Interworld

I just read Interworld, by Neil Gaiman, and highly recommend it. I went looking for a little more information and amused to find that my comparison of it to a Heinlein juvenile was correct. I'm also delighted it's been optioned. And was very amused by the linked article, which explains both why it felt visual to me and illustrates the occasionally asinine unpredictability of publishing houses, record labels, and movie studios.

So what's really going on?

Last week, the stress was such that I started forgetting things. Not holes in my memory. Appointments and tasks to be done. Not alarming in a lot of individuals, but for me, a huge indication of just how bad it is. This week, I'm sick. I don't think I spent a single moment alone in public this past weekend, and nobody else is sick. Just me. More stress indicators.

Interview tomorrow. I'm hoping more will open up on the job front once the holidays have passed.

In wedding planning news, I still need to arrange a meeting regarding bar service and rentals. The bridesmaids' dresses are ordered. The update on Pete's ring is that it should be ready in February. The update on my dress is that it was delayed about a month. This is why they have you order them so far out. Of course, I've gained ten pounds since I was measured, and the stress is making them awfuly hard to take off again, so I guess I shouldn't complain. A new job would probably help with that, too.

My blanket and me . . .

Completely random thought. I had a blanket and a stuffed bear I was very attached to as a kid. Not like a security blanket, like I couldn't be parted from them. But it occurs to me, thinking abut it twenty-five years later, that they were there to protect me from the monsters at night. I wonder if that's normal. Did any of you have a blanket or a toy that was a protector?

Text F for Frankenstein

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLlGopyXT_g

Ain't that the truth.

Cats

If you've never lived with cats, you'll just have to take our word for it. There are reasons my cats don't get to sleep in my room.

And speaking of cats, mine had their first encounter with a laser pointer this weekend. RougeHistorian brought one. The fraidy cat promptly went up her cat tree and hid. The cat who plays fetch, on the other hand, stalked it for 15 minutes after it ran under the sofa and hid, making her hunting call all the while. RH is reasonably sure that, after several exposures, she has traced the laser pointer phenomenon back to him. This utterly fails to lessen her interest.

So, I saw The Golden Compass . . .

I loved it. But I can see how it's going to piss off a lot of people. And I'm reading that it was already toned down to piss off fewer. Which apparently also pissed off fans of the book. Can't please anybody, it seems.