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It snowed last night, heavy flurries, just enough to look pretty in the streetlights and scab the ground and tree leaves. I haven't looked outside today, but I suspect no trace of it remains.

Yesterday, I made it through pages 3, 4, and 5 of Alabaster: The Good, the Bad, and the Bird. There was a surprise, a something I did not quite see coming. Iä! Shub-Niggurath! You know what I mean?

Sure you do.

Please, she said again, have a look at the new eBay auctions. These include a copy of the Spanish edition of The Drowning Girl (La Joven Ahogada), with Santiago Caruso's beautiful cover. Thank you.

Last night we saw Alexander Payne's Nebraska (2013), a paradoxical sort of affair. On the one hand, I really wish we'd seen it at the theatre, if only for the splendid black-and-white photography that deftly captures the desolation and vastness (and wide wide carnivorous skies) of Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, and Nebraska. On the other, the direction and performances are horribly uneven. There are great performances – Bruce Dern, for example – and there are performances, such as Will Forte's, that would hardly rate dinner theater. And yet the film rises above this, somehow, and I loved it. Funny, sad, poignant, and bizarrely triumphant.

And I gotta write.

Later,
Aunt Beast