greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,

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Howard Hughes, Waiting on Her Coffee

Old Business: It was not a nutria. It didn't even look like a nutria, but I do appreciate the suggestions that it might have been a nutria. However, the genus hasn't been recorded in northern Georgia, and there's no significant body of water nearby. Actually, the mystery of the Candler Park Wombat may have been solved. Yesterday, on the way back from getting dinner, Spooky spotted a dead possum just a few streets over from our house. "It's a black possum," she said, and so I asked her to please turn the car around so I could get a better look. And yes, it was a mostly black possum. It was dead, hit by a car, lying at the edge of the street on its left side. Its tail was curled up into a ball. It's face was white. Sad, really, as I've always had a soft spot for hideous little things, a category which certainly includes possums. But I began to see how what I saw early Saturday morning might only have been a possum, perhaps this very same possum lying dead on the street. In the shadows and streetlight, there could easily have been a trick of contrast. I might have seen the dark trundling body and missed the lighter tail and face (the face was turned away from me). This could have presented the illusion of a stockier, tailless, short-faced animal. So, perhaps not one marsupial but another. One that was not misplaced.

It's bloody frelling cold here, but at least the coffee has arrived. The good news, heating costs in Atlanta have dropped by 15% over last year. Still, I refuse to run the gas heat.

New Business: The writing went well yesterday. I did 1,078 words on "The Ammonite Violin (Murder Ballad #4)." I am, however, just shy of panic. Too many deadlines pressing in on me. None that I can cut loose. No sacrifices. Each thing is equally important. It's a bit terrifying.

The "story" behind The Dinosaurs of Mars continues to elude me.

I did get caught up on my e-mail, at least.

Last night, when I should have been reading, we watched David Slade's Hard Candy (2005), a remarkably tense and well-executed thriller. Little Red Riding Hood as 14-year-old vigilante. Superb. Unfortunately, we followed it with David Schmoeller's Crawlspace (1986), a film so insufferably dull that it made 80 minutes seem like three hours. Even my Klaus Kinski fetish couldn't redeem this one. At least it was showing on IFC, so it's not like we paid for the rental. It is hardly surprising that Schmoeller's career since Crawlspace has consisted almost entirely of churning out those ridiculous Puppet Master films (nine of them, according to imdb).

I did make it most of the way through Eric S. Rabkin's Mars: A Tour of the Human Imagination, and was especially taken with the section devoted to Evangelista Torricelli, who, in 1644, with a single experiment, discovered, that nature does not abhor a void, that vacuums do exist, and that air has weight. He also invented the barometer. Not bad for one experiment.

Okay. I'm stalling. Time to frelling write.
Tags: dom, mars, movies, sirenia, torricelli, weather, wombats that aren't

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