And make soft keening noises while curled in the fetal position

I said last night to derspatchel that I felt bad about having missed my usual Boxing Day fanfic for handful_ofdust. (Previous entrants: "Lackadaisy Yontif," "Lackadaisy Optometry." I like Mordecai.) We talked a little about Yuletide. derspatchel expressed his thankfulness that no one has ever slashed the characters of Red Shift, Interplanetary Do-Gooder, seeing as he had taken some pains when creating the show to avoid setting up romances for any of the cast. It was four in the morning and I had just gotten out of the shower when the obvious solution occurred to me.

We spent the afternoon at the orthopedic surgeon's; Rob was fitted with a nice matte black cast (so as not to clash with any of his costumes for A Man for All Seasons) and sent home with instructions on its care and feeding.

I spent the evening writing.

( THE FANDOM OF ONE PLAYERS PROUDLY PRESENT— )

JE NE REGRETTE RIEN.

There is old memory in snow

Old ice, old hauntings. Twenty-two hitherto unknown, unprocessed negatives from the Shackleton expedition (Ross Sea Party, 1914–17), discovered in an exploration hut. They are truly amazing. The damage especially makes them look like the photography of ghosts.