Robynettely

One of the crits I received on my story on on OWW said the only person he'd seen successfully manage that type of witty banter was Joss Whedon. Well, surely I shouldn't try, then.

I was watching the helicopters and gunships fly over, and thinking about my sister, who is in Tel Aviv right now, and who once said to me "I guess they have to practice somewhere" about the military aircraft there, when I realized I had another Uncle George story to tell. This one is before he winds up in the Salween Delta, and maybe explains why he's gone so far away. It involves rabbits, not dolphins. Oh, Uncle George, stop with the creepy experiments.

Regarding the protesters at the G20 in Toronto, which mercifully I am not watching on TV any more, due to Ed having a cigarette and therefore losing the remote control to the boy, who is playing a video game: When I'm in charge (I.E., PM, though that is highly unlikely, as I just live here), things will be different: The leaders of the 20 nations will have to drop on strings from helicopters into the security zone, like Tom Cruise might have done in a Mission Impossible movie (don't know for sure). The staffers of the leaders of the G20 nations will have to enter through a laser field, like Catherine Zeta-Jones in "Entrapment". If you can't do that, sorry, you can't come. My wife (Ed) will have to wear a nicer dress than I was wearing at the restaurant while we were watching the PM speak (I was dressed to watch polo, which unfortunately had been cancelled). And he will have to wear less make-up than Stephen Harper. That is all.

I was 12 minutes late to this week's band concert, due to traffic and the exceptional farness it was from my house. I gave myself 45 minutes to get there, but it was not to be. Then I had to acquire a parking pass and run it back to my car, and my candies aren't exactly for running in, so I ran barefoot on pavement. And my feet have forgiven me. We played the above-quoted song, which made me curious as to what it's about -- either a failed relationship, or hashish.

I have no idea what the title means, but it popped into my head (from my iPod, so not a great distance). Heather wants me to buy a Beatles box set. And two books that I would actually consider, if I was feeling like buying books right now: Anathem by Neal Stephenson (never read anything by him, but there are a couple of books around the house) and A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire. I read "Wicked" a couple of years ago. The other three recommendations, though... meh.

For the first time in a while, I didn't have any activities planned for Sunday. This meant that by 2:30, groceries were bought, the bathroom was clean (!), we'd eaten, I'd finished the front of a sweater, I'd read a book, and I'd read the entire internet (the good bits). Now there was nothing standing between me and editing a story (except maybe one of my sewing projects, and if it's a choice between editing and sewing, I'll always choose editing, because I hate sewing; I just like buying fabric and fantasizing). So I pulled out Bezoar, and then I got to the end of it, and I started editing Bogwitch, and got about halfway through. Two stories edited in one weekend, I can't think of any time that's ever happened before. Also, two stories out on submission, that's never happened before, either. The world is full of firsts for me.

Excuse this, it's very late and I should be in bed. Alas, I will forget what I want to say if I don't write it now, and history tells me that if I write a draft, it will stay a draft forever and never get posted. Ahem. My band, a community concert band, did a concert this evening. We played with three local high school bands, each band playing two pieces for each other, and then everybody getting together and playing one final piece for the twelve people left in the audience. I wasn't particularly in love with the pieces we played, but that's neither here nor there. There were no other oboes in any of the high school bands. I've noticed a gradual decline in the number of oboists in these things, but this was the first time I was all by myself. Our bassoonist was solo, as well. I'm sure it's not solely due to my wish to drive all competition from my band (I may be mean to other oboists, but these high school students would only have to deal with me once a yea

Finally this morning I clicked "submit", and sent my VP story to an actual paying market. And with that, at last I can consider myself a graduate. I think I deserve a beer.