Wednesday, September 11, 2002
I'm finishing my last Red Bull of the day. You know, this dren sort of tastes like fermented Sweet Tarts. Ugh. Anyway . . .
In less than ten minutes, it'll be 9/11. Again. The fastest year of my life.
Farscape news: There's some reason for hope. Executive Producer David Kemper announced tonight that negotiations with SFC have resumed. The workmen are no longer pulling Moya apart. We may only get a 2 hr. extra episode at the end of Season Four. David Kemper says don't stop mailing, don't let up the pressure, but keep it kind.
I've done virtually nothing but chase Farscape rumours and post news and write articles for three days now. I just spent about an hour and a half on irc at SFC (a very annoying hour and a half, I might add). I think a few people are beginning to think I'm off my bean, but I just couldn't see letting the show go without doing whatever I could do. I'm beginning to feel as if I've done most of what I can do. Maybe a few more articles, a few more letters, but, sooner or later, I have to go back to my own neglected fantasies. The teetering work piles will bury me, otherwise.
Thanks to everyone. Everyone.
Hope is a good thing.
2 minutes to 9/11. The nation on Orange Alert, which wouldn't have meant anything this time last year. I talked to Thryn earlier and she said that jets have been roaring through the skies over Rhode Island all day. I've heard none here. I've kept CNN off. One minute until 9/11. I can't even begin to imagine how strange the next 24 hrs. might be. Perhaps the strangest . . . wait. It's midnight. 9/11.
Be safe, people. See you tomorrow.
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