Monday I drove out to the wilds of Tigard to get a new author photo taken. I loathe being photographed–it stresses me out like you wouldn’t believe, for a set of reasons that have everything to do with my childhood and almost nothing to do with whoever is pointing the camera at me. However, the photographer came highly recommended, and his work is gorgeous. If anyone can make me look decent, he probably can. Heh.
Yesterday evening I got this sudden urge to listen to Wham! I ended up dancing around my living room to old videos, especially this one. Oh, and this one. (God bless YouTube.) That, of course, led me to one of the few Christmas songs I like. (I’m also fond of Carol of the Bells, especially when the Muppets do it, and Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.) Oh, the scarves! The smouldering angst! THE FEATHERED HAIR!
Incidentally, I was also just introduced to Robert Earl Keene’s Merry Christmas From The Family, which I found hilarious and oddly touching.
Hmm, what else today? Laura Anne Gilman on epirates. I’ll just point and say, “what she said.” Sometimes I wish my work wasn’t in ebook format, because of the sheer effrontery of the jackasses who STEAL it, then get snitty with me when I ask them politely and publicly not to, you know, STEAL.
Tomorrow is when I do a final round of the grocery store for the little things I must have on hand for the foodathon of the Eve and the Big Day. (The children were scandalised at the thought that they could open one or two presents for Yule, so they’re waiting until the 25th, the hidebound little dears.) I plan on using the self-checkout, since that way I don’t have to talk to anyone. Apparently the little sign on my forehead that says, “Please tell me about all your troubles and every embarrassing thing in your life RIGHT NOW WHILE WE’RE IN LINE” lights up in neon during the holidays. You would not believe the sh!t I get told in lines between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. It’s not that I begrudge a little listening, it’s just that I don’t have the emotional energy to try to fix the things strangers tell me.
My solstice passed quietly and without a lot of comment, which is getting to be just the way I like it. Someday when the kids are older and I’m back to my normal nocturnal habits I’ll get back into holding vigil on the solstices again. But for right now, the gods know I need sleep to be an effective human being. If they have a problem with that, they shouldn’t have designed life this way.
Anyway, that brings the random catchall to a close. Something is banging about my chimney, and I think it may be a squirrel. It certainly isn’t Santa. I’m going to go check.
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