It's not really stormy weather, but I am consumed with efforts and initiatives, and forgot about the blog until today. Strange.
When I have so many things going that I don't want (or am not ready) to talk about, I can't divert to anything else. After I started writing the twee list of dreck though, I saw how many dead-type items there were. Death (Pratchett fans, you'll imagine the preceding in the Goudy Copperplate print font, not the handlettered script of archetypal significance) has to do with two projects I'm currently writing, too. So here's an unsourced pic from my e-mail that's mostly on topic.
- I went to a cool coffee thing at the New York Coffee Exchange and saw Alexander Hamilton's grave at the nearby Trinity Church, the oldest white cemetery on Trump Island.
- This weekend, one friend will attend the springtime funeral of a new mother.
- Another friend just witnessed the woman next to her at the beauty salon gurgle under the hair dryer and shuffle off the coil into eternity.
- Do I want to move across a river?
- How early does a nocturnal owl come out?
- I still haven't heard from the latest wave of agents.
- After a niggling phone call today, the entire plot of a novel I'm writing spilled forward, completely imagined in layers, implications, resolutions, and punchlines. A relief, since I like knowing what the Peugeot is this odd thing I've been writing, and was worried that never knowing might matter eventually. A disappointment, since its alluring enigma's reduced along with my tension.
- How does one entice a neurotic Boston Terrier to soak his foot?
- My friends have done some exceedingly good works, I've discovered. Proud, humbled: me.
- I like baseball more this year.
- I'm overwhelmed with gifts and cards and travel arrangements.
- After accompanying my niece and nephew on their first wowee-look at the American Natural History Museum dioramas last weekend, I couldn't help thinking about the impossibility, for better or worse, of ever making or replacing them today. Armavirumque concurs.
- The movie Phantom of the Opera was, as expected, a tumescence-killing non-rocker from the jump.
- On the other hand, radio-controlled sailboats rock hard.
I could give you sillier multimedia stuff, but it would just be stolen from here, here, and here, so why bother?