State of My Ass

I was reading a short story by Terry Bisson last week, and was getting excited because I thought I might be able to adapt it into a short film. Most of the action takes place in one room, with two characters, one of which is on the television. I let it sit for a bit, then reread it last night. It doesn’t really hold up on a second reading. It’s a little bit of a letdown because a) I like Terry Bisson’s stories, but this one is not his best, and b) now I don’t have a story to adapt. Perhaps there is another story in this collection of Bisson’s stories that I might adapt, though. I’m about halfway through, and the subsequent stories are better than the one I first chose, but they wouldn’t make easy adaptations to film.

I picked up this book in Berkeley, CA the week before last while doing the Macworld stuff. I got excited when I saw it because it’s a signed copy. I found it in a store called something like The Other Change of Hobbit. The guy who ran the shop, who was aiming for a definite Asimovian look with the long grey hair and bushy sideburns, was a charming and quite knowledgeable chap who knew exactly which year of the annual Year’s Best Science Fiction anthologies were hard to find. It would have been better if he had had a copy of one of those years. He informed me that those books run into the hundreds of dollars for used copies.

Don’t drink and blog. I’m a little trashed at the moment. My cosmo glass looks classy on the little table I refinished, next to our pale green table lamp with the broken leg that C fixed with candle wax and pennies. He’s nothing if not resourceful.

I’m writing this in our big round chair in the living room. The laptop is too far away from our base station to get a wi-fi signal. It’s sad. Now I can’t search for porn read the text of the prez’s SOTU address.

Come here, you gorgeous little cosmo, you.