Appointed Rounds

The Postal Service and I have not been getting along so well as of late. Not the band The Postal Service, with which I have maintained a quietly devoted friendship, but rather the United Stated Postal Service. Apparently flying like an eagle involves either withholding or completely losing packages. Not only did my horribly pretentious copy of the Idylls of the King travel a long and tortuous route to my doorstep (causing much fear and dismay in the mind of the Ebay seller), but the USPS managed to completely misplace a Netflix return, calling into question my integrity as a subscriber. Perhaps the postal gods feel slighted because I have yet to use those Star Wars stamps.

Dustjacket

Books on the brain recently.

Here's a link from lifehacker with some booky ideas.

I went in to Borders this weekend on the hunt for an edda. I forgot it was Harry Potter Day. Yosh.

Tagged most of my books in Library Thing yesterday. Apparently my tastes in books have not changed since I was twelve, a discovery I find neither surprising nor displeasing.

Click

Anyone else notice that Debo posted a picture of me? And you thought he only snapped photos of party people.

Speaking of pictures, I was part of another great wedding this weekend. I'm always a little nervous about the pictures, though. Every time, I end up looking like I would rather be anywhere else than with the happy couple. I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong -- I smile and think happy thoughts, but it doesn't seem to work. Quite embarrassing, really.

It's over!

Finished the play. Fairly satisfied with it. So now what?

Peeve

Attended the Buffalo Book Fair yesterday, and swung by the library for the first time in a decade or so. The fair is certainly worth a stop-in, so keep your eyes open next year.

Any library gives me a feeling of coming home, of course. The decor in my apartment is a testament to that. The Buffalo library, while awesome, did manage to piss me off. There's a "Mark Twain Room" in there, outside of which is a recently posted sign reading "Iconic Mark Twain". Grr....

My hatred of the "i" word knows no bounds.

Emerge from Nothing

June has ended, and the play is decidedly less than 20,000 words long. I'm about 1/3 of the way through the third and final act, and the final product will not hit the word count. No big.

As this is my first salvo into comedy, I have found myself in an new situation: asking myself "is this funny?". The answer is usually "if somebody funny said it...". A new vertex is added to the normal author-piece-audience triangle, that being the actor. Weird.