Crunch

The house cooled off enough to feel clammy, but it's still a bit warm. Warm and clammy is a very unpleasant combination. My neck is creaking, as though it's about to do something again. It doesn't like its current state anymore than I do. I only hope it doesn't decide to turn my head through 360 degrees. I'd be rather disturbed by such an event. I don't want my walls to be green, either.


Oh, that complete collection of The New Yorker on CD ROM is now available on their web site for a mere $49.99. (Note: If you use an earlier version of Opera, don't take the virtual tour of the DVD set they have on the site. It completely takes over the browser, and you can't shut it down without control-alt-delete. What it does to later versions of Opera or to other browsers I don't know.) The price is good, and I'd like to have 80 years worth of a weekly magazine that would take up no more space than an average printed book, but I don't know if I'll buy it. It takes two weeks to arrive, and I'll probably be dead or possessed By the devil before it could be delivered.

Hot

I'm feeling baked, but not in the good way. On the other hand, beer is especially tasty on hot days such as this. I'm sorely tempted to grab a second bottle this evening, even though the solstice has not yet arrived. It's less than a week off, though, so I might as well wait.

A few minutes ago, a big, ugly spider appeared on the outside of my window. I thought it might be getting ready to build a web there, and then I'd be able to watch some arachnid predation up close, but it has gone now. Maybe it got a look at me and was frightened off by the big, ugly primate.

The heat has me feeling even more slothful than usual. The outdoors is cooling off nicely. I'm going to go sit under the mulberry tree and listen to the evening birds chirp their last songs.