It's Tuesday and, as I write that, it occurs to me I have a lot of Buffy Season Eight to catch up on. Perhaps this weekend.
This morning I went and did something rather rash. It turned out well, though perhaps a bit too long for the purpose I intended it. We'll see. If nothing else, perhaps it will appear on this blog at the appropriate time. And yes, I am being obtuse, though I prefer the term mysterious.
At the Monkey, they play music. Presently, a nearby young man is quietly singing along to Death Cab. Earlier, he hummed to Franz Ferdinand and Pink Floyd. Such things are one of the perks of being around people.
In other news, Kelly Barnhill's story, "Four Very True Fairy Tales," is up at the Interfictions Annex.
Also, my ears have stopped ringing. Which, though expected, was a nice addition to the day.