July 18th, 2005



The lawn is nicely soaked, and myself much mollified by the consumption of an extra bottle of lager. Though I am about to endure the daily summertime ritual of attempting to get to sleep in a room that is so hot that the slightest stir of air brings an uncomfortable chill induced by evaporating sweat, I don't care. I've caught up on all my household chores, and am both stuffed with popcorn and relaxed by the proper amount of alcohol. Furthermore, I have nothing of great urgency scheduled for tomorrow today, which leaves me free to indulge (forbidding the arrival of any untoward emergency) to indulge for a few afternoon hours in the mortal sin of sloth. My favorite! (It once was lust that was my favorite, but the twain, never truly compatible, fought bitterly through many years for the right to secure my damnation, and sloth, having the ravages of time as its ally, eventually won.) Life is good OK acceptable tolerable!

I suppose that, by now, everyone has read the New Book. I must confess to not having done so. Indeed, I must confess to having read none of the series, though I have seen the first two movies as they have shown up on television. It is neither snobbery nor a lack of interest which prevents me from reading the books, but rather two powerful deterrents; My dislike for literary cliffhangers of even the mildest sort, and the looming threat of the cold hand of Death. When I begin reading a long tale, any interruption of it annoys me greatly. I am subject to nagging impatience, and hate to wait years for the opportunity to find out what happens next. Too, it is always my fear that, should I begin reading some series of books before the author completes them, either the author or myself might shuffle off this mortal coil before I've had a chance to complete my reading of them. Thus, I must wait until la Rowling wraps up her saga before I can take the risk of dipping into it.

Of course, by that time, I shall probably have seen four or five of the movies, and will most likely have heard rumor of the events and outcomes of the remaining books. Why neither my almost compulsive eagerness to reach the conclusion of any story, nor my fear of not living long enough to discover the ultimate fate of the characters in a series, does not diminish my willingness to watch the cinematic versions of stories, I don't know. I enjoyed Fellini's movie of The Satyricon, but was irritated no end by Petronius's truncated book. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that, as a child, I came in at the middle of so many movies, and was dragged from the theater by impatient parents or older siblings before seeing the ends of so many others. I just sort of expect movies to exist in their own fragments of time, which does not necessarily bear any relationship to the time of life or of literature. In any case, I will not begin reading any Harry Potter book before the last volume has been released, at which time I do intend to read them-- assuming that I am not struck down by the Grim Reaper of Readers before then.

The morning birds are now chirping the arrival of that glow which reveals a somewhat mottled sky which puts me in mind of a soiled potholder. Oh, this one is going to be nasty, I can tell!

Look! A new icon!
rudisuhli_demon of love

Nothing But Moonlight

The power has been out since 7:40 this evening. It's hot as hell. I'm on the awkward flaptop which has never before been connected to teh Interwebs. The keyboard is black, and I'm trying to type by the light of the screen. I will be blind in about five minutes. The battery isn't likely to last very long, anyway. I'm going outside, where the air is slightly less stiffling. Screw spellchecking. Must get backup power supply for desktop! When the power goes out in this town, it's likely to be out for ages. I don't know when I'll be back. I may just die of the heat. Feh.