Kinda big for a lap dog.

Looking over the week’s posts, I wanted to note that I completed Norrell/Strange last night, so I guess I read it in about a week, something like that. What a delightful book. If you, like me, had trouble reading Harry Potter at first because it was essentially too thin for you, lacked referential sinew and such, Ms. Clarke’s got your goods.

Strangely, after consulting digital purchasing records, I can find no evidence that I ever owned a paper-and-ink copy of the book, despite my clear memories of it on the shelf. I am most inclined to pursue a copy.

Between this and the missing Gibsons I think perhaps I should just drop a wad of cash in my friend the book dealer’s lap and let him do the legging.

Strangely, I cannot find my hardcover copy of Jonathan Norrell and Mr. Strange nor my early Gibsons. Something, likely involving personal
decrepitude, is afoot.

The iPhone comes close but oft misses the cigar.

… And by the way, attempting to provide verbal direction UI tech support in iOS to seniors with no prior touchscreen experience, users who turn off their cell phones when they are not placing calls. OMG.

Oh man, I spent the day shoveling snow and moving furniture and now I am too tired to light a damn fire! Tomorrow is an action packed day and snow is certain to complicate matters.

I have a doctor appointment at 8, am meeting with an artist at 10, hopefully, and have an accountant thing at 2, to be followed by a League crab bust at 7. Sure hope I can get a good walk in for the pooch.

At 10am, the days long burn ban ended, so fire in the fireplace on a snowy day it is!

Viv says this just started.

Video thingy didn’t work. Naturally this app only supports YouTube uploads.

mIm

I need to start leaving a stylus around, using fingers for this stuff is intolerable.

I am totally late to the party on this, but after a couple of false starts, I am very thoroughly enjoying Mr. Norrell and Jonathan Strange, which is a sort of kid lit pastiche on Regency and Gothic novels. Well, it’s not really kid lit per se, but the author is looking very deliberately at (literally) fairy tales. Much of the book is set in London circa 1804 and this summer’s memories of a grand eccentric’s home in London preserved for all time as it was on the owner’s death about a decade later than the book’s time setting – well sir, I commend this book to your kind attn. should such an experience embroider the fabric of your life.