Trompé Setsuled (setsuled) wrote,
Trompé Setsuled
setsuled

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Cities

Looking at Neil Gaiman's blog just now, I saw that a friend of his daughter has gone missing in New York City. The missing woman's name is Hannah Emily Upp. There's more information here. I doubt I have the tiniest fraction of readers Gaiman's blog has, but just in case . . .

I started reading War and Peace last night. I still haven't finished Blood and Iron, which isn't a bad book, I just needed something . . . I don't know. Something heartier? I guess there's no way I can justify putting down Blood and Iron for War and Peace without sounding backhanded, so I'll stop.

I just came from my parents' house where I ate dinner and watched an episode of the Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series with my sister. We're four episodes in now and I'm happy to see my sister's enjoying it so far. I had some wine with dinner, the first bit of alcohol I've had in more than a week. I don't know why--I just haven't been enthusiastic about alcohol lately. I fail at alcoholism.

Well, I had a little tequila on Saturday, but I wasn't able to finish it. It was more of a confirmation that I really wasn't enjoying liquor. It's vaguely frustrating. Oh, well, it's probably for the best. Except I have all these bottles next to me . . . Wild Turkey, Jameson, Bacardi, Jose Cuervo, and Kubler absinthe. I feel oddly relieved that I have plenty of liquor at the same time that I don't particularly feel like drinking any. I drink like a squirrel, I guess.

The absinthe bottle's still half full and I bought it in December, I think. Looks like it's going to last me a whole year, at least. For that, sixty dollars actually seems like a very reasonable price for a bottle.

I haven't even begun to-day's pencils, but this is just a side effect of the fact that I'm getting back into my nocturnal schedule. I'd better get to it now, so I'll leave you with a picture of Toubanua Tairov in the new ballerina outfit I bought for her. What is it with Russians and ballet? Now if I could just find some red shoes . . .

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