July 21st, 2006


Wookie lips.

Late, late, late, and I need to be in bed. But I was going to mention my surprise at finding myself disappointed that the oleaginous Malan Breton was given the boot on Project Runway last night. I loathe the man, but this third season is shaping up to be notable only in its almost complete absence of personality. What a painfully dull lot. In that drab company, Mr. Breton at least commanded attention. And whoever imagined that Miss America would make for an interesting challenge? For the first time, I found myself bored at the series. Anyway...

My thanks to sclerotic_rings for reminding me of Titan and the wonders that continue to be revealed by the ESA Cassini probe. Wow. Perhaps we will not have ethane or methane seas, but whatever the solar system presents beyond the speculations of mankind are wonders enough for me. Okay. Bedtime. Perhaps I shall even sleep...

Four days and counting.

The signature sheets for Alabaster arrived late yesterday afternoon, and that's what I shall be doing today. Also, I got the final version of Vince's illustration for "The Cryomancer's Daughter (Murder Ballad No. 3)" just this morning, so tomorrow will be spent laying out Sirenia Digest No. 8 (subscribe now!) so Spooky can send it out to subscribers tomorrow evening.

All in all, other than the work on the CEM, yesterday was sort of a disaster. My body finally flew the white flag, refusing to go any farther without a good night's sleep. Add to that a very slight touch of heat exhaustion (my fault, I believe), and I spent all evening lying on the sofa, floating in and out of consciousness, slightly fevery, slightly delirious. My mind began to clear a bit around ten p.m. I lay there sipping cold cherry Kool-Aid and watching two episodes of David Attenborough's The Blue Planet, one on deep-sea life ("cold seeps" are so wonderfully weird) and another on life in the open ocean. Afterwards, exhausted and ill but still not sleepy, I watched Stewart Granger, Peter Ustinov, Elizabeth Taylor, and Noel Willman in Curtis Bernhardt's 1954 version of Beau Brummel, based upon Clyde Fitch's play. And after that, I went to bed, even though Ivanhoe was coming on, took my Ambien and tossed and turned for two hours or so, until sometime after three a.m., when I finally fell the frell to sleep and stayed that way until almost eleven this morning. Huzzah! I have slept. Really, last night I was wondering how long it takes to die of insomnia. Today, I feel quite a bit restored, though hardly 100%.

Spooky sent out a small mountain of eBay packages yesterday, so watch your mailboxes.

The worst part about being so incapacitated last night (aside from fears of sudden death) was having to miss Peter Jackson's King Kong playing on the enormous, flat screen at the Fox Theatre downtown. For two months, I'd been planning to be at that screening. Oh well, there would have been annoying children and even more annoying teenagers. Still. I'll never get that chance again.

Right. Well, I've a lot of work to do. Those signatures sheets won't be signing themselves. And this CEM needs another glancing over before it goes back to the mailbox. Rhode Island looms huge before us. And it's after one o'clock.