J'ai Juré de Rester Sage

I'm listening to Jorane's JurT. This Quebec singer does great things with cellos, and I've already reviewed her here. You don't speak French? Well, neither do I. Her voice is a musical instrument. Think of it like that.

Thanks to Natasha for translating Jorane's lyrics, by the way.

Anyway, this past evening turned out to be a good session of downtime. I had ambitions -- I really did -- to head to my local Chapters and drink one of their Vanilla Cremes and sit and write. In the end, I watched television with the remote control resting in my left hand. We saw some good comedy, at least. And I think the downtime was good for the soul.

If nothing else, we've resolved to turn over Saturday to writing. Erin and I will go out this morning, have breakfast on the road, and head somewhere to settle down and write for a long spell. Strange how this, of all things, is our favourite thing. I don't want much money. All I want is time.

So, forgive this rather rambling post. My mind is also on its own bout of downtime.

I do have Trenchcoat Farewell Project news to report: Thursday night I laid out Trenchcoat 4's Into the Fire, putting me within striking distance of finishing issue 4 this weekend. Then Ninth Aspect follows.

Things have progressed enough that I'm now setting up another round of proofreading. I have three interested proofreaders so far who don't know what they're getting into (Mwahahahahaha!), and if anybody wants to help out, they're most welcome. I'm not looking for stylistic changes; just typos. If you're interested, please e-mail me, or leave me a comment.

A random comment with no place to go: this past evening as I was flipping through the channels, I caught a glimpse of the new America's Funniest Home Videos -- some tyke had accidentally set fire to his bike. I switched the channel, and caught a glimpse of a new Dateline featuring another report on Al Queda terrorist training camps -- the picture shows an Islamic terrorist hoisting an automatic rifle.

Erin looks at me and says, "those shots had the exact same film quality. Like they were filmed on the same camera."

And she was right.

A small addition written on Saturday morning. Go and read If Fred Rogers, an excellent poem that says it better than I could.

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