I was not useless today. I was minimally useful. I tried to write, but that didn't happen. I renewed the contract with my Brazilian publisher to allow them to keep the Portuguese edition of The Drowning Girl in print. I considered the edentulous "prow" on the premaxilla and dentaries of mosasaurs and to what degree it might be subject to interspecific variation. I began listening to the Blackstone Publishing audiobook of The Ape's Wife and Other Stories and made it through "The Steam Dancer (1896)" and "The Maltese Unicorn."
The day's comfort movie was Gareth Edwards' Rogue One (2016), which remains my second favorite Star Wars film, second only to The Empire Strikes Back. It's a masterful film, and there just so much to love in Rogue One, including its deft homage to a certain subgenre of war film (usually WWII), including The Dirty Dozen (1967) and The Guns of Navarone (1961).
Last night, we watched the HBO documentary Woodstock 99, and, Jesus, what a nightmare, and, I will add, a film that gives some powerful insight into the mess that America finds itself in today.
I went outside for a second consecutive day, even if I only went down the backstairs to the landing. It fucking counts.
Tonight, I'm gonna duck into Second Life from some RP.
Later Tater Means,