opabinia

Thank you for the kind words. Mom and Dad seem to be coping well with the sudden loss. They rounded up all the doggie toys and gave them to a nearby shelter.

I've disappeared. Winter blues, manifested as intoxicating sleepiness, combined with one of my "off-scene" phases (wherein I feel temporarily done with clubs and bars and their associated inane banter), have confined me to a smaller sphere. I'm writing like I have a Hawthorne up my butt because I've just had my first espresso in many days.

A first:

sephardic spent Christmas with my parents and me -- dinner, midnight mass, presents, and brunch. Soup to nuts, as it were. I detect approval all around.

I spent Saturday night at my parents'. Kung Fu Panda was OK, and it distracted Mom for a while. Of course, she interpreted the movie as a lesson about the importance of Faith. Whatever. I liked the mystical tortoise and the noodle-peddling duck.

Sunday was nothing but sloth. I shot Combine troops from a dune buggy. Those Valve guys chose an aggressive cam profile. Made me fantasize about a garage full of projects.

Yesterday I gave serious thought to climbing back on the wagon. The fact that I really thought about doing kettlebell swings and push-ups made me feel slightly better about not doing them. I ate soup and watched Mad Hot Ballroom with Sephardic, instead. If you need a feelgood movie, go get that.

I'm cranky about my finances, but I should shut up and fix them. That works better than whining.

Incubus? I've made the executive decision, having watched 20 minutes of the film, not to finish it. The novelty of an Esperanto script combined with a pre-Trek Shatner wore off quickly, and the movie is flat-out painful to watch.

bottleimp sent me this fat volume of 1930s sci-fi stories collected and presented by Isaac Asimov. So far, it's excellent.