Yestrday the Minister came by to host a sausage sizzle to mark the occassion of my emotional and physical breakdown last week. Well, pretty much, anyway. I didn't go, no matter how much I was goaded to. I mean, me, the Minister and bottles of squeezable tomato sauce within arm's reach - that's just asking for trouble, that is. So I stayed put. And played. Found this in the Herald re find you ideal job: http://www.pips-web.co.uk/pip/silly/sillym.html and received the following results for the boys:
Chris: Cowboy Builder (!)
Ezra: Batman Impersonator
Vin: Disabled Mime Artist
Buck: Fame Academy Reject
Michael: Egyptian Mummy
Tony: Peeping Tom
Spent my lunch hour researching 19thC opium addicts. That'll look good in my cache. Amusing how "it's for a school project" is still the first excuse that erupts from my lips. As ever, as if. Research can be as much fun as writing sometimes and I thought I'd better do some as most of what I know about 19thC addicts comes from reading 19thC novels, which are at least primary sources, I guess. Finally found some M7 writers who actually research the period so I thought I'd better brush up. I did insane amounts of research when writing Young Riders but I've forgotten most of it. At least, ten years later, I have google and no longer have to spend long cold hours in the bowels of the Fischer library making hand written notes.
Bug Powder Dust
You're probably wondering why I spent all weekend lolling about in bed watching bad tv and writing worse fic instead of painting the back steps, cleaning the house, sorting my archives, x-taping, updating my pages or any of the million things that require my attention. Well, my insane Aged Parent had got a recipe for WWII era home made roache bait from one of her insane friends and I caught her making it up on the kitchen counter, casual as you please, slopping borax about like it was talcum powder. Don't do that, I said. That's dangerous, I said. Somone could get poisoned, I said. She persisted and no prizes, dear reader, for guessing who alone ended up spending the weekend writhing about in agony. Fortunately growing up in a house with a manic depressive and a dangerous sociopath has left the medicine cabinet chockers with tried and true remedies for 'accidental' poisonings so no real harm done. After a while, you really do build up an immunity. I was up and off to work first thing on Monday morning, as per usual, surprisingly mellow. William Burroughs was right. It's good stuff.
As it's daylight savings once more I got home late but early, to the delight of the birds who called out, swooped and fluttered about me and landed at my feet like Disney meets Hitchcock. Two lorikeets ate from my hands, not at all fussed these days (it's either eat under adult supervision or live with naughty magpies stealing their bread and honey). They're so very pretty up close, all red, orange, yellow, blue and green. In the proper daylight I could see all their different markings close up, like real close up, cause they'll sit on you now. A bird in the hand is worth...well probably a lot on the European market, heh, not that I ever would, they are totally pets now. Sure they only want me for food, but at least they want me for something.
Band of Brothers. The last episode and the war is over and we're finally in full colour for peacetime, which is good because I'd worried about my ancient tv until I realised the colour was washed out deliberately early on. We get an update on what the guys did next, and strangely, I actually care. I've really grown to like this series, for all it's law abiding war film making. It upsets me that's it's available on dvd everywhere else but here, especially as EvilCh9 really edited clumsily tonight. I mean, I could have cut it better. Sheesh.
Speaking of EvilCh9, it looks like they've really and totally skipped the Club Zero episode of Smallville. Is a letter bomb entirely out of the question?