Homer Simpson in Invisible Theater #3
Sunday was "date nite" (one of Charlene's ideas), even though it took place at 1:00 & not in the nite. After a continental breakfast, Trish & I lounged around a little bit; I took a bath, during which Trish called the theater to discover that the Simpson's Movie had an early matinée, 1:00.
I found it to be hilarious, but still somehow lagging at times, or becoming predictable. So: generally excellent, sometimes just good.
When we arrived home, I didn't feel like watching anything more, so we sat around & listened to the changer for awhile.
We spent some time trying to scan the old Mindstorm into the computer, only to discover that I'd put the story into the document feeder with the paper inserted the wrong way -- I'll re-scan today, after Trish re-collates the original draft. Some of the pages are out of order, & I can't rearrange them myself. Guess the Scoobies were right: we're "co-dependent". But then, most Narcoholics aren't truly numinous, at least not until they "get the program".
Program sucks. Did it on my own.
Then we perambulated the short distance to Fat Albert's sons to see about soda & a solitary Gatorade. Trish had intended to pay out of her pocket change; I nixed her on that & used the food stamp card, so she'd have money for our trip to the ends of the Invisible Landscape to see the dentist.
Since the temperature was moderate yesterday, we spent our evening hours down in the basement, eyes excited(?) by the TV -- I fell asleep during something.
Then, once we were in bed, Trish woke me up to turn off the a/c. Her mechanical incompetence, like my mother's, is great.
Woke up at 5:40 this morning, but didn't get up until around 6:00. Am planning to make brecchie of pancakes, once Trish is out of bed. Was approached by another Ho or No porno-chick; clicked on her, then turned around & reported her.
Will now work on Noc-Lar, until Trish is up & about. I need an awful lot of advice (from Critters) as to how to handle items like the chaotically mercurial, singing machine elves -- my SF, I feel, is often misunderstood. I write to establish ambiguity; I've discovered that SF fans won't buy it. I write to combat the paucity of metaphysics; Laura Lemm complains she's a straight X-ian. Whatever that means. Diversifying, hitting the mainstream, finishing some of my comic book scripts, all might tend to help with idiots like those at Baen's Universe, rejecting a piece of hard SF as having "Trek-tech": bah! humbug! Just goes to show there's no one on their staff who knows a goddamn thing about science.
This is one problem that I plan to address, through the bio-esthetics article: the vast amount of shared "folk science" that "we all know", even if it's wrong -- like with the Bozo at Aboriginal Spaceways. Harlie Davison writes better than the crap these magazines prefer, albeit he's getting a name change (to avoid lawsuits): Harlan Morrison: the Wizard King!
I plan to do all I can to complete some of the novels I started, editing, redrafting, but ultimately...
...it's a teenage wasteland; the child is grown, the dream is gone.
I found it to be hilarious, but still somehow lagging at times, or becoming predictable. So: generally excellent, sometimes just good.
When we arrived home, I didn't feel like watching anything more, so we sat around & listened to the changer for awhile.
We spent some time trying to scan the old Mindstorm into the computer, only to discover that I'd put the story into the document feeder with the paper inserted the wrong way -- I'll re-scan today, after Trish re-collates the original draft. Some of the pages are out of order, & I can't rearrange them myself. Guess the Scoobies were right: we're "co-dependent". But then, most Narcoholics aren't truly numinous, at least not until they "get the program".
Program sucks. Did it on my own.
Then we perambulated the short distance to Fat Albert's sons to see about soda & a solitary Gatorade. Trish had intended to pay out of her pocket change; I nixed her on that & used the food stamp card, so she'd have money for our trip to the ends of the Invisible Landscape to see the dentist.
Since the temperature was moderate yesterday, we spent our evening hours down in the basement, eyes excited(?) by the TV -- I fell asleep during something.
Then, once we were in bed, Trish woke me up to turn off the a/c. Her mechanical incompetence, like my mother's, is great.
Woke up at 5:40 this morning, but didn't get up until around 6:00. Am planning to make brecchie of pancakes, once Trish is out of bed. Was approached by another Ho or No porno-chick; clicked on her, then turned around & reported her.
Will now work on Noc-Lar, until Trish is up & about. I need an awful lot of advice (from Critters) as to how to handle items like the chaotically mercurial, singing machine elves -- my SF, I feel, is often misunderstood. I write to establish ambiguity; I've discovered that SF fans won't buy it. I write to combat the paucity of metaphysics; Laura Lemm complains she's a straight X-ian. Whatever that means. Diversifying, hitting the mainstream, finishing some of my comic book scripts, all might tend to help with idiots like those at Baen's Universe, rejecting a piece of hard SF as having "Trek-tech": bah! humbug! Just goes to show there's no one on their staff who knows a goddamn thing about science.
This is one problem that I plan to address, through the bio-esthetics article: the vast amount of shared "folk science" that "we all know", even if it's wrong -- like with the Bozo at Aboriginal Spaceways. Harlie Davison writes better than the crap these magazines prefer, albeit he's getting a name change (to avoid lawsuits): Harlan Morrison: the Wizard King!
I plan to do all I can to complete some of the novels I started, editing, redrafting, but ultimately...
...it's a teenage wasteland; the child is grown, the dream is gone.
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