I've been prepping for a con and editing a book--this one's been off my radar. Also, while it's very bad and all, I kinda don't really care right now. I burned out my political sensibilities a little bit ago, there is not a damn thing I can do to fix this and I have to go draw a Digger and label a bunch of art. And I should probably go buy birdseed. Crud.
I'm hopeful that since we fly out tomorrow and will be effectively off the news grid until Tuesday morning, all the wailing and gnashing of teeth and gloating and vows to do whatever will have passed off by then and we can get back to stuff like interesting tube worms discovered in ocean trenches.
So it's time for iTunes. I happen to have the near-complete collected works of Allan Sherman, thanks to Deb's husband. I am a huge fan of Allan Sherman. (And also Tom Waits, Nick Cave, and Tool, which just goes to prove that humans are complex little buggers.)
Since there is a lot of stuff I need to be doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I am of course seized with a wild urge to go down and trim back the garden, which is ragged mass of dead stalks. I should have done it months ago, but it was bloody cold and the little birds were using the dead pineapple sage as cover, so I didn't want to cut it back. But now the swamp jessamine has broken dormancy and is running wild over the dead stalks, so I really OUGHT to cut 'em...
Okay, twenty minutes in the garden can't hurt. Then I'll do a Digger.