the morning's post-with-coffee

Three ways I know it's autumn:

- the urge to cook returns full-force.
- I take the oversized fleecy sweatshirts out of the cedar chest and hang them within easy reach.
- when I wake up in the morning, I close the window in the office. Because brrrr, even with socks and a sweatshirt. Lovely. And no, I don't mean that ironically. Summer's over, and I'm not at all displeased.

Unlike the past two weekends of social frivolity, the plan for the next 72 hours is to stay close to home and knock things off the to-do list. My editors and agent will no doubt be pleased to hear this. (EtA: so pleased, they just piled more on my plate. *sighs, reaches for delivery menus* It's gonna be one of Those Weekends....)

And yes, I know it's International Talk like a Pirate Day. I'd make an investment banker joke, but my heart's just not in it, this year. So instead, here's a bit of a pirate story.

( from 'Mad Cats and Englishmen' )

Friday afternoon, and not a week too soon.

Too much shite is really pissing me off (most recently, Hamburger Helper commercials where momma not only must make dinner for her family but teach them table manners and morals as well, while daddy's job is just to high five them across the table when they act up. Um. Even in the 1950's-that-weren't, daddy at least was shown coming home after a long day at the job, not just being Another Kid. I do NOT like the social implication there, and neither should parents of either gender.)

On the more amusing side, some weekend reading for us all: http://jakonrath.blogspot.com/2008/09/artistic-anguish.html

money shot: Writers tend to do two things really well: whine and inflate their own importance.

Why yes, yes we do. /Anthony Bourdain voice

And now I'm going to take my well-worn copy of Busman's Honeymoon and shove the kittehs out of the comfy sun-warmed spot, and chill for a few hours. Call me when the world gets its shit together, willya?