November 22nd, 2009


"Stranded starfish have no place to hide..."

The insomnia came back last night. I was still wide awake at 4 a.m., when I finally gave up and took Ambien. I think I slept about six hours. I function far better on nine.

Yesterday, when I wasn't busy slamming New Moon, Mormons, and Americans who are more comfortable with a 1.9 trillion dollar war bill for our occupation of Iraq than a 1 trillion dollar bill for health care overhaul...when I wasn't doing all that...mouthing off, so to speak...I was writing. I managed 1,003 words on "Sanderlings" (formerly "Teratophobia").

Roger Ebert's review of New Moon is actually rather priceless. He gives it one star out of four. I was pleased to see that the film currently has only a 4.4 rating at imbd, and that it's not fairing so well over at Rotten Tomatoes, either. Of course, this is mere criticism. The film broke all box office records on Friday, and is likely to break the opening weekend record. So, lots of happy studio execs and queer-hating Mormons getting the last laugh. Tiddley pom.

Truthfully, I think I need to go back to feigning indifference and keeping my social and political ruminations to myself. Because, face it. Yes, I am a fatalist and a pessimist. There's nothing I can do to make much of anything better, and on those rare occasions when I try, I usually only manage to make things worse for myself. For example, yesterday I probably managed to do very little but piss a few people off and discover that an enormous number of folks on Twitter no longer know (or never knew) the definition of irony. The second bit upsets me far more than the former. Anyway, yeah. Less politics and critique. This is your world. I leave you to it. I'll write about my writing, and comment on movies I've seen and books I've read, and post pretty photographs of Rhode Island. The rest I leave to others.

It's cold here in Providence. Truthfully, I wish the snows would come. The cold is less depressing when there's snow. The snow takes away all the sharp edges.

We've begun a new mini-round of eBay auctions. Please have a look, and thank you. Also, a reminder that Subterranean Press has begun taking pre-orders for The Ammonite Violin & Others.

Last night, we suffered through the third extremely dull episode of the reamke of V (it really isn't getting any better), and then watched Adam Green and Joel Moore's Spiral (2007), a surprisingly good little thriller. Frankly, I miss flipping channels. Now, instead of flipping channels looking for something worth watching, we flip through the streamable (new word, I suppose) films at Netflix. Last night, we searched through them for almost an hour before finding Spiral.

And now, more photos from Green Hill. Today is documentation of the "starfish apocalypse." Actually, I was annoyed to discover that by the time we reached that part of the beach most blanketed in dead starfish, we'd evidently tired of photographing them. But this gives you some impression. We must have seen hundreds, which means there were probably thousands. I was thinking about this yesterday, and it occurred to me that we likely were not seeing starfish that had died in a single stranding, but the effects of multiple strandings, maybe many days' worth. After all, it's probable that a portion of the starfish that perish during any given low tide would not be washed out to sea on the next high tide, that, over time, an accumulation would occur. Anyway, yes, photos:

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