Archive: January 2008
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Jan 31 08: travel plans
It appears I have just made hotel and con reservations for Boskone. Cool!
For my next trick: travel from NYC to Boston for the con. I will be going up either as late as I can reasonably manage on a Friday evening or as early as possible on a Saturday morning. (I won’t know until midway through the week of the event, at the earliest, when I’ll be able to slip out of the office on Friday. We ship a magazine that day.) What do you think, folks: Acela? Regular old train? Bus?
Jan 29 08: fifty decisions
She answers the telephone.
He goes to college despite his parents’ pleas. They eat the steak. You open the envelope. You wear the shirt anyway. He cooks dinner for her at home. She goes into the dining room. They leave the room. He raises his hand. You stand up and look him in the eye. She pulls the plant out by the roots. He shaves his head and changes his name. They wrap it in paper and put it in the closet. He throws the ring off the bridge and into the gorge.
She throws the lamp at his head and screams at him to get out of her room. You kick it under the bed and say nothing. They agree to work together to find the missing girl. He orders all guns to open fire. She pays hundreds of dollars for a new pair of prosthetic eyes. He tells them to stay where they are. They run down the stairs and chase him into the woods. He decides to leave his wife. She remains at Burning Man even though she knows her mother is ill. They sell the plane. She taps him on the shoulder. She writes her name on the list. He lies. They buy the tickets anyway. They don’t tell anyone what they have seen. They set it on fire. You pour it into the bowl. You stick your hands into the murky water. You unbutton your shirt and smile.
She tells him exactly what she thinks. He burns the letter unread. He turns left instead. He initiates the computer’s autodestruct sequence. He gets in the car. She gets out of the car. She enlists in the Space Marines. He follows his master into the cave. You ignore the uncharacteristic spelling errors. It slithers out of the box and into the light. They order another round of drinks. She straightens her apron and leaves the kitchen. She puts down the gun. He buries the knife behind the rose bushes. You abandon ship without a moment’s hesitation. He fires the flare gun.
She does not answer the telephone.
Jan 28 08: a norwegian kind of blue
Where does the time go? You blink and suddenly there’s a whole new year going on and the index page on your blog has gone horrifyingly blank and your friends are worried you’re dead or something. Not much to report, really: the usual back-and-forth of too much freelance work and not enough; socializing with swimmers; the occasional date. I did the One Hour Swim yesterday — wasn’t feeling prepared enough to take it on all by my lonesome so I did it as a relay with a couple of teammates. Logged 4,600 yards in 60 minutes, drank the Gatorade, got the T-shirt. All was well. I’ve also recently written an initial draft of a story, which suffers from the usual passive-protagonist problems (clearly, my subconscious Has Issues) but is nonetheless promising. I have another story that is nearly in readable draft form, and am preparing to finally do a v2.0 of the Stevie Nicks Death Androids story. So: alive, and not dead.
And now: something geeky and cool. On YouTube, a video of a guy at Carnegie Mellon University who has adapted a Nintendo Wii system’s hardware to create flat-panel VR technology that shifts perspective in reaction to head and body motions by a single viewer, creating realistic simulated 3-D. Extremely neato. (via Defective Yeti.)