So, it's been a while. Right now I'm waiting to hear about the test results from my uncle John's biopsy. The tumor was siginifcant, to say the least, but the doctors seem to think they got it all, whatever it was; I'm hoping and praying. It's been a lot of waiting, and between that, carrying old german shepards that can't walk through down pours in the middle of the night after all the lights on the block went out. Oh, and I've been writing, too.
I'm reading the new Harry Potter, one of those ten million people that are, and so far it's fantastic. There's still some parts where the editors went soft on her, but this penultimate book has the same feeling of a giant snow ball rolling down hill that Revenge of the Sith did. Which Sugu HATED by the way. I'm itching to chat with him to see just why, although he explains some on his site. And in Book Six, Harry finally notices Ginny. I knew it all along. His mom had red hair, you know.
And goodbye to Scotty. James Doohan, world class guy, dead at 85. He was the heart and soul really of 'Star Trek', wasn't he?
Ben mentions some of the links here on his blog today. You should check his out, too. I want to add a lot more literary links, there's so many out there, and I plan to do that soon, at the same time I give the site a little overhaul. Ben is going down to Iowa City to take part in the Summer Workshops and I so wish I was going with him. Man.
And London was bombed again today. There aren't words anymore to express a person's outrage, and I think that's the collateral damage of terrorism: it thieves your outrage. It becomes routine, expected, inevitable. And so it becomes pointless, because it's like the weather. There's weather everyday. So go right ahead, Osama. You'll eventually lose the ability to frighten us, and some day, sooner or later, you will be found, and you will be killed.
Oh, and I found out Karl Rove's wife's name is Darby. Ugh.