The mist, and an associated morning.
Driving over the bridge this morning was like driving straight into the pages of 'The Mist' -- a novella by Stephen King -- or possibly into the opening of a Toby Daye novel, which almost always seem to kick off with either sunrise or an impossibly thick fogbank rolling in. (For those of you thinking 'doesn't Seanan normally take BART?', when porpentine sleeps over on a Sunday, he drives me to work the next day.) The fog off the bay was so thick that we couldn't see the city from the bridge. Or the cars four ahead of us. Or, at times, the support ropes on the bridge itself. Very impressive, in an unnerving sort of a way.
Given the lightness of holiday commute traffic and the hour of the morning, we made excellent time; even after a stop at Starbucks, I was able to open the office by six-forty. Candyland hookers taste exactly the same when made with skim milk, and the peppermint is good enough to make up for the lack of whipped cream. Mmmmm, hookers.
goweli gave me the third of the Thursday Next books as a Christmas gift; frikkin' pusher. I cannot figure out why I like these books. I shouldn't. They're insane. They're crazy books written by a crazy man, and the rules of engagement are about as clear as mud. And yet I adore them. They're great reads, they remain engaging despite having been scripted in Crazytown, and I heartily recommend them to anyone with a fetish for classic literature, writing, grammar, the way things work or the British secret service.
I leave for New York in less than a week! I have still done absolutely nothing about packing. Before I go, I need to...
* Do laundry.
* Make a packing list.
* Hit the San Francisco Lush for shower gel.
* Mail a package to Oklahoma.
* Mail a package to Minnesota.
* Dance like a chicken.
I will get the chicken-dancing out of the way now.
Given the lightness of holiday commute traffic and the hour of the morning, we made excellent time; even after a stop at Starbucks, I was able to open the office by six-forty. Candyland hookers taste exactly the same when made with skim milk, and the peppermint is good enough to make up for the lack of whipped cream. Mmmmm, hookers.
goweli gave me the third of the Thursday Next books as a Christmas gift; frikkin' pusher. I cannot figure out why I like these books. I shouldn't. They're insane. They're crazy books written by a crazy man, and the rules of engagement are about as clear as mud. And yet I adore them. They're great reads, they remain engaging despite having been scripted in Crazytown, and I heartily recommend them to anyone with a fetish for classic literature, writing, grammar, the way things work or the British secret service.
I leave for New York in less than a week! I have still done absolutely nothing about packing. Before I go, I need to...
* Do laundry.
* Make a packing list.
* Hit the San Francisco Lush for shower gel.
* Mail a package to Oklahoma.
* Mail a package to Minnesota.
* Dance like a chicken.
I will get the chicken-dancing out of the way now.