The good news is that I’m not sick. After two days of rather strenuous physical effort, yesterday I felt as though I was ill most of the day, and was really worried I was coming down with something.
The day was fairly wasted for work, too, because Miranda-the-feisty shook her head so hard, the leech went flying and took a chunk out of her ear. So they had to do what they’d been trying to avoid because of her heart, and put her under, and sewed up the ear.
So we went to pick her, and found out not only is her ear bleeding freely (It’s supposed to, till it drains the hematoma, but she’s also having continuous liquid diarrhea. The blood was copable, but the diarrhea not so so much. Which is a little worrisome as I don’t know if it will stop. The doctor seems to think it’s the result of their giving her whatever, just to keep her happy while doing treatment, but I wonder if she was responsible for the mess upstairs. anyway — okay, copable, but we’d have to confine her, and better not while her ear is bleeding. After that, I suppose I can buy an old playpen with a vinyl bottom if needed, while we figure out what’s causing it. If it’s her heart medicine it might not be stoppable.
We only found out about the issues when we got there, which means we hurried through the morning to go pick her up, couldn’t, came home and I had a long phone call with my mom, which in the circumstances I didn’t want to curtail. So… I didn’t even sit down except to answer a couple of emails, I’m late with a set of short stories proofs (GAH) and I have contracts I haven’t sent back.
At nine pm I gave up thinking I could write, and just went to bed. Slept till eight am. And I’m not sick. I am still a little tired, though. This annoys me. this body is definitely a lemon. I shouldn’t still be tired from the week.
So, to amuse you: Charlie and I continue our series on the workmonster. My addition is less interesting than his article, since there isn’t much space for the workmonster when I’m battling all the other monsters. You know about the devils who come and occupy the place from which a demon was exorcised? Like that. Only I wasn’t trying to exorcise work, precisely.
In other amusing stuff… London is discovering that when the government heavily subsidizes anything the prices go up. I know, I know, you’re shocked, right? Then again our colleges have issues with this. Sometimes it seems humanity doesn’t learn. I don’t know if that’s the result of really not learning or our education and newspaper establishment striving to obfuscate cause and effect. Of course, people — connected, well to do people, who nonetheless I’d bet identify themselves as “being for the little people” are making massive money off these inflated prices. So, once again, everyone’s money (taxes) gets funneled to the pockets of the well to do in the guise of helping the little people. “Same as it ever was.” And that’s why I drink and why I have to struggle not to drink more than I do.
Then there’s this piece of idiocy that thinks they’re going to make The Musketeer’s “relevant” or something. I’m completely puzzled as to why Porthos is black. I’m fully okay with black actors (do I need to tell you that?) and as despicable as his political opinions are (standard for Hollywood) I love a lot of Will Smith’s work. I’m just getting sick — onto ARGH — of finding people of ethnicity that would not be at all common in the time and place the thing was written about, okay? Like the Robin Hood series episode with a pretend nun (she’s actually a grifter) who is black and NO ONE REMARKS UPON IT. In what? 13th century England? Good heavens. Look, guys, in my native village there was a lady known solely as “the Algarvia” (She who comes from Algarve — which is ANOTHER PROVINCE OF PORTUGAL.) Her mannerisms and accent were considered odd, and I never knew her real name, because she was “A Algarvia.” Someone who was black — as the mulato neighbor who eventually moved in — was “The black woman.” This was not rank racism, it was just that in a village where everyone was pretty uniform-looking and had been there for generations, you got known by what stuck out. (I’d have been much more upset if my nickname was The Lighted C**t than The Black Woman, for instance. The Lighted… er… one was lilly white. Everyone knew her by that name. I have no clue what incident originated the nickname. Mind you, being the village, this could have been her misspeaking once and its being repeated. Or it could be (a pune or a play on words, to quote PTerry) because chickens went by the same slang term, and she once accidentally set fire to a chicken (one hopes while cooking it.) The other hypothesis scare me a little.
But the point is no one who looked that different would go unnoticed.
BUT Sarah, you’ll say, surely there were black musketeers. I mean, Dumas’s own father was mulato.
Oh, there were mulatos in Paris at that time (and a little earlier) but this is the thing — those who were nobility were ALL KNOWN and talked about by that characteristic. So the chances of Porthos going undercover by changing his name… nill. Zilch. Nothing.
Worst of all, they made him a pirate, which means the idiots making this are probably basing it on … the Disney movie, not the works of Dumas. I got so tired, while sending out the Musketeers because I got back “but isn’t he a pirate.”
Hollywood seems incapable of reading or even considering reading and just makes movies based on movies. Apparently publishing prefers their books based on movies as well. It is of course the result of their epistomological closure and refusal to take any new ideas that don’t religiously adhere to liberal cant, which in turn causes them to suffer what I call “third generation blight” which tends to take down totalitarian systems after 3 generations. The first are the hungry people who got power, the second are chosen for their loyalty to the party line. The third are chosen for that AND for not being smarter than the second. Usually this means in three generations they achieve what takes an absolute monarchy where cousins marry cousins, ten. I.e. they have rulers smart enough to figure out which end of a queen gets the crown two times out of ten. Fortunately, considering our press and all, like Kim Jong Un, the press will hail them as masterminds and good at everything — so the people will never suspect. Which brings us back to the London housing subsidies. Though, of course, at least in Hollywood (And for the purposes of this Hollywood encompasses even British movie making establishment) people can — and do — stay away from these duds in droves. Which they’ve been doing. I hear Hollywood is pinched, but as long as they have no competition, they’ll make at lest enough money to keep going. Heck, books did that for years. I wonder when the equivalent of indie will start eating the cake of sclerotic Hollywood? My son says not inside twenty years, but he’s a stodgy and conservative young man. Well, he is compared to me. He says, however, that I’m a fire-eating radical who tends to overestimate the ability of society changing for the better.
Bah. I haven’t eaten fire in at least 36 years. And I still think he’s stodgy. So I rest assured that Indie will come to Hollywood too and maybe in 10 years or so. And then we’ll have better movies and we’ll see Hollywood writhe. Which is better sport than we’ve seen in years.
Which of course, will make me happy.
AND THEN we’ll leave everyone alone. That will teach them.
UPDATE: By the by, Elf Blood Chapter is up. And I finally collected all the back posts on the Elf Blood page for your reading convenience. Kindly remember is first draft and continuity can get dodgy in these serials. I’ll fix before I put it up for sale.