Spooky just said she was going to the liquor store to get me some Red Bull and then going to check the p. o. box. Only, I heard that last bit as "chicken pita box," and when I asked why she wanted a chicken pita box, she threatened to get the Stegosaurus tail spike again.
I'm supposed to say I wrote yesterday, aren't I? Okay. I wrote yesterday, even though I didn't write very much. Maybe 600 words. I reworked all of section VII, which is basically "high" fantasy, mostly trying to make the dialogue sound less twee. And then I wrote section VIII, which was Julia Flammarion again, and by the time I reached section IX, which was Dancy again, I was too fried to go any farther. Instead, we drove up to Buckhead to blow $190 on electronics I've long been putting off buying. I figured, I need this dren anyway, and it was better to buy it now and take the tax deduction than wait until later. I replaced the external floppy drive I smashed in a fit of rage just after we moved to Kirkwood back in '02, and I replaced the scanner that died during the move from Kirkwood to my present top-secret whereabouts last year. Oh, and earlier in the day, I renewed my membership to SVP, which set me back another $120, thanks to the late fee (because I'm a doofus). So, yeah. Money. It just sort flies away. Flap, flap, flap, like the wings of screeching Amazonian parrots...or something.
I finished Ico last night. Wow. If anything, I like it even more than Shadow of the Colossus. These two games totally kick PS2 ass. Both are superb examples of what I mean by preferring games which are not merely games, which do not constantly remind you that they are games. They are games which transcend being mere games and function as literature (or, perhaps, as film). I can only hope we see many more wonders like this from the brain of Fumito Ueda. The conclusion of Ico is absolutely breathtaking (and I'm not just saying that because I'm stoned and keep forgetting to breathe). As with SofC, Ico has an ending that manages to be thrilling and dark and terrifying and sorrowful and beautifully inconclusive and yet, even so, triumphant. You must play this game. You can get it cheap off eBay. Go. Now. Play.
Thanks to robyn_ma for directing me to the imdb entry for Michael Vale. Like her, I now long to see Guerrilla Girl (1953).
I'm extending yesterday's offer of a free signed copy of the trade paperback edition of Silk to all new Sirenia Digest subscribers between now and midnight. Just because I'm such a damn sweet nixar, that's why. All you have to do is click here. Also, I'd like to ask everyone who has already subscribed and who's been enjoying the digest to please mention it in their LJs or blogs or Typepads or whatthefrellever and to please include the appropriate link. I would be extremely grateful. No lie. Having opted for novelizing and the last sad shreds of my sanity over Bullet Girl, the digest and eBay will be a large portion of my income until the next next novel sells. Which is funny, since the digest was begun as a lark, just something I wanted to do so I could keep writing the sorts of vignettes I did for Frog Toes and Tentacles. And speaking of FT&T and eBay, the new auctions are in full swing, and sometime in the next day or so we'll be putting up the first lettered copy of FT&T that we'll be offering. It will likely be letter X.
Okay. I know that I still haven't gotten around to the faerie horseshoe, but Spooky just returned from the chicken pita box with Red Bull, so I must away and hope the words will flow through this fog.