February 22nd, 2008

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What the Goldfinch Told the Coyote.

Well, the good news is that I've not perished of this blasted bug, and that I finally seem to have pretty much recovered, aside from a persistent cough. The bad news is that I've been trying to begin a new piece for Sirenia Digest #27 since Wednesday, and have yet to make any notable progress. And the month is fading. Quickly. I like to think that there is some alternative universe where people have learned to live without deadlines.

The day is grey and rainy. Cold. Spooky says it's like winter in Portland (OR). I wouldn't know, as I have never been there, and I assume she would know, as she lived there from September 1996 to October 1999. Regardless, it's a decidedly unpleasant sort of day out there.

Not having gotten much of anything written the last few days, there really isn't a whole lot in the way of news. Mostly, I've been reading the Osborn biography, watching movies and Season Three of Angel, and enjoying food I've been unable to chew the last few months. Tuesday night we watched both Tony Gilroy's Micheal Clayton and Ridley Scott's American Gangster. I liked both quite a lot, but while Michael Clayton demonstrates a wonderful sort of quiet, cold desperation (and has Tilda Swinton), I loved American Gangster more. Russell Crowe gets me almost every time. But yeah, not much else. I haven't really left the house since the evening of the 15th.

The eBay auctions continue. My thanks to everyone who has bid or who plans on bidding.

Today, of course, is the 83rd anniversary of the birth of Edward St. John Gorey.