Friday, August 02, 2002

Neil Gaiman, an author of such grace and generosity that he has signed for hours beyond his schedule, and posts courteous replies to people who ask strange, repetitive or irrelevant questions, is mad. And this is why. A clerk in Texas has been sentenced to six months jail for selling an adult manga to an undercover adult -- a comic marked over 18 only -- because the prosecutor convinced the jury that comics are for kids. Only and always. And, therefore, art expressed in panels of pictures and words does not gain the first amendment protection of text or images alone.

The Comic Book Defense Fund will appeal this ruling. Offer them your support at Or see Neil Gaiman's web journal Neil Gaiman for his own explanation.

Thursday, August 01, 2002

Haven't been feeling well this week -- dreary, draggy, achy, angsty, bleary, blechy, twitchy, teary. You know. Generally not well.

I hope it's a healing crisis for this recovery from the car accident process. I'm entirely ready to be done with that.

Most things are going well. My husband is playing Final Fantasy X in his off hours, and I'm enjoying watching him. My nephew visited last week, and we repainted the balcony and played a lot of games, and generally had a good time. I'm satisfied looking out at the fresh color and even coat of the new paint job. My house is still beautiful and airy, my cats are still graceful and affectionate, my car remains reliable and comfortable.

I do hate summer, though. Too much heat, too much yardwork. As soon as I can -- which looks like about three years from now if I do without travelling vacations -- I need to arrange for someone else to take care of the yard.

A wait of three years is not much comfort today. Nothing for it. Today I suffer, either prickling skin and aching muscles if I do the work or oppressive weediness and the censure of my neighbors if I don't.