"The television was snowing softly, as she hunted for her keys."
I had in mind to make some sort of coherent blog entry. Maybe about the Great Blog Mass Extinction. Maybe about how The Drowning Girl: A Memoir is meaningless without "7/7/7." Maybe about the specific reasons that Offspring was such a stinkeroo of a movie (except for Pollyanna Mcintosh, who was, as you know, bow tie). But I slept maybe four and a half hours last night, and still managed to write 1,014 words today. Oh, sure. They were probably shit, but that is not the point. And I just do not have a blog entry in me. Instead, I leave you with photos I took last night, as Spooky read to me about Lórien, in those blissful hours when I thought sleep was still ahead of me. Oh, and two from outside Pandemonium on Thursday.
I'm a flier on the door of Pandemonium. Woot.
Oh, and I'm on the calendar. Which is mostly gaming.
The cat is a cocksucker.
I'm in that book.
The Former Girlscout.
Self-portrait, "The Author One Minute After Death."
Herr Platypus, the jerk.
Oh, look. Kermit, the useless iPad, without whom I couldn't play Tetris in bed. Well, it looks sort of like Tetris. It's a Tetris-knock-off-app. It was free. Or watch movies in bed. Or look at porn in bed. Or...