It's one day's ransom pay, if that's a relief

So everyone is all right, but we just got back from five hours at the ER because spatch had a complex migraine which it turns out the ER doctors call a "stroke mimic" because if you're having one, you may need a CT scan and an MRI to determine that you are not actually having a stroke, especially if when you arrive at the ER you can read and write but have suddenly stopped being able to speak. This is no longer the case. Rob responded to migraine meds, was told his MRI looked "pristine," and was released into the wild. I just finished eating the dinner we were making when the fun brain times hit. The cats think we smell like vet. As Rob said from the hospital bed once he got his words back, "This is a lousy date!"

Turn to dirt and I will change into stone

After the unnecessarily exciting events of last night, spatch is sleeping and I am just about to walk out in this peculiar post-summer heat-smog (it was bitter cold two nights ago, we dragged all the quilts out onto the bed, I miss autumn) to pick up some DVDs from the library. I have been watching a raft of film noir lately; it really seems to be one of my comfort genres. Prompted by the general state of everything.

1. A friend who is not on Dreamwidth thought I should know about Wilshire Boulevard Temple's Warner Murals by Hugo Ballin and they were right.

2. The official video for Marissa Nadler's "Blue Vapor" is a Lynchian little porcelain ghost-scape and I love it.

3. selkie sent me two good links: the digital archiving of more than three hundred years of undelivered mail and the NYT obituary of Freddie Oversteegen. "Always stay human."