We have HBO. I've never had HBO before. Deadwood is the first thing they've done that I like so much I was willing to subscribe. So, Sunday night we saw the first ep. of the new season, which was brilliant. This might be the best writing I've ever seen on television. Ian McShane and Robin Weigert both deserve Emmys. Actually, they deserve something better than Emmys. Deadwood is the first TV show since Dead Like Me (which was the first since Farscape) that I've been absolutely in love with. Anyway, afterwards, we watched an ep of Carnivale, because a number of people had said I should. I was underwhelmed. It felt a bit like something Ray Bradbury and Stephen King might have written together, poorly adapted for television. Flat, obvious, uninspired, unaccomplished, listless, and so forth.
Do I still feel lost? See the heading for this post.
Daughter of Hounds is a train rattling by, and I'm trying to jump on, but there's a little too much distance to cross, and I have no faith, and little interest, in my athleticism.
Set me aflame and cast me free,
Away you wretched world of tethers.
More news from Spooky's dad this morning. He's still out on Little Diomede Island. The windchill's -45F (which makes our own oogy forecast high of 45F and forecast low of 30F seem positively balmy by comparison). He was having smoked salmon, rice, shrimp, and sushi for dinner.
I see that the Senate thinks minimum wage should stay the same. There's a big frelling surprise.
Well, I'm down to five minutes with nothing left to say.
Except, please, please have a look at the ebay auctions. Bid or buy. I'll inscribe a book almost any way that you wish. No, I won't write, To [ ], the best piece of snatch I've ever had, or To [ ], thanks for those nifty blueprints for a nuclear device, but between those extremes lies quite a bit of latitude. Thanks.