Merdre, merdre

1. My essay "It's Not, Quite Frankly, a Wholesome Situation"—in which I boggle happily at one of my favorite movies, The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T (1953)—has been accepted by Weird Fiction Review. There is a distressing chance this will be my first nonfiction publication. I've presented papers, but they never saw print. This journal doesn't count.

2. My poem "Reiselied" has been accepted by Not One of Us. I wrote it for asakiyume in September: she once saw a guy selling poetry by the train station.

3. Michael Moorcock on Alastair Brotchie on Alfred Jarry. I may try to get hold of a copy; I know nothing of Jarry himself. I am endeared by this sentence: "In 1896, after publishing several books in small, independent editions, Jarry was at last able to get Ubu staged by Aurélien Lugné-Poë at the Théâtre de l'Oeuvre, originally created to promote symbolist works (except nobody was altogether sure what these were)."

4. I can't figure out how to comment on DeviantArt without opening an otherwise pointless account—OpenID appears to be unknown to them—but some person I don't know draws a really quite good Waldo Butters. Apparently this is the year I start behaving like a fan.

5. I got it from rushthatspeaks.

A hundred and eight messages suddenly dumped into my inbox this morning, which I am hoping means that I've finally caught up on the missing e-mail from the last five days. If you have written to me in some fashion that reasonably expects a response and still haven't heard from me by the end of the day, ping me again. I still have no idea what's been going on, but with any luck (hah) it's sorting itself out.