'A confirmation of Proust's quip that the only true paradise is paradise lost, Waterloo is a meditation on human failure and decline.'
Ah, you have to read this, an article about a book called 'Waterloo,' a thinly veiled fictional portrait of Austin, Texas (originally named Waterloo, by the way). Some day I will write a thinly veiled book about Waterloo, but I will call it "Austin."
You think there are tornado chasers on Mars?
I don't know who she is, but she's pretty:
I was out for my walk tonight around sunset, and one of these giant purple-violet bruisers that had been looming overhead started to break apart in the middle, right in front of the setting sun. At first, it looked like a wad of bloody spit. Then, a red/orange gassy nebula like in one of the Hubble's deep space pics. And at the end, when it wasn't a storm cloud anymore, it looked like something out of a Max Parrish painting. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen.