Thursday, May 27, 2004
Here I am, on the other side of my birthday and many strange dreams that I don't quite remember. And, once again, the world did not come to an end. You'd think she'd learn, this silly girl I'm damned to be. She doesn't, though. Ever.
As birthdays have gone, it was a very good day. Spooky and I went to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History and caught the 2:20 screening of Ghosts of the Abyss on the IMAX. Very neat (an underused word, "neat"), even if Bill Paxton is a big doofus. Then we gawked at the dinosaurs (the same ones who make an appearance in the second chapter of Low Red Moon), and the taximdermied beasts, and fishes, and gems and minerals, and human artefacts, and suchlike. We were going to see Troy, but stayed too long at the museum. There was a very fine Thai dinner, though. I have no significant complaints about yesterday other than that nasty birthday part.
My mother reminded me yesterday that I'm the same age as Sandra Bullock. Well, almost. She's two months my junior.
Today, my grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Ramey, is 90 years old. She was born on May 27th, 1914. I often feel as though I live in an entirely different world than the one I was born into, and I'm sure that's true, but then I think what it must be like for my grandmother. Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated 32 days after she was born, sparking WWI (President Kennedy was assassinated about three months after my own conception). James Joyce published Dubliners that year. The Panama Canal was opened. Shackleton marched into the white madness of Antarctica. Robert Goddard began the rocketry experiments that would, eventually, take us to the moon, five years after I was born. Time, time, time. It makes you sick if you stare at it too long, and I've been staring at it all my life. My grandmother is a more practical woman. I should call her today, but I probably won't, because I'm an ass at heart.
Also, today is Spooky's brother's 26th birthday. But he's in Montana now.
All these Geminis.
And I go back to work today. I have to polish "Alabaster." I have to at least open that awful, giagantic white envelope from NYC, the one bearing the Murder of Angels galleys, which was finally delivered on Tuesday afternoon. The ms. has to be back in New York by June 1st. I have to send yet another editor yet another bio. And there's something I'm forgetting, but it'll probably come to me later. And there are, of course, backed up e-mails.
This evening, I have to get the next chapter of Leh'agvoi's continuing Nar'eth manga online. But be warned, kiddos. This one's rated at least NC-17, and you'll never be able to look at a Nebari quite the same way again. Hot interspecies alien sex. Nebari on Sebacean action. Some Farscape purists, sticking strictly to what we've been told by TPTB, may balk at what they see, but then they'd balk at almost all of Nebari.net. They don't quite grasp the significance of unrealized realities. Anyway, you have been warned. (cue music from an alien porno flick)
That's enough for now. I need a drink.
10:59 AM
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