Island (or anywhere in New England). We walked about a while, and at least the broad expanse of shallow water created by the breakwaters to the south meant an environment amenable to a number of species of pelecypods (bivalve mollusks) I'd not yet seen on the state's beaches. I picked up shells from large Surf clams (Spisula solidissima), a pretty little Bay scallop (Aequipectecn irradians), and a species of Razor clam (either Enis directus or Solen viridis, but I can't be sure, as the hinge, teeth, and beak were missing). Ratty sea gulls everywhere, and tourist droppings. After maybe twenty minutes, we grew disgusted and headed back to Providence.

Last night, after dinner, we watched P.J. Pesce's Lost Boys: The Tribe (2008), an entirely unsuccessful attempt to produce a sequel to Joel Schumacher's classic The Lost Boys (1987). There's really, honestly, not much good to be said for Pesce's film. I'm glad it wasn't longer, as the 100 minutes felt interminable (this was the "director's cut"). All the charm of the original was absent, all the things that made it work. Sure, there was sex and gore aplenty, and some dubious CGI, which I think were chiefly attempts to hide the absence of a script or direction or much in the way of acting. The camera work was...well...I've seen better stuff in Sci Fi Channel films. The critical soundtrack was dull and mismatched. Only the Aiden cover of "Cry Little Sister" (original by the psuedononymous "Gerard McMann") was worth the trouble, and even that could have been better. And Corey Feldman. Poor, poor (oddly well-preserved) Corey Feldman trapped in this asshat of a movie, trying his best to recapture some of the magic of the first film. Twenty-one years after the release of The Lost Boys, you'd think someone would have gone to the trouble to do this right or leave it the hell alone. And all I have to say about Angus Sutherland is that the father seems to have passed along none of his talent to Kiefer's half-brother. Anyway, I'd say skip this one altogether. Even free, it's a painful waste of time. This mess would have been more accurately titled Grand Theft Auto: The Lost Boys, and now I know why it went direct to DVD.

The Howards End sim was delivered this morning by Linden Labs. Right now, it's just a barren hunk of rock, like something thrust up from Paleozoic seas. But Jessica Ornitz, our terraformer and tunneler, will soon get to work on molding the stone to our purposes. I'm trying not to get too excited about this, at least not until after today's work is done. We have 15,000 prims to make the world come alive (a prim is the fundamental building unit in Second Life). If you want in, we still have slots open (I don't expect to close membership to the "Denizen's of Howards End" group until October, really), what I'll need is your SL name, so we can send you an invitation. Then you'll get all the updates and stuff. For now, the access list to the sim is restricted to the build team. Oh, and if you have not yet created an SL account, please, no silly names or pun-names. Names that you can imagine one might encounter in one of my novels set in New England (I'll likely be playing mostly as Bellatrix Bracken). For those people who already have accounts with unusual names, we'll figure something out, but absolutely no "joke names" will be permitted in sim. One day, I'll post my list of most idiotic, unforgivable SL names. Oh, and no names with numbers in them. I got in one decent bit of rp in Corvinus last night (thank you, Lina).

Please have a look at the current ebay auctions, and if you have not yet done so, it would be very helpful if you'd pre-order the mass-market paperback of Daughter of Hounds. Thanks! Now, here are some rather dull photos from yesterday:

Narragansett, August 14, 2008Collapse )