The World Won't End.

The World Won't End

A few short things that are no big deal. The world is a beautiful and strange place full of random bits. Here are a few:

The RIAA will eventually change or die.

Bunny the Cat came to live with me last week. Bunny lost two-thirds of her tail when she was born on a truck engine five years ago. One of her back legs shattered when she slid off the engine and hit the ground; it healed a little shorter than the rest, so she hops a bit when she walks. Bunny lost a fight with a snake last summer, and is still recovering from the resulting poisonous infection; she's patchy and stitched up. Agoraphobic, she rolls around under my bed hissing and spitting, like some demented, possessed black dustbunny. The other cats are wary, but fascinated. I made her a safety maze out of boxes under there, and she's my little monster under the bed. Occasionally I drag her out and pet her - she enjoys this as long as no one else is around to see her acting like a cat.

Here's a nice British bit about Libraries.


It's banned books week. Thank your local librarian for protecting your civil liberties.

I owe Ron, ohmigod, I owe my roommate Ron for driving my grandfather to Marietta while I was at work today. I'm sure Grandpa just insulted the heck out of him with jokes about Jimmy Carter and whatnot all the way to Cobb county and back. Ron, like all good people, believes Jimmy Carter should be sainted. So does my Grandma. It's just one of the many reasons why my grandparents have been divorced for three decades now.

There's a nice interview with Neil Gaiman on NPR over here.

Fall has started; the pecans are nearly ready, and there are heavy warm lightning storms over Atlanta I can watch from my big front porch. And I know that the world won't end if none of the boys I've fallen in love with never love me back. The world won't end if I stand out in the rain with no shoes on, thinking about how I've got to learn to love the rain more than the sunshine. The poets have all got it wrong; love is not fire, but water, love is standing in the autumn rain and accepting the inevitability of being soaked to the skin. Love is liquid, love is erosion, the Grand Canyon was built by love. Love is rain, love is a contaminated lake, love is dew on flowers and the dew our bodies make for each other.

And love, like water, can never touch the sun. He's hot as hell, think about that. They don't call the devil the lightbringer for nothing.

here's one last neat cartoon. See you next week.