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like any girl, all she really wants
May. 9th, 2006 11:01 amA nice day yesterday. Utterly unremarkable in every way, and not a manuscript page in sight. Things warmed up after all, and late in the day the sun even found its way out from behind the clouds. Spooky and I dithered about the house for a couple of hours, trying to decide what to do, what not to do, what maybe to do. Finally, we went to Crystal Blue at L5P to get Mother's Day cards. We checked out the new location of Pink Flamingos (about three doors down from the old location). And then we wandered down to Arden's Garden on Euclid. Spooky had some sort of fruit smoothie (I can't recall the ingredients), and I had a Hot Shot. I love those things. We stopped by EB Games and found a copy of Crimson Skies for a mere $2.99! So, now I can play it all over again. We headed back home for a bit, and I did Wikipedia while Spooky finished playing Syberia, which she has pronounced gorgeous but possibly the dullest game she's ever played.
We had an early dinner at The Vortex, where we were seated next to three very annoying office monkeys, two female, one male. I think the male one was determined to get the two females drunk so that he might have a chance to score with them both and fulfill twenty-eight years of masturbatory fantasies. In an attempt to counter the noise they were making, Spooky and I began loudly discussing our plans to retire to the country and become cannibals. The male office monkey gave me any number of dirty looks, but his would-be frellbunnies just chattered on obliviously. Afterwards, we stopped by Videodrome and rented Gattaca (1997), because I've been wanting to see it again, and Spooky had never seen it. I really do admire this film. My only complaint is that Uma Thurman seems out of place in the subdued and under spoken world of the film, like she's holding back the entire time. Otherwise, I still maintain it's one of the best sf films of the last ten years. After Real Time with Bill Maher and the movie, I played a few minutes of Crimson Skies, before moving along to Tomb Raider: Legend (which I've almost finished). At some point, I proposed to Spooky that instead of becoming backwoods cannibals, we should open a proper Victorian brothel. I think we'd make wonderful madams, and it's really a shame there are so few civilized whorehouses left in the world. We'd serve absinthe, and there'd be chamber music, and Siamese twins and an albino and molly boys and several beautiful transsexuals. Of course, it would end badly, one way or another. These things always do.
Anyway, today I begin the 3rd pass through the Daughter of Hounds ms. I think I might be up to the task, thanks to yesterday. With luck, a little of my perspective has returned.
Great comments to the "SF movie casting game" last night. The whole thing begins to unfold in my mind's eye. The director will be Jean-Pierre Jeunet. It'll be a multi-lingual film: German, English, French, Spanish, a couple of programming languages, and a few whispered lines of an alien tongue. The screenplay will be written by William Gibson, then rewritten by Roger Avery and Neal Stephanson. The year is 1964. The Germans might have won WWII. No one's really sure. A parahuman double-agent is seeking an artefact, possibly of extraterrestrial origin, rumoured to have been found by the Nazis in Antarctica in 1937. Think The Maltese Falcon meets Cabaret meets Blade Runner meets La Cité des Enfants Perdus meets Naked Lunch. There will be zeppelins. Lots of zeppelins. We'll knock 'em dead at Cannes...
Okay. The platypus, who was quite lonely yesterday, has awakened and begun its keening wail. I must away. I wonder if the platypus even knows that I have only 17 days remaining until birthday -2? I wonder if its even bothered to take a peek at the Amazon wishlist? With platypuses, one never knows...
We had an early dinner at The Vortex, where we were seated next to three very annoying office monkeys, two female, one male. I think the male one was determined to get the two females drunk so that he might have a chance to score with them both and fulfill twenty-eight years of masturbatory fantasies. In an attempt to counter the noise they were making, Spooky and I began loudly discussing our plans to retire to the country and become cannibals. The male office monkey gave me any number of dirty looks, but his would-be frellbunnies just chattered on obliviously. Afterwards, we stopped by Videodrome and rented Gattaca (1997), because I've been wanting to see it again, and Spooky had never seen it. I really do admire this film. My only complaint is that Uma Thurman seems out of place in the subdued and under spoken world of the film, like she's holding back the entire time. Otherwise, I still maintain it's one of the best sf films of the last ten years. After Real Time with Bill Maher and the movie, I played a few minutes of Crimson Skies, before moving along to Tomb Raider: Legend (which I've almost finished). At some point, I proposed to Spooky that instead of becoming backwoods cannibals, we should open a proper Victorian brothel. I think we'd make wonderful madams, and it's really a shame there are so few civilized whorehouses left in the world. We'd serve absinthe, and there'd be chamber music, and Siamese twins and an albino and molly boys and several beautiful transsexuals. Of course, it would end badly, one way or another. These things always do.
Anyway, today I begin the 3rd pass through the Daughter of Hounds ms. I think I might be up to the task, thanks to yesterday. With luck, a little of my perspective has returned.
Great comments to the "SF movie casting game" last night. The whole thing begins to unfold in my mind's eye. The director will be Jean-Pierre Jeunet. It'll be a multi-lingual film: German, English, French, Spanish, a couple of programming languages, and a few whispered lines of an alien tongue. The screenplay will be written by William Gibson, then rewritten by Roger Avery and Neal Stephanson. The year is 1964. The Germans might have won WWII. No one's really sure. A parahuman double-agent is seeking an artefact, possibly of extraterrestrial origin, rumoured to have been found by the Nazis in Antarctica in 1937. Think The Maltese Falcon meets Cabaret meets Blade Runner meets La Cité des Enfants Perdus meets Naked Lunch. There will be zeppelins. Lots of zeppelins. We'll knock 'em dead at Cannes...
Okay. The platypus, who was quite lonely yesterday, has awakened and begun its keening wail. I must away. I wonder if the platypus even knows that I have only 17 days remaining until birthday -2? I wonder if its even bothered to take a peek at the Amazon wishlist? With platypuses, one never knows...
