This is the first photograph I took with a digital SLR, in January 2006. I’d bought the camera (the Nikon D50 that recently died) on eBay and had to have it shipped to a friend in the US, because reasons. He thought I was batshit. insane. for having bought a thousand dollar camera kit. Absolutely could not understand why somebody would do that. But he forwarded the camera on to me anyway, if bemusedly. Ten days later or so I posted this picture and his eyes nearly fell out of…
No wonder I’m tired. I’ve walked something on the order of 30 miles in the past four days. Today I bopped out on my own for a couple of hours and stopped by SubCity, one of the local comic shops. Turns out half one on a Sunday is a great time to go hang out and chat for a while, so I spent a lovely 45 minutes or so talking with Rob, the proprietor, who’s a friend of ours. Amazing how going out and talking to people I’m not related…
I dreamed that Paul Cornell, Oisin McGann, myself, and three other authors were part of a La Femme Nikita-style black ops team. “Oh, I’m worried,” said Ted when I told him this, but Oisin murdered and fridged one of the other team members for ordering an unauthorized steak dinner, so apparently we were not to be messed with. O.O “Your real memories are surfacing again,” Paul said, and Oisin said, “I’m hurt that you think I could fridge a team member, Catie.” I do love my friends. (My brain, I’m…
Dear Humans: You have screwed up the weather ENOUGH. Please get on the goddamned ball with FIXING IT. No love, Frozen in Ireland In related news, I discovered earlier this week that a childhood friend (of the “we would all (“all” being, like, dozens of family, extended family, and friends) go down to their place for the 4th of July and make homemade ice cream etc” variety of childhood friend) is a climate change research scientist who runs Adaptation International, a program that helps people, communities, organizations, etc, prepare for…
Okay, that’s awesome. I just got an email from a friend–the father of the boy that Billy Holliday’s son Robert is named for, in fact–who said he was hanging out with his son’s class on a beach day, and he (the father) was reading the Dresden Files. A girl asked what it was about, and he said “A wizard in Chicago.” “Oh, cool,” she said. “I’m reading something similar, but I can’t remember the writer’s name right now. I’ll get it for you.” “Heh,” my friend said, “I actually know…