"It's just down there, in the basement."
I woke to heavy rain, but, once again, the sun came out later in the day. Our high was 70˚F, cooler than yesterday. It's currently 66˚F.
Another solid work day. I got the layout on Sirenia Digest nos. 192 and 193 finished. That's six issues in three days, and I have never done the likes of that before. I hope I never shall again. And I had a four o'clock meeting with my lit agent, and that went well.
The afternoon's comfort film was David Fincher's Alien3 (1992), which I still contend is, by far, the second strongest film in the series after Alien (1979). There are issues with some of the digital effects and composites, stuff that may have been corrected in the 2003 "Assembly Cut" (which I have not seen). But the performances, the screenplay, the direction, the film's rusty, grimy vision, it all holds up wonderfully thirty years farther along. It's obvious to me that the major reason so many people were turned off by Fincher's film is that it pretty much reaches back past Cameron's to Alien. It's a pretty straightforward, very bleak horror film in an ugly, uncaring, very unsexy future - just like Scott's original film. There are no action heroes here. No little girl's rescued from monsters. There is loss and sacrifice and injustice. I have always felt that the greatest disservice Cameron did the series (and I do like his film) is that he somehow made people forget what sort of film Alien was and led them to expect something else, instead, something much easier to swallow. Alien3 would have made a fine end to the story, and part of me wishes it had stopped there.
Last night, more Mayor of Kingston. About halfway through this season it stops being pretty good and gets very, very good and begins to feel a lot like a season of True Detective.
And please have a look at eBay. Thank you.
I have not mentioned this, but I haven't had a genuinely good night's sleep in weeks. There are several reasons, one being the return of my nightmares and the dreamsickness that accompanies them. I have no idea what has set this off? Two years of self-isolation? COVID-19? The fucking mess with Russia? The dystopia of misinformation, QAnon, anti-vaxers, and Shiny New Fascism? See, any one of those things would suffice, without even getting into my personal life. I just need to sleep.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:45 p.m.
Another solid work day. I got the layout on Sirenia Digest nos. 192 and 193 finished. That's six issues in three days, and I have never done the likes of that before. I hope I never shall again. And I had a four o'clock meeting with my lit agent, and that went well.
The afternoon's comfort film was David Fincher's Alien3 (1992), which I still contend is, by far, the second strongest film in the series after Alien (1979). There are issues with some of the digital effects and composites, stuff that may have been corrected in the 2003 "Assembly Cut" (which I have not seen). But the performances, the screenplay, the direction, the film's rusty, grimy vision, it all holds up wonderfully thirty years farther along. It's obvious to me that the major reason so many people were turned off by Fincher's film is that it pretty much reaches back past Cameron's to Alien. It's a pretty straightforward, very bleak horror film in an ugly, uncaring, very unsexy future - just like Scott's original film. There are no action heroes here. No little girl's rescued from monsters. There is loss and sacrifice and injustice. I have always felt that the greatest disservice Cameron did the series (and I do like his film) is that he somehow made people forget what sort of film Alien was and led them to expect something else, instead, something much easier to swallow. Alien3 would have made a fine end to the story, and part of me wishes it had stopped there.
Last night, more Mayor of Kingston. About halfway through this season it stops being pretty good and gets very, very good and begins to feel a lot like a season of True Detective.
And please have a look at eBay. Thank you.
I have not mentioned this, but I haven't had a genuinely good night's sleep in weeks. There are several reasons, one being the return of my nightmares and the dreamsickness that accompanies them. I have no idea what has set this off? Two years of self-isolation? COVID-19? The fucking mess with Russia? The dystopia of misinformation, QAnon, anti-vaxers, and Shiny New Fascism? See, any one of those things would suffice, without even getting into my personal life. I just need to sleep.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
12:45 p.m.