2 April 2003

And again, we have no newspaper. Did I write the check for fun? Did I call them to report the previous missing papers for my own health? I'm not sure what more I can do. I checked to make sure the gate codes are the same. I called to report the previous missing papers and to request replacements. And none of the replacements have shown up. That means that not only can they not manage to deliver the paper on their regular route, they also can't manage to go out of their way to bring it just to me. Aaaagh. Perhaps they would like to tell me that really, the paper is overrated and I should get my news and comics and all that from the internet. Perhaps that's what they're trying to say.

The man on the phone promises that the paper will be here within the hour. We shall see, she said ominously.

I ran all sorts of useful errands yesterday. Today I go nowhere. Except, perhaps, to buy a paper, but probably not even that. And I doubt that Mark can buy one near work, now that his workplace has moved. Maybe at one of the train stations. This should not be my problem. Sigh.

I read Artemis Fowl, and while it was fun, I was pretty disappointed that there was a huge gaping inconsistency in the author's application of one magical principle, or else a huge gaping idiocy on the part of the characters. This is what comes of introducing sweeping magical principles with personal effects.

I started Adam Gopnik's Paris to the Moon, borrowed from David, but I crashed really hard last night and didn't get very far into it at all, so no opinion as yet. It has very much to do with Paris and very little to do with the Moon, as far as I can tell. It's good not to be disappointed with these things.

Last night, I dreamed that aliens had kidnapped Cory Doctorow and were making him write the elfiest high fantasy possible, but he didn't so much care because they had all kinds of nifty gadgets he was figuring out when he wasn't writing, so when people came to rescue him, he wanted them to come back later. Heaven only knows where that came from.

My theme song of the moment is John Popper's "His Own Ideas," as in "He's in love with his own ideas." Because I am. The Not The Moose has me so enthralled. Wheee. My cool book. I mean, I like my other books, too, but this one is captivating enough right now that I can scarcely believe I put it aside for anything other book, even though Dwarf's Blood Mead had a brief urgency that no book the length of the NTMB could sustain, and I do think it was pretty decent work, maybe.

I think that may be part of the joy of it right now: there are huge swaths of prose in the NTMB, but there's still much yet to go, so the potential is there unsullied, and I don't have to worry about other people shaking their heads sadly and telling me it is not what I thought it would be. Not for awhile, at least.

Oh! And Ideomancer has my story, "Natural Limitations," up! Yay! It doesn't look like there's an obvious link to the story itself. Ah well. Go, read, enjoy. It's probably the longest thing I'll ever write in epistolary format, and it's in their flash section. (I had it at 600 words, but the pay is the same, so who's quibbling?) I had a fun morning writing it.