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January 31, 2007


If you could send this video back in time, it would have melted my fourteen-year-old self's brain. So it's probably just as well. I need my brain.

January 30, 2007

Wonders Of The Past

All better, I'm happy to report, save this lingering cough. I would say it was in its last throes, but that phrase didn't work out too well for the last person who used it, so I'll just say I hope it goes away really soon.

* * *

Recently got a rejection from the amusingly named Cthulhu Sex Magazine. Apparently I didn't uphold all three pillars of their submission requirements (blood, sex, and tentacles). Ah well.

I also found out I'm a candidate for the Campbell award this year, thanks to the Realms appearance, but because of the recent qualification rules change, my long-ago Strange Horizons pub automatically pushed me into my second year of eligibility. Feh. I have no illusions about my chances to win (slim to nil, really), but still. Seems a bit dodgy to me.

Reading: Dying of the Light, by George R. R. Martin. Just had to check out the literary origins of githyanki.

January 25, 2007

Western Medicine

An official happy 40th birthday to Greg today. Congratulations, dude. I hear those AARP perks are pretty good.

And now for your amusement, the cast of the USS Enterprise demonstrate the effects of my cough medicine. Whoo!

January 22, 2007

I Hear Gladstone Now Advocates Home Rule For Ireland

So, I've been absent. Haven't posted here, haven't replied to much email, and in general have dropped off the face of the earth. So where have I been? Why, the 19th century, Lisa and I both. No, it's true. And to prove it, we brought back proof: we've both got consumption. We have these dramatic coughing fits that, when we cover our mouths with tissues, we expect to bring them away flecked with bloodspots. And then we turn to the papers and read about Queen Victoria's upcoming Golden Jubilee, with all the pageantry and splendour the Empire can produce. Huzzah! God save the Queen!

We've also hallucinated a bit.

In short, we are weak, coughing, snuffling, aching (both head and elsewhere), at times feverish, and generally our brains have turned to tapioca pudding.

On the bright side, we're improving a little. At least we're well enough that we can make it to the doctor (back to back appointments tomorrow morning). And Ian seems to be doing well. For all that he's been sick too, he's the healthiest of the three of us. At least we've been able to send him to daycare, where he's been watched by competent professionals who haven't been zombified. I wish he'd learn to walk and drive already; that way we could also send him to the store for juice.

January 12, 2007


Today we had a meeting with Ian's daycare folks. Sort of a parent-teacher conference, as it were. Always nice to get the perspective of someone else on your child. Short version: he's doing very well. Likes music, enjoys socializing with other babies, and has a lovely time in general. He'll most likely be moved up to the next age bracket in April.

Of course, because the day care folks were busy doing these meetings all day, I spent the rest of the day minding the squab. Took him to Barnes & Noble, where he napped whilst I perused the shelves. Fun.

* * *

Some things I've learned recently:

  • While feeding Ian baby food, if I follow the delightful taste of pears with a spoonful of peas and he begins to gag, if I begin tapdancing across the kitchen heying-and-hoing while waving my arms like someone's set my hair on fire, he will not gag but instead crack up. A fair trade, says I.

  • According to the woman who cut my hair yesterday, gray hair starts at your scalp. As my hair is now shorter, it looks grayer. Mortality marches on.

  • Marijuana will stimulate a cat's appetite. No, they don't smoke it; you blow the smoke in their ear. This I learned from the vet tech Andy saw last month. He claimed this information comes from scientific research (possibly conducted in his apartment, but maybe not).

  • Fans of 1st edition AD&D should remember the githyanki, baddies from the Astral Plane seen decorated the cover of the Fiend Folio. They were created by Charles Stross in an article in White Dwarf, and are based on creatures from George R. R. Martin's book Dying of the Light.

  • The Four Tasty Treats of the Snackpocalypse are Twinkies, Ding Dongs, Hostess Cupcakes, and York Peppermint Patties.
Reading: Eric, by Terry Pratchett.

January 11, 2007

Adorably Horrific

As I sit at the reference desk, my first evening shift since last semester, I idly surf. And came across something I feel compelled to share. It's disturbing enough that I'll only post a link to it: Cathulhu. And after you view it, remember to roll for SAN (0/1d3).

January 10, 2007


I was a bit unwell this weekend. Which is understating it, really; it was the sort of massive head cold that stalks you in the dark alley, works you over with a splintered table leg, and finishes up by stuffing you into a trash can of cold manicotti and coffee grounds. No, really. Sunday I could have really used some FlintstonesTM Chewable Morphine. Damn the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act of 1914! I'm mostly recovered now, happily. And little of note happened. At least, notable here. But I'm reminded I should come with some content now and then.

Reading: A little late holiday fare: The Christmas Mummy, by Heather Shaw and Tim Pratt, and The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus, by L. Frank Baum.

January 06, 2007

Australia, Australia

161 day rejection from ASIM. Le drat.

Reading: Strange Itineraries, by Tim Powers.

January 04, 2007

Crazy Liquid Fruit

I'm pleased to report that I've sold a story to cutting edge avant garde cool kids type market Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet. How this has happened, I'm not sure. But they've accepted my little tale, "In the Lobby of the Mission Palms," which I wrote at World Fantasy 2004. While, er, sitting in the lobby of the Mission Palms hotel.

It's possible titles aren't my strong suit. At any rate: yay!

* * *

In much less cheery domestic news, young Ian has an ear infection. Poor little guy. He stayed home from day care today, and started another round of medications. Grape for the cough medicine, orange for the antibiotics. I hope he still likes fruit after all this.

January 03, 2007

This Is What They Tell Me

So let me set the scene for you. It was a quiet afternoon here at Hansen Citadel. The boy's at daycare, Lisa and I were at work. The cats were all napping upstairs on the bed, doing their best sprawl across the sheets.

Then, June's head came up. She heard -- no, sensed something, with her every feline fiber. She leapt to the floor, alert. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

Her one blue eye looked up to see a shimmering in the air. She hissed, a loud alert summoning the others to instant awareness. They formed up into battle formation, the Three-Taloned Paw, eighth formation of Cat-Fu. As they watched, the shimmering grew into a vortex that ripped a hole in the fabric of reality itself. The air filled with the smell of methane as through the hole stepped one of the cats from Saturn.

A cat from Saturn is a terrible thing; a little more than a mockery of a true cat, it seeks to destroy what it cannot ever be. It raised up its horrible face and hissed. And they leapt at each other.

The foundations of the house shivered as they each dealt titanic blows. In short, the fur flew. But though they struggled long, neither side could gain an advantage. But June saw a way to thwart the cat from Saturn and in a moment, put her plan into action.

She turned and ran, as if seized by fear. And the cat from Saturn, thinking it sensed weakness, chased after her. Down the stairs they ran, two streaks of pale lightning. Into the kitchen June ran, and it was there she put her plan into action.

Up onto the counter she sprang, where I had left the frying pan to dry. With the flick of a paw she pushed it so the handle hung out into the space. Then as her enemy charged towards her, she gave a little jump to land on the end of the handle.

The frying pan flipped up into the air. For a microsecond it hung there. Then, in the next, it smashed into the cat from Saturn, the heavy metal bending from the force of the blow. The cat from Saturn staggered and then the cats were on it. They pummeled it until the alien invader fled, battered by their assault. They, and the house, were saved.

At least, this is what the cats claimed happened when we asked them how the frying pan got on the floor, and how it got one hell of a dent in it.

January 02, 2007

An Ominous Portent For The New Year

My university recently put up a new building on campus, and to go along with it, they had a large sculpture installed called "Spaceship Earth." From the press release:

Created by world-renowned Finno-American artist Eino‚ the $1 million sculpture is considered one of the artist’s most notable projects. The massive design consists of a 15-foot-diameter sphere comprised of 88 separate pieces of Brazilian blue quartzite‚ and 2‚400 bronze pieces attached to the face of the 22-foot-high globe. A life-size bronze figure of environmentalist David Brower also is stationed near the apex.
I went and saw it after it was finished. Very dramatic looking.

At any rate, it seems it collapsed into rubble over Winter break, most likely due to the weather.

Planet earth destroyed by weather changes. Hmm.

January 01, 2007

In With The New

It's a brand new year. We thought briefly of dressing up Ian as the New Year Baby, but that would require us to make him a sash. Which he would probably eat. He's in that phase now, tasting everything that will stand for it, such as the sofa. Mmm, brown.

And with the New Year comes a 154 day rejection from Hub. Seems some editor's resolution most likely was to clean out the slush pile. At any rate, it's my first rejection for the year. Smashing!