So now my right thumb is swathed in Band-Aids, but I managed to finish pilling Cobweb nonetheless, and my typing seems unaffected. So, you know, the maiming could have been worse. I did drip blood on our bathroom rug, though. Shannon just shrugged and said we need to buy a new one. Sounds like a good solution to me.
It's a clear, warm, breezy night, and Orion is shining brightly in the southwest of the sky. He's the only constellation I can spot easily, so he feels like an old friend. I remember gazing up at the stars with my dad in Wyoming when I visited him in the summer when I was a kid. He's the person who gave me an appreciation for the night sky, so starry nights always make me think of him. Those summers were the first time I really got to see the stars, as southern California was so brightly lit that few were visible. The Milky Way is stunning the first time you see it!
Now that I think about it, I forgot to go outside and enjoy the starry sky while we were on Kaua'i this year. The stars there are incredible. One year, we all went out and hung out in the driveway of my FIL/MIL's house for ages, all four of us just staring up at the sky and pointing out constellations. I think it was my favorite moment of the trip. Well, next time.
Today Lisa and I went to César for lunch again today, and I ate anchovies for the first time. They were on a salmon montadito. I wasn't impressed. I've never been particularly fond of salty food, and I think this was probably the saltiest thing I've ever eaten. It might have been saltier than salt right out of the Morton's Salt container, because it seemed concentrated. Saltier than salt! Bleh. I don't think I'll be seeking out anchovies again, except diluted in Caesar salad dressing.
I got Johnny Weir's new autobiography from the library today, but I haven't started reading it yet. (He's a famous American figure skater.) I totally love him, because he's outrageous and outspoken and unafraid of pretty much anything. I admire people who insist on being themselves, even when heavily criticized and judged for doing so. The figure skating community has a long history of insisting that he's "bad for the sport" because he plays into the stereotype of male figure skaters being effeminate, with his ruffly costumes and fanciful accessories and wacky make-up and emotionally dramatic skating performances. They seem to think that male figure skaters have some kind of obligation to act extra extra manly in order to fight that stereotype. So Johnny Weir goes way way way in the opposite direction and tells them to stuff it. And judges can't deny that he's a fantastic skater, so why should the other stuff matter? He's one of my heroes. I watched some episodes of his tv show on the Sundance Channel -- Be Good, Johnny Weir -- and it only made me love him more. (I'm waiting for it to come out on DVD so I can see the rest, since we don't have the Sundance Channel.) He's totally crazy, but in a wonderful way, and with a fabulous sense of humor. He seems to have a lot of fun being himself. (Sometimes he sort of reminds me of PeeWee Herman and Boy George, because he definitely has a flamboyantly androgynous, playfully made-up thing going on. He also has a marked affection for very tall high heels, though not while on the ice.)
So I'm looking forward to reading his autobiography, though the excerpts on the back do not look promising: rather prosaic and trite, without any of the vibrant spark I've seen in him on video. But we shall see. In case you've never seen him skate and you're interested, here's a fairly representative (and very cool) example from 2010:
In other news, I've been listening to The Martian Chronicles on audio the past couple days, and I've been enjoying it. I last read it maybe 15 years ago, but there are some scenes and images that remain vivid in my memory. It's kinda nice listening to it on audio, because my first introduction to The Martian Chronicles (and Ray Bradbury, in fact) was when a substitute teacher read some of it aloud to us when I was in 4th grade. Good memories.