My cold is over, my stomach bug is over. I await the flood tide of happiness.
Somewhere recently I came--recame?--across a quote I'd seen before from some writer, about how describing sunsets is one of a poet's most banal skills. But I like to write and read those descriptions, so I don't care. The other night I was at the stoplight just before Pine runs downhill past the Egyptian Theater. The sun was at a low point, throwing long shadows, and had turned the theater facade gold, a Maxfield Parrish kind of lemony gold wherever it hit the white stone, or maybe plaster, curlicues--a decorative sort of marzipan whatever it is; and just below this it gilded the faces of one or two trees, and just above was a periwinkle sky. You always get great views on a slice of street, between building tops.
I went on the Seattle underground tour yesterday, which wasn't quite as I expected. I thought it would be like a ghost town below the streets. It's really just some boards and basements. The history from the tour guide was very interesting though--clearly that's what justifies the ten-dollar ticket.
Also very interesting is an article I recently read about e-mail. (I'm trying to find connective tissue between these paragraphical thoughts, to make the segue smoother, but hmm, no. Anyway.) It's in Salon, but should be accessible without much trouble to anyone who wants to read it. It talks about the inbox as a habitat, e-mail user types, and what gmail is really delivering in terms of a new e-mail paradigm--a switch from a folder-centric design to a search-engine-centric design. It also talks about e-mail bankruptcy: how common it is to build up a backlog of hundreds or thousands of unanswered messages that constantly gnaw at you, and how one guy, at least, decided to sweep the decks and just start fresh. I think I have to do that. I mean, I have to face it--I'm never going to have the time to answer all those e-mails I have sitting in my old inbox, or my "reply-to" folder. A handful of them had actual questions; most were feedback of some kind or another. So if you wrote me feedback anytime in the last three years, I thank you. I read every e-mail I get and it does mean a lot--it's hard to flower in a vacuum. I'll try to do better going forward, but I'm really not going to promise anything. I'd like to set expectations in that area very low.
Looking back through my recent posts, I see that I was going to write about some dreams I've been having about my mother, but on reflection, I don't have much to say about that. Unrelatedly, I think "whom" is a stupid word and we should all just move on and accept the fact that "who" is the vernacular, and there's nothing wrong with that.
Things that have made me ridiculously happy lately that I recommend to everyone: Bill Bryson, especially A Walk in the Woods; caprese salad; Monk; the song "Vivi Davvero" by Giorgia; and Mozilla--no pop-ups!
I'm still working on my second Spander Inquisition story and am about halfway through; it's also pleasing me. I went with a story I'd had in my head for about a year or so but never would have written on my own, partly because it was just one of many, and partly because it really wants to sprawl at much greater length than I'm ever going to write. But I'm going to try and do the concept justice. I did have a goal of writing two noir stories this summer; I rather doubt that will happen, but you never know.
This weekend I think I'm going to drive around the Olympic Peninsula. Wish me good weather. :)