Brian just asked me…

Brian just asked me about Holomuck, so I thought I'd provide a link to it for you (hope I did it right). It's an interactive space, with a fun theme and built in large part by me. :-) If you visit, please stop by the nightclub -- free drinks on me and the strip show is quite tasteful. You might also enjoy the Narnian quest I just finished...or you could just go shopping at the bazaar on Deva; I have a weapons shop there. If you happen to be on at the same time as me, I go by Kateri there.

Other than that, great dance class, as usual, pleasant weather, gotten a little colder and a lot wetter today and the weekend is supposedly going to be horrible. If it's not too bad tonight, I'll go up to the First Friday folk sing...otherwise, it's curl up with a good book, hot chocolate and a fire for the weekend, I think. Am currently muchly enjoying a selection of essays by Barbara Kingsolver, one of the better contemporary mainstream writers around - her Pigs in Heaven is really good. A selection from the first essay in High Tide in Tucson:

"In my own worst seasons I've come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.

"It's not such a wide gulf to cross, then, from survival to poetry. We hold fast to the old passions of endurance that buckle and crack beneath us, dovetailed, tight as a good wooden boat to carry us onward. And onward full tilt we go, pitched and wrecked and absurdly resolute, driven in spite of everything to make good on a new shore. To be hopeful, to embrace one possibility after another--that is surely the basic instinct. Baser even than hate, the thing with teeth, which can be stilled with a tone of voice or stunned by beauty. If the whole world of the living has to turn on the single point of remaining alive, that pointed endurance is the poetry of hope. The thing with feathers."

It's better in context, of course. Have a great weekend, everyone!

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