July 31, 2008
I think we need to see other people. Just for a while.
Of course I still love you, it’s just… we work together all day, and then we work a little on the side, we get together over weekends, and somehow, between all the tinkering and analysis, between all the strategies and printouts, I’ve lost sight of just how much fun we used to have together. Imagine that. (Can you?) Fun. I miss the old days of casual, carefree, browsing – dropping in on friends for a quick snark and a belly-laugh, window-shopping until my fingers hurt, drinking in information until my eyes blurred. God. When it all get so serious?
Pumpkin, the thrill has gone.
So. I’m going to go analogue for a bit. Minimise the deadlines, dust off that mountain of titles next to my bed, dust off the Insignificant Other, take up a new hobby, go *outside*, actually see people. Socially.
Distance. Perspective. Enchanting Views… that sort of thing.
And then, we’ll see.
Au revoir, dearies.
July 10, 2008
Urgent and mysterious circumstances compel me, Benitez, to stuff a pigskin valise and flee this town, the rain, and the Internet, until further notice. Say, Monday. Abnormal service will resume as soon I resume, that’s all I’m allowed to say. Apologies for the short notice, but when you gotta go, you gotta go.
Don’t break anything. Don’t torch anything. Those are not raisins.
Auf Wiedersehen, pets.
June 6, 2008
The raid on São Paulo Charlie’s Drive-thru Sanatorium®
was a bit of a disaster. Father almost lost a frontal lobe
in a duel with an orderly, and Edna flat-out refused
to eat any of the vegetables.
Gone, but not forgotten: It’s true: I haven’t visited your sites in ages, I haven’t written, I haven’t called, I haven’t thanked you for your lovely write-ups… I’ve even missed a couple of birthdays. And dangitalltoHades if I don’t feel a wee bit guilty about it all.
I’ll get back to Teh Internet eventually. I swear. I’ve only got 3 gargantuan epics left to midwife, and 8914… 8913 heads to pickle.
Update: The incomparable Ms. Vita ages disgracefully on Sunday – do join me in a rousing chorus of Happy Birthday.
Quick, while she’s still got that hangover…
Updated Update: Aaaand… let’s belt out another verse (I know it’s Monday, but with feeling, okay?) for Dolce’s Evil Twin and Trailer Park Temptress: daisyfaaaae!
Happy Birthday(s), dears – long may the liquor flow, and the cakes continue to… crumble.
March 21, 2008
Throwing up into a bucket at regular intervals is hardly one of my favourite activities – especially not on my day off. So, no tale today, dears – I’m resting my delicate constitution so I can gorge myself with chocolate and hot cross buns on Sunday.
Also, I couldn’t think of anything funny to say about rabbits.
March 7, 2008
“How many of these have we been to this month”, murmured
Edgar as the bride disrobed and lay down on the slab*, “four?”
“Well, you know what that means”, wheezed Anunciacion Valdez,
locating a hip flask and a flintlock in her petticoats
and aiming one of them at the vicar’s head.
Special Notice: This ones goes out to W & the lovely D who are tying the knot – presumably not around the other’s neck – tomorrow. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness, adventure, and mutual-respect, dears. And Zombies. Hear! Hear!
*Church of England. All their ceremonies end up this way.
February 8, 2008
Edgar gave Olive Cortina’s hand another squeeze.
“Lend me that for a minute”, whispered Virgil,
and nudged it into a popcorn carton
in the next row down.
Update: I blew in and out of the launch faster than the South-Easter, but not before I got to grab a glass, say hello, and drop a press-hot copy of the book into Jesse’s hand for her John Hancock. I was expecting the usual inscription – you know: firstborn; half the royalties; how I inspired an entire generation of writers and illustrators, but… no. All I got was a lousy signature. That aside, the book is every bit as marvellous as anticipated – and then some. You should run, RUN, to get your copy here, and limited edition prints here.
One Step Closer to the Grave: Thanks to everyone who managed to crack the veil of secrecy and dispatch such kind wishes – and in some cases, gob-smackingly generous sacri… gifts – for my birthday. (And special thanks to Kyk for mentioning me in the same panel as the Grim Reaper and the FSM. I can die happy now.) Most fabulous of you, dears – I’m touched. Also, quite grateful.
Next Week: Less chatter. More splatter.
February 1, 2008
Oh… ah, hah hah… Is it Friday? Already?
So. I’ve tried staring at my monitor until droplets of blood form on my forehead. Drunk three cups of coffee in under an hour. And bought something I can’t afford on The Internet. And still… nothing resembling a post. Nada. Niks. The well is dry. The ship has fled the port, the eggs have set, the, er… psychiatrist is in.
Before I head off for a restorative Margarita, some recreational flagellation, and a drill press, here’s a little something to keep your spirits up in the meantime. Wait, this one. No, no, one of these. (Thanks, Kyknoord. Thanks a lot.)
I’m counting the days.