My office at the library is on the second floor of the east wing, and the view out my window is of a pebbled roof, on top of which is a large air handling unit and steel ductwork, with the main tower stacks across the way. Through the windows of the tower I can see the rows and rows of bookshelves stacked to the ceiling, every once in a while someone walking through. It's overcast today, and the outdoors has been leached of color, suppressed into shades of grey.

Two crows have been playing outside my window for the last two hours, chasing each other, flying at breakneck speed, skimming the pebbled roof close enough to disturb the surface then pulling up quickly and soaring back into the sky. They squawk and caw and yell insults at each other, but it's all fun and games and neither of them means it. If crows are supposed to be the souls of the dead, then these grey overcast days must remind them of Purgatory. Only they're back in the living world, flying on cold air currents and free to play and glide and provide me amusement as I sit in my office of white painted cinderblock. This weather is normally depressing, but the sight of these gallavanting crows puts a smile on my face.

Pearl Harbor was on TV last night, and I saw the last two hours of it, amazed and awed at the level of destruction caused and the invisibility of CG effects. After the brutal battle ends and Cuba Gooding, Jr. is on a rowboat looking for survivors in the water (evoking the imagery of the ending of Titanic), the camera pans up showing the multitudes of bodies and blasted open ships, and the music swells, and I nearly lost it. A few tears managed to escape, and I almost cursed Jerry Bruckheimer for making me so unbelievably sad about these characters in a movie based on real people. Bruckheimer is one of those directors I typically jump on for telling the audience how to feel, by saying, "Okay, this is a very sad part, so you should feel sad at this point in the movie" with music and camera angles and shots of men crying. It becomes artificial in his other films, but for some reason, I was willing to let him get away with it here. Maybe it was because the attack on Pearl Harbor actually happened, and thousands of people died because of it. Maybe it was because of the similarities to the 9/11 attacks, which also came without warning, and which provoked a similar response from our military. Whatever the reason, the movie touched me more than The Rock or Con Air ever could.

Flipping the channels afterward, I happened on the Grammy Awards, which I'd purposefully avoided, just in time for Outkast's performance of "Hey Ya," which absolutely made my night. The performance - complete with dancers, drum corps, and green volcano - was just fantastic, and it tickles me silly that just a goofy song is doing so well right now. It's one of those songs that you can't help but like, and it doesn't hurt that it goes so well with clips from Charlie Brown specials.

I'm getting off work early on Wednesday afternoon so I can pick Janet up at the airport. It's so bizarre that she'll finally be here; I was talking to my sister this weekend, and I mentioned how weird it is that after all this waiting and all the crap Janet's had to go through for the fiancée visa, that she'll arrive in two days, and will be here permanently from then on. I just hope she gets through customs quickly and without hassle. I cleaned the apartment top to bottom this weekend, and I have to say it has never looked better. I dropped off two bags of clothes to Goodwill, and made room in my closet and dresser. Two days from now, my love will arrive, bleary-eyed and jet-lagged from the trip, and I'll shower her with kisses and carry her bags and bring her home. I can't wait.

Now Reading:
The Fortress of Solitude by Jonathan Lethem

Stories Out to Publishers:
6

Books Read This Year:
4

Zines/Chapbooks/Fiction Mags Read This Year:
4