Sub speciem aeternitatis-- sub speciem aeternitatis, damn it

[flemmings]

EBear gets so many things wrong, it really doesn't matter that today she's off happily echoing her conviction that my generation never appreciated Leonard Cohen properly and hers does because *her* generation recognizes genius when they hear it. Which proves only that EBear can be smug, gratuitously condescending, culture bound,* and wrong wrong wrong in the small areas as well as the important ones. Which is no surprise.

(*I suspect her familiarity with 60s and 70s Canadian fans of Cohen is literally non-existent. No, lady, you did not discover him. No, madam, 30-somes are not the only fans of his later albums. Really.)

So I shall return to that smug gratuitously condescending man, Zhuge Liang. Whose author stole Zhou Yu's idea and best line ('Thanks for the arrows, Premier!') and gave them to him because he wants to show how kewl Zhuge Liang is and Zhou Yu isn't. Twits we have always with us.

As a counteractant, I shall count my numberless blessings one by one.

1. The gov't refunded me another $300. Yay for accountants who err on the side of caution, I suppose.

1. This is a long weekend and I don't have to work till 11:30 on Tuesday.

1. Yesterday my humane mouse trap was closed. House tremors or whatever tend to tip the trap these days. I picked it up and there was nothing in it so I opened it up again. A mouse fell out and dived into the stove. Today the trap was tipped again and there was nothing in it. This time I went outside and crossed the street and opened it on Judith's uhh front yard because she no more has a lawn than I do. She does have a cat. And a mouse fell out and quivered under the ground cover. Thank heaven for dumb mice, because the trap wasn't even baited. (Of course Judith's cat sits on my next door's steps, but anyway.)

1. Someone put out a useful footstool for Tuesday's garbage collection. I have always wanted a useful footstool for the downstairs couch and now I have one. It even matches the rug.

Unblessing:

The new Spock has a fat face and a beetle-browed thuggish look to him. I shall not be seeing the new Star Trek. Spock was, if not my first love (that was Julius Caesar) at least my first here and now live body one. No. Just no. Spock is Nimoy, end discussion.

Comments

[flemmings.livejournal.com]

Why I keep saying authors should not blog their feelings or their lives unless they're pleasant unexceptional people like Ellen Kushner. And then their blogs lack interest. Gaiman manages the Scylla and Carybdis thing, but then he's Gaiman.

Grump. I only take exception when the nooby poseurs insist *they're* the ones who discovered [fandom] and aren't they cool for discovering the neglected masterpiece the rest of us have been reading for decades. Othewise-- it's the year of the cat, no two ways about it.