Another two weeks missing, dear dear! And some (most? all?) of the CGI scripts that drive the comment forms and stuff have been (still are?) broken (but you can still talk in the talking place, or at least I hope you can).
I swear, the place is just falling apart around our ears!
Not that there isn't something attractive, something pensive and restful, about the slightly rotted step, the fly-specked glass, the hinge that creaks when the half-open shutter moves in the breeze. But (I've found, with age and wisdom and worldiness) that those things and their family (their ilk, their class, their category) are most attractive, most pensive and restful, when they belong to someone else.
Sort of like collateralized debt obligations, in a way. Or the sound of the rain pouring on roofs (rooves?). More atmospheric if someone else owns them.
Many things have been occurring, or at least many increments of time have been consumed in the doing of things. Some of those things have been done in Second Life; you can read about some of those in the infamous secret Dale Innis weblog.
Some of those things have also been done in World of Warcraft, where I now have a level twenty-something Paladin, and a level nineteen darven hunter with a level nineteen pet snow leopard named Kitty. WoW has been going through some fun events related both to Hallowe'en (which is called "Hallows End" in WoW), and to the upcoming Wrath of the Lich King expansion thing being released. I like it when random strange different things happen in the game; apparently others don't like it so much, if this really means that they've turned off the Zombie Plague.
(I thought it was jolly good fun to be a zombie and run around infecting and sliming one's erstwhile allies, but apparently some of the more Serious WoW Players found it interfered with their relentless pursuit of whatever, tsk.)
Spennix is level 65, has her first Epic Mount (a Swift Grey Ram), and has recently been running about stabbing things in raids conducted against the gloomy undead that the floating UFO necropolises (necropoli?) of the Lich King have been emitting here and there on the landscape. Or something like that.
In "real world" news, the little daughter is visiting from College during Midterm Break. It's lovely to see her, even if we are obviously a secondary attraction compared to the Boyfriend. *8)
Also, it's nearly November, and despite how busy everything is I'm determined to do National Novel Writing Month again! (See previous efforts for evidence bearing on the possible outcomes.) This will probably involve less WoW playing; I hope it doesn't turn out to involve less sleep or even less SLing (because I really haven't been SLing all that much lately and I miss it), or additional stress. It probably won't; writing 2000 or so anything-goes words a day is in general a very liberating thing.
Or at least that's how I remember it. *8)
I'm sitting at the moment in the waiting room lounge place upstairs at the Music School, where the little boy is having his weekly bass guitar lesson (not to be confused with the weekly bass viol lesson, or the weekly evening orchestra rehearsal). The Music School is in another of these tiny cities that we have around here, across the street from a minor shopping mall anchored by a grocery store.
Next door to the Music School in the same building is a barber shop (oddly, the big lighted sign about the Music School is actually over the barber shop rather than over the School). Beyond that, in the converted private house next door to this building, is... a barber shop.
This seems a bit odd; I wonder if the two neighboring barber shops are deadly rivals, or in fact the same barber shop under two different names, or if (despite looking quite similar in sinage and what's visible from the street) they actually cater to entirely different sets of clients. Or if the demand for haircuts (and the other stuff that barber shops do these days) is just high enough to support them both.
After the little boy went in for his lesson, I went down the stairs and outside and along the street past the barber shops and the pizza place and a few random shops to the liquor store, and picked out a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream with Caramel (spelling approximate, as I'm offline). The doctor says I should have one drink a day (any kind of alcohol will do, he says, that story about red wine being magical turned out not to be true), and sweet smooth licquers (spelling again approximate) are apparently what I like.
It's getting chilly here, autumn sliding by and winter approaching, and we've broken out the vests and the coats. Yesterday (or maybe the day before: that day when it was chilly and also raining, with bright wet slippery leaves everywhere) I wore my old oversized duster coat, with the worn lining and the broken zipper and the enormous pockets. It's a great coat; I'm sure I looked extremely disheveled and suspect! Today I'm wearing the nice leather vest that I got to replace the nice leather vest that I got sometime back in the 1850's or something and then lost.
And in the middle of that paragraph the little boy came out of his lesson, and now I'm back home on the big bed finishing up this entry, and thinking about what to do next: to go to sleep absurdly early (my body would approve), or go into WoW and turn in some of the Necrotic Runes that Spennix got from raiding, or go into SL and see what the gang is up to and work on some fireworks I've promised someone. Of course, the little daughter may need to be driven to or from the boyfriend's house at any moment, hmmm...
But anyway I will post this. And come to think of it that's another thing that's falling apart; my usual Perl scripts for updating the weblog are confused about host keys for some reason (although manual scp isn't), so I have to do the updating even more by hand than usual. Let me know if anything looks incorrect. *8)
