betterer than yesterdayAnother Cephalopodmas come and gone. Every year, Spooky gives me a cephalopod of one sort of another on December 22nd, and yesterday she gave me what I have dubbed the "cuttlepuss," as its designer seems to have been unable to decide whether it was meant to be a cuttlefish or an octopus (photo behind the cut). The cuttlepuss is marvelously skooshy, and I suspect it's filled with some manner of silicone gel. Some years, Cephalopodmas is best observed in a roundabout sort of way — from out the corner of one's eye, as it were. Yesterday was just that sort of Cephalopodmas. After the writing, we finished off a pot of chili, and Spooky made a blueberry pie. She played Destroy All Humans 2 and I did some very excellent Dune rp in Second Life. Anyway, all the tentacled garland and multi-colored photophores have been packed away until next year. I can't for the life of me figure out why there are people out there still shopping, now that the holiday is clearly done.
And I was thinking, one thing that I very much appreciated about Tim Burton's adaptation of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is that in toning down the subplot concerning Anthony Hope and Todd's daughter, Johanna, the movie doesn't have that annoying ring of apology that I feel in the stage musical. As much as I love the original, Johanna and Anthony feel too much like something done to make up for the central tragedy and its attendant horrors. On stage, their love affair is far too bright and too cheery. The film makes it more desperate and gritty, and also trims away enough that it remains peripheral and one never loses sight of the darkness. Oh, and on the way home from the film, we saw a whole flock of red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) on a lawn, and neither of us had ever seen more than one or two at a time.
I will here remind you of the ongoing eBay auctions, and thank you for your bids.
Oh, and here's an amusing story, "Abominable Snowmen: The War on Lawn Decorations." It gets worse every year, and every year brings me that much closer to taking up an icepick and BB-gun and deflating as many of those gargantuan inflatable snow globes and Santas as I may before the cops catch up with me. Yes, the inflatable crap is the worst. It is inexcusably tasteless, unpardonably ugly. A veritable blight, I say.
Okay. Letter C awaits. And I must find coffee...
