Decapodiformid Squid for Dummies
I am so very, very not awake this morning. I think I managed only about six hours sleep last night, and I was already sleep deprived. Sleep depraved. Whatever. It all adds up to the same damn thing.
Well, I figure the "SD = Sirenia Digest or Strange Drama?" poll of day before yesterday has probably garnered about all the votes it's going to, and I'm not sure I can draw any conclusions from the results. A couple of people checked more than one box, and I'm not sure that everyone who voted is actually a subscriber. Also, since there are only about sixty votes, the sampling is probably skewed by one factor or another. But we have 31 in favour of Strange Drama, 15 who say Sirenia Digest, and 15 indifferent (these numbers do not adjust for those who voted twice or for those who are not actually subscribers). Were I to take these numbers at face value, I'd say there's a pretty strong preference for the change, almost 2 to 1, which increases to 3:1 if I count the indifferent votes as default votes for change. However, since there is so much doubt, and since I was very surprised that so many people voted to keep the original title (go figure), I think that's what we'll do for now.
As unwriting days go, yesterday could have been much worse. I think just knowing I was so near the end of this mess made it easier to bear. I actually cut nothing much away, and added 748 words. It almost felt like writing. Almost. Though I declare today the end of the Mordorian Death March, as nearly all the necessary alterations have been made to that manuscript spawned by the Forced and New Consolidated marches of February and January, there are still a couple of nips and tucks that have not been made, because my time is their time, and there's still the CEM (copy-edited manuscript) to be dealt with farther along. But these things will likely constitute no more than a couple days work at some point in June. It's time to put this thing behind me and move along. In only a few more hours, the pelican will be cut from about my neck. And the first order of business is a short rest, just three or four days, before I get back to writing and projects that have languished for months.
As for the rest of yesterday, we had a walk in Candler Park, where Spooky (humglum) discovered a mummified cat skull with part of the right foreleg attached. My guess is a car hit the poor thing, then a dog ate most of it, after which our present drought led to the mummification. Even the ears and a few whiskers are preserved. Spooky claimed it for her own and, even as I type, is sterilizing the skull so she can begun removing the desiccated flesh. She's going to post photos later. So that was cool, though we were appalled to see that the frelling golf course was being watered despite severe drought conditions. Anyway, afterwards we went to the newly reopened and remodeled location of Fellini's Pizza on McLendon Avenue. While the food's still just as good, I very much miss the funkiness of the old place. Some of us like eating our pizza in what was once obviously a gas station. There's something atrociously sterile about the place now, a cafeteria/fast food feel that does nothing for my appetite, despite the fact the pizza hasn't changed. Ah, well. Whatever. There's still the Peachtree and Ponce locations. Back home, I wrote what is probably my last part of "The Lay of Inwë and Leóhtwen" (for now), so that setsuled could finish it up (for now). Which got me almost all the way to midnight, when we decided to watched Kenneth Branagh's 1989 adaptation of Henry V.
This has always been one of my favourite pieces of Shakespearean cimena, and there is, indeed, a lot here to admire, from a baby Christian Bale (Falstaff's boy) to Branagh's superb delivery of the St. Crispin's Day speech, to Emma Thompson's Katherine. But. I was surprised to find myself, towards the end of the film, annoyed at all the "god is on our side" nonsense. I think that I have simply reached a point where I can no longer abide nationalism or such arrogance and superstition, whether it's coming from Shakespeare's Henry or our own President Asshole. I shall take this as a positive thing, a sign of personal growth and move along. Of course, there are those who note that Shakespeare's actual intent might have been anti-war, as the thieves Pistol, Bardolph, and Nym seem to function primarily to undermine Henry's authority.
I think the moon will be 98% full tonight. A blue moon in May. Spooky and I should mark this moon in some fashion. Anyway, time to unmake the doughnuts (does this mean I get doughnut black holes?).
Well, I figure the "SD = Sirenia Digest or Strange Drama?" poll of day before yesterday has probably garnered about all the votes it's going to, and I'm not sure I can draw any conclusions from the results. A couple of people checked more than one box, and I'm not sure that everyone who voted is actually a subscriber. Also, since there are only about sixty votes, the sampling is probably skewed by one factor or another. But we have 31 in favour of Strange Drama, 15 who say Sirenia Digest, and 15 indifferent (these numbers do not adjust for those who voted twice or for those who are not actually subscribers). Were I to take these numbers at face value, I'd say there's a pretty strong preference for the change, almost 2 to 1, which increases to 3:1 if I count the indifferent votes as default votes for change. However, since there is so much doubt, and since I was very surprised that so many people voted to keep the original title (go figure), I think that's what we'll do for now.
As unwriting days go, yesterday could have been much worse. I think just knowing I was so near the end of this mess made it easier to bear. I actually cut nothing much away, and added 748 words. It almost felt like writing. Almost. Though I declare today the end of the Mordorian Death March, as nearly all the necessary alterations have been made to that manuscript spawned by the Forced and New Consolidated marches of February and January, there are still a couple of nips and tucks that have not been made, because my time is their time, and there's still the CEM (copy-edited manuscript) to be dealt with farther along. But these things will likely constitute no more than a couple days work at some point in June. It's time to put this thing behind me and move along. In only a few more hours, the pelican will be cut from about my neck. And the first order of business is a short rest, just three or four days, before I get back to writing and projects that have languished for months.
As for the rest of yesterday, we had a walk in Candler Park, where Spooky (humglum) discovered a mummified cat skull with part of the right foreleg attached. My guess is a car hit the poor thing, then a dog ate most of it, after which our present drought led to the mummification. Even the ears and a few whiskers are preserved. Spooky claimed it for her own and, even as I type, is sterilizing the skull so she can begun removing the desiccated flesh. She's going to post photos later. So that was cool, though we were appalled to see that the frelling golf course was being watered despite severe drought conditions. Anyway, afterwards we went to the newly reopened and remodeled location of Fellini's Pizza on McLendon Avenue. While the food's still just as good, I very much miss the funkiness of the old place. Some of us like eating our pizza in what was once obviously a gas station. There's something atrociously sterile about the place now, a cafeteria/fast food feel that does nothing for my appetite, despite the fact the pizza hasn't changed. Ah, well. Whatever. There's still the Peachtree and Ponce locations. Back home, I wrote what is probably my last part of "The Lay of Inwë and Leóhtwen" (for now), so that setsuled could finish it up (for now). Which got me almost all the way to midnight, when we decided to watched Kenneth Branagh's 1989 adaptation of Henry V.
This has always been one of my favourite pieces of Shakespearean cimena, and there is, indeed, a lot here to admire, from a baby Christian Bale (Falstaff's boy) to Branagh's superb delivery of the St. Crispin's Day speech, to Emma Thompson's Katherine. But. I was surprised to find myself, towards the end of the film, annoyed at all the "god is on our side" nonsense. I think that I have simply reached a point where I can no longer abide nationalism or such arrogance and superstition, whether it's coming from Shakespeare's Henry or our own President Asshole. I shall take this as a positive thing, a sign of personal growth and move along. Of course, there are those who note that Shakespeare's actual intent might have been anti-war, as the thieves Pistol, Bardolph, and Nym seem to function primarily to undermine Henry's authority.
I think the moon will be 98% full tonight. A blue moon in May. Spooky and I should mark this moon in some fashion. Anyway, time to unmake the doughnuts (does this mean I get doughnut black holes?).