I think maybe the sky over Atlanta has been stolen. I suspect it has something to do with the wombat I saw, the one that was really a black opossum. And the Knights Templar and a rogue group of Masons. And fairies and unicorns and lawn darts. I can't prove any of that, but when has that ever stopped me before? Regardless, we've not seen the sun since it went down Sunday evening.
As I have been feeling fairly frelling trivial lately, I just did this thing over at HowManyofMe.com to see how many Caitlin Kiernans might be running about in the United States. I am informed that "there are 34,496 people in the U.S. with the first name Caitlin," and that Caitlin is "...statistically the 975th most popular first name. (tied with 28 other first names)." Oh, and 100% of the people named Caitlin are female. But wait! There's more! "There are 4,200 people in the U.S. with the last name Kiernan," which is "statistically the 8,013th most popular last name. (tied with 75 other last names)." Nonetheless, I am also told that there are 0 people in the US named Caitlin Kiernan. "While both names you entered were found in our database, neither was common enough to make it likely that someone in the U.S. has that name." So, it's official. I am not Caitlin Kiernan. Does that mean I don't have to write today? Please?
Yesterday, eventually, I did 1,012 words on "The Ammonite Violin (Murder Ballad #4)." Which, all things considered, was pretty good. I began this piece on the 13th, six days ago, intending it to require only three days to complete. Which will teach me to go mouthing off to the platypus. I think the sheheit actually aspires to live in a drafty cardboard box at the corner of Crack and Ho (i.e., Ponce de Leon and Monroe) and survive off whatever leaks out of the Popeye's Fried Chicken grease trap. Meanwhile, I still have not found "the story" for The Dinosaurs of Mars.
After the writing yesterday, Spooky was determined to get me out of the house, as I'd not been outside since Sunday (when the sky went away). So she took me to Midtown to see The Departed, which is the first film I've seen in a theatre since Snakes on a Plane. It was by no means Scorcese's best, and it would have probably been just as good on DVD. But Jack Nicholson was brilliantly nasty, at the top of his frelling game, and even Marky Mark managed not the screw things up. I spent the whole film just wanting Matt Damon's character to die in some brutal, slow, and gooey way. But yeah, it's not Good Fellas or Raging Bull, but it's worth a matinee.
And it got me out of the house and away from the iBook for a couple of hours.
I saw a very wonderful episode of Nature Monday night, about the Monterey Aquarium, and right now the only thing that's stopping me from going to the airport and flying to California is my frelling expired passport (my only photo ID). Instead, I get this keyboard.