A billion million bucks for anyone who can tell me how to stop getting all these freakin' spam emails for the fake Microsoft patches! I don't have the virus myself, as far as I can tell (I can access regedit, and I never opened any of the @*^$!ing attachements, and I've done 3 Norton AntiVirus scans). But I've gotten over 1,000 emails in the past week, and all but maybe a baker's dozen of them were anything but spam-related shit.

If I miss any important emails because of this, I will not be happy.

In happier news, it's been both a social and a productive weekend. Rocking. Elizabeth and I went to small get-togethers Friday night (her brother's house and the "Guy from the Band" -- he just started playing with a garage band for kicks so we all got together to drink and hang out) and Saturday night (our buds from 'round the area), staying out LATE. Past midnight. Wow. Not bad for an old fart like myself.

We also chopped up the last of our downed willow yesterday, thanks to the bro-in-law's chainsaw skillz. We also chopped up the neighbor's tree that had fallen onto our fence, and he offered us money for cutting up his tree (we politely refused, but am secretly hoping he'll invite us over for beers and burgers soon).

In spite of all this fun social activity, I was able to make remarkable progress on my writing stuff. Got an outline for the remainder of the Wannoshay novel, started reworking the middle section (it was fun -- I got to reread and tweak the integrated stories "Crossing the Camp" and "Mud and Salt," which are now chapters in the midsection of the novel.

I was supposed to have all this done by the end of the month, so I can work on the October Novel Dare (you ARE signed up, aren't you?), but it's taking much longer than planned, as usual. I may be able to get the bulk of the rewrites done. More coffee, less sleep. I can do that.

Finally, on a nifty note, my entry in the online story thingie, The House of 87 Cabinets is now live! So go read it, and read the rest. I learned today that I've got another cabinet to build as well. Should be fun. Tonight -- Chinese food delivered to our door and "Solaris" on the DVD player. Later!

Now Playing:
"The Essential Clash," The Clash

Now Reading:
Various short stories by Charles de Lint and Sarah Prineas

Stories out to Publishers:
16

Today's Quote:
"Our home, too," the alien said, pointing at the trees around him. "Nee-brash-yah."

The way the alien said the word was more beautiful than anything Skin had ever heard.

"Home," Skin whispered, his mouth dry. More images filled his head. Lisa, on the verge of tears last night. The detainment camps hidden behind high walls and electric fences. Georgie joking with the loud-mouthed guy at the bar. Lisa pointing at the length of alien hair next to the ruined elevator. The buses of aliens on their way to the newly-built labor farms, then back to the camps. Matt's face red with laughter. His friends, his home.

Skin lowered his gun and cracked it, dropping the shells uselessly to the frozen forest floor. Finally, he was able to take a breath, and he nearly fell over backwards from the shock of the icy air in his lungs.

Ignoring the creature in front of him, he got to his feet and began walking back toward the clearing where he'd left Matt. He stumbled, and the alien reached a hand out to him, palm up.

Without stopping to think, Skin touched the alien's thick hand with his own. Numbing electricity coursed through his body, and Skin fell to the ground, his body rigid. There were no visions of white vans or suicide cultists. The last things he saw before losing consciousness were the colorless depths of the alien's black eyes.