The mothmen had droopy, sweat-soaked wings all day yesterday.
And yet, we still managed a marvelous birthday for Spooky. Which was really all I was concerned about getting right yesterday. There was no writing. There was no trying to write. There was no not-writing. There was not even the goddamn busyness of writing.
Her gift from me was a copy of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland. Yesterday afternoon, we holed up in the bedroom, made it as dark as we could, and watched the movie. I'd somehow managed to forget just how amazingly wonderful it is (despite having seen it twice in theatres). Later, there was chocolate cream pie and Rainier cherries. Oh, we also dropped by the farmer's market at the Dexter Training Grounds and got strawberries, asparagus, and snap peas. We're going as "locavore" as we can this summer (I'll write a lot more about this later).
I think there will be watermelon today.
My thanks to Chris Walsh for sending the new Gorillaz CD, Plastic Beach (Snoop Dog and Lou Reed on one disc) and also the self-titled Broken Bell's CD. About the latter, I now have a new favorite band. I think this is my first new favorite band since the Editors (but I might be forgetting someone). I truly adore everything about Broken Bells, and I'm amazed I'd not heard them already (I had heard of them). The lyrics, the vocals, the sound, everything. So, thank you, Chris.
Okay. Now I go to discuss writerly matters with the platypus, the dodo, and the newly incorporated mothmen.