So Matthew’s at the Atlanta Film Festival, Hobkin’s napping under his hutch, I’ve got a huge pot of coffee brewed, and I’ve got no excuse not to be writing. But am I writing? Of course not.
In order to avoid putting words on the page, I’ve dumped a load of laundry in the washer, neatened the bedroom, and fiddled with my writing logs. To top things off, my arms are hurting. My TOS is making itself known again.
I’m just totally pissed with myself now.
Must. Write. 
Watched Cyrano de Bergerac with Matthew. That play fills one of the topmost spots in my list of Things I Actually Liked That They Forced Me to Read in School, so I was quite delighted that the movie version was so well done. Much better than that atrocity Roxanne put out in later years with Steve Martin as the lead. Yuck.
This weekend is the Atlanta Film Festival. Matthew wants to attend a bunch of panels as a networking thingy for his Inde Film Track at Dragon*Con, but I’m not really interested. The screenplay readings one sounds like it might be fun, but the others are all about the nitty-gritty of movie making: directing, producing, funding, marketing, etc. I’ve got all my creative apples in my writing basket. While I certainly can appreciate the finished product, my interest in filmmaking is pretty much confined to potential screenplay adaptation possibilities. So I suspect it’ll just be Hobkin and me for much of the weekend. Maybe I’ll ply my muse with insane amounts of caffeine and sugar and see if I can’t entice her to make an appearance. Prime opportunity to get plenty of writing done. Theoretically.
Or, I might put on a vacuous DVD or five, and vegetate on the couch.
In mundane day job news, I finished testing on a particularly persnickety program today that I’ve been working on for weeks. Whew. It’s like having an anvil lifted off my chest!
Received confirmation that I have been approved as a guest at Dragon*Con this year. It was a roundabout sort of confirmation. No one notified me about it (even though I know and work with these people!), but they sent an email to Matthew asking him to add my bio to the website as a guest. (Btw, wicked_wish, if I hear word of any such roundabout notices about your guest status, I’ll be sure to let you know!)
Also sent a name suggestion to the director of the Children’s/YA lit. track, as she’s been casting about for what to call her new track. She’s been waffling between “Children’s Lit” and “Young Adult Fantasy and Science Fiction,” but both of the terms “Children’s” and “Young Adult” mean something in the biz. They connote age ranges that publishers aim their titles at. I thought choosing just one would seem to preclude the other when really she means the whole array. I noticed that book publishers, when they have a children’s/YA division, frequently call it “Books for Young Readers” to include the whole range. Ergo, my suggestion: “F/SF for Young Readers.” So there, I’ve spent my two pennies.
Woke up with a sinus headache and a deep ache in my shoulder which exacerbated my wobbly head. Took two Sudafed and a pair of Ibuprofen with my morning coffee, and shortly afterwards found myself debating whether I should launch myself from my chair and go swooping through the office going “I’m flying! I’m flying!”
Too much of a good thing. *twitch*
Restrained my flight urges. Came down, more or less, after lunch, and also experienced a return of the headache. Opted not to repeat the Sudafed/coffee/Ibuprofen cocktail, as I was uncertain whether I would make the correct decision to not flap and hoot through my place of business if confronted with the temptation again. But I’m undecided on whether or not I regret that now.
Hobkin’s also feeling under the weather. His tummy got upset again yesterday. Fed him anti-nausea meds and a Pepto-Bismol sandwich, and he perked right up. I wonder if there are stimulants in either of those? Every time he takes them, he becomes all zingy and amok.
I find the parallel between our respective states of health interesting, although Hobkin gives every indication of being over his bout of tummy disgruntlement and I’m still whimpering and periodically clutching at my head.
I was also worried that he might be dehydrated as he did the dip-paw-in-water-lick-off thing again yesterday, so I filled up a 2cc feeding syringe with water to see if he’d drink. Normally when I stick a syringe in his mouth, he gets Amoxycillan or his anti-nausea med, both of which he thinks are liquid candy. So he drank the first gulp willingly enough, but once he realized it was just water, he glared at me reproachfully, and used his paws to bat away the syringe. Sigh.
Submitted “The Reign of the Wintergod” for reprint consideration at a market.
And again, I’m having a difficult time getting the ole writing gear engaged. Flibbertigibbet muse.
Watched a strange B&W, soap opera-esque movie on AMC yesterday with Matthew. Think it was called something like Three Letters to Wives. It was about a woman (whom we never see on screen) sending a letter to three other women, informing them that she’s going to run away with one of their husbands that night, and the three wives fretting and worrying about this, complete with flashbacks as to how they got together with their respective husbands and their various and sundry marital complexities. It was enjoyable–better than watching the WB Superstar fiasco–but not a “must see” by any stretch.
I must have fallen asleep like a dead thing last night. Usually when Hobkin clambers up beside me, I wake up enough to tuck him in next to me under the covers. But last night, I was oblivious when he came looking for snuggles, and since he couldn’t get under the blanket with me, he curled up instead next to my head on my pillow. I woke up with a face full of warm fur at one point in the night, which is actually a rather pleasant experience as Hobkin is very soft and last night he smelled of celery. So I reached out to pull him closer and used him as a pillow.
However, there are trade-offs one makes when one opts to use a skunk as a pillow. One of which is resigned acceptance that one will inevitably be woken up by said skunk in the wee hours of the morning in a less-than-gentle manner. Hobkin decided at some ungodly hour that he was done being my headrest, but I had him pinned (hah! sweet, payback!) so he couldn’t get up. He decided to express his displeasure with this state of affairs via his teeth to my nose. Not my favorite way of being awoken, but indisputably effective.
Saw Harry Potter 3 yesterday. It was enjoyable, although I can’t seem to bring myself to gush about it. I think it was stronger than the previous two, probably due to the change in directorial vision. I also think the actors are truly coming into their roles, which is ironic as they’re going to recast them for subsequent HP films. Although there was still one or two instances where the actor playing Harry went a bit over the top. But overall, they showed much more range than in HP1 and 2.
The EFX were lovely. I especially liked how they showed the passage of time via the behavior of the Whomping Willow. And Buckbeak was amazing. My “Oh, Matthew! Let’s get a hippogriff!” comments were tempered only by the realization that one would probably want to eat Hobkin.
But the film didn’t engage my emotions. I sat back, watched all the pretty sets and costumes, and enjoyed myself, but the charm and involvement I got from the book didn’t come across.
Also watched Pitch Black in preparation for the upcoming Chronicles of Riddick coming out this week. Matthew saw it when it first came out in the theater, but I skipped it, as I fully expected it to be too scary for someone as wimpy as myself. As it turns out, I needn’t have avoided it. Nothing particularly squicky or creepy beyond the standard carnivorous alien-in-the-dark fare.
I do find it interesting that they’re playing down the fact that Chronicles of Riddick is a sequel. Not really a problem as I don’t really think Pitch Black requires follow up, and I’m more than happy just to follow the Riddick character.
Surprising myself, I’m liking Vin Diesel as the “new action hero.” Being a fan of the James Bond, clean-cut, tuxedo suave persona, I didn’t expect to find myself enamored with the gritty, ghetto-urban guise that they’re pushing with him. But I liked him in both Triple X and Pitch Black. He’s real and believable and sympathetic, anti-hero and all. Looking forward to seeing Riddick now.
Tried to trim Hobkin’s nails while watching Pitch Black. In the span of a feature-length film, I managed to get two toes clipped before he rolled over (with a reproachful look at me) and tucked all his paws beneath him so I couldn’t get at them. Sigh.
Went to see The Day After Tomorrow. I think it helped that I went into it with such realistic expectations. Going “oooo” at big, shiny special effects was my most important entertainment goal, tempered by the realization that the writing would undoubtedly be sub-par. So I was pleasantly surprised.
Rummaged out the old webcam that we’d put away after we got the new computer. Installed it and took a few shots of Hobkin being a lap skunk. Not great resolution, but it was quick n’easy:
Matthew and I watched several episodes of Coupling (the BBC one, not the atrocity which was the American adaptation that died quickly–as it should have). And when we were done wiping the laughter tears from our eyes, we watched Secretary.
I totally missed Secretary when it came out in 2002. Despite winning the 2002 “Special Jury Prize for Originality” at Sundance, I hadn’t heard much about it.
It’s a must-see for happy little BDSMers everywhere. I’ve thought James Spader was cute, quirky, and a bit sexy from his roles in Stargate and Wolf, but after seeing him in Secretary, ohmygod! He has, in a single bound, jumped up to the top of my drool-fetish-male-fantasy list. *swoon* I must see Sex, Lies, and Videotape now.
Secretary is marketed as a “dark romantic comedy” but I think that’s mostly because they didn’t know what niche to stick it into. It’s a wicked, naughty, sensual movie of power, relationships, and self-affirmation. Better than Story of O. Much. It was absolutely delicious.
The bronchoscopy happened. According to my doctor, everything looked fine–nothing worrisome or abnormal. So it seems even more likely that stress is the culprit of my breathing difficulties. Why does that not make me feel better?
On the whole, the procedure experience was unmemorable. Literally. They gave me anesthesia and sedatives both locally and intravenously. There’s a bruise forming on the top of my hand from the IV. I wish they wouldn’t put the things there. I much prefer the inside elbow location for an IV. Hurts less. Anyway, one of the effects of the anesthesia is short-term memory loss. I remember breathing the lidocaine gas and my tongue and throat going numb. And I remember the anesthesiologist injecting something into my IV. Then nothing until I opened my eyes in recovery to see Matthew grinning down at me.
Apparently, though, I was awake and responsive throughout the whole thing. Matthew assures me that my eyes were wide open when they wheeled me into recovery. And I was speaking and responding to questions. But the interesting thing is, I kept asking the same questions over and over again, as though I’d forgotten that I’d asked the question and what the answer was. Which I had. Things like “what time is it?” and “when will the anesthesia wear off so I can eat?” I remember the last time I asked those questions . . . at which point I stopped asking. But couldn’t figure out why Matthew kept chuckling at me. Appears he’d been answering me in something of a loop for a while there.
Weird drug that. It basically zapped my extremely short-term memory so I couldn’t retain anything. Before I went in, the nurse told me that amnesia was one of the effects, and I determined to try to hang in there as long as I could, try to see what I could remember. Nope. Out like a light. Or rather, not out, but insensibly awake like a light.
Also interesting that my brain works in such a predictable fashion that I ask the exact same questions over and over again, coming out of a medical procedure.
Aside from an odd sensation in one of my sinuses, that was a wholly unpainful procedure. Don’t even have a sore throat.
But I do wonder if I was in any pain or discomfort during the bronchoscopy–considering they stuck a tube up my nose–but I simply can’t remember it. ‘Course I also had a lot of numbing agent, so the odds of me feeling anything even if I could remember it are slim to none.
Weird.
First thing I did as soon as I could swallow and therefore eat/drink again, was have a big cup of coffee. Tube-in-nose notwithstanding, I was hurting for my caffeine fix.
But I did check the Abyss & Apex site and while it seems that part ii of issue #9 is still in the process of being published, “Inside the Witch’s Oven” is up, as is a poem by Tim Myers. The link to the short by Bruce Boston, however, is still not functional. I’ll be sharing a TOC with Bruce Boston! Eventually.
I’m also amused that “Witch’s Oven” is the opening story of part ii. Very cool.
Absolutely had to post this! Filched from brithistorian by way of hilarypoet:
This is a short poem made up entirely of actual quotations from George W. Bush. These have been arranged, only for aesthetic purposes, by Washington Post writer, Richard Thompson.
I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It’s a world of madmen and uncertainty
And potential mental losses.
Rarely is the question asked
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet
Become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?
They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being
And the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
Where our wings take dream.
Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher!
Make the pie higher!
(Pass this on. Help cure mad Cowboy disease in the next election!)
