Sometimes, though, stupid's not so bad.
We have 3-6 inches of snow forecast for Tuesday evening into Wednesday morning. It is being called a "spring blizzard." And the kindly fucks at Accuweather are describing tomorrow's night's forecast low of 15˚F ("RealFeel" 0˚F) as frigid. They also say, "Monday will feel like January." I got news for them. Most of this month has felt like fucking January. This morning, I am very near getting a train ticket and heading south to spend a couple of week's with my mother in Alabama while New England tries to get its act together. I'm not joking. She has a spare room with a bed. Though, I'd be happy with the floor.
Yesterday, I wrote 1,587 words on Chapter Six of Cherry Bomb.
A couple of days ago, the mail brought me a Russian edition of Stephen Jones' A Book of Horrors (2012). There was an accompanying note from Jo Fletcher, something about this being a rarity, as the publisher (something in Cyrillic) didn't have permission to use Stephen King's name as the "headline." But there King's name is, in Cyrillic, just below the title: Стивен Кинг. Me, I'm way back on page 35, Кэтлин Р. Кирнан. I'll likely sacrifice this to eBay; fuck knows I have no use for the thing. Oh, it includes my story "Charcloth, Firesteel, and Flint" (2009).
Last night, I RPed a scene in The Secret World. It was the first time I'd been in world since March 4th, and, truth be told, my heart wasn't in it. But I'd agreed to do this scene quite some time ago. And the scenes that will follow from it. Anyway, it was brief, and afterwards Kathryn and I watched Stanley Kramer's Inherit the Wind (1960). It's been one of my favorite film's since I was a kid. And after that we watched the last episode of the tiresomely silly Orphan Black (2013). I have no idea why this show has been as well received as it has. It plays like bad YA. There's not much to it, except the novelty of Tatiana Maslany playing seven or eight realizations of the same genotype. And she doesn't even do that well. Her performances as the various clones range from so-so (Sarah, Helena, Cosima) to eye-rolling caricature (Katja, Rachel, Alison). This was sort of like suffering through the three seasons of The Shield that we watched: Afterwards, I have no idea why we kept at it.
And that was yesterday.
And this isn't.