Oh, we had plans for the weekend, oh, yes. We were going to Clean the House, a sort of spring-cleaning-in-autumn thing, much needed. But I've got a nasty sinus cold (the kind where I have to sleep on an inclined ramp of pillows if I wish to breathe all night long), and the quantities of dust produced by a full-on house cleaning tear up my sinuses even when I'm well. Heather pulled something in her neck on Thursday night, too, and no amount of hot-and-cold compresses seem to help more than temporarily, so she's not up for the heavy house cleaning. Thus, we dwell in squalor (well, okay, dusty clutter and cat hair) for a while longer.

Thanksgiving was lovely. We went to Richard and Ricky's beautiful apartment in the city. I have house envy. I also had brutal television envy -- they've got a 64-inch widescreen -- until they told me that they couldn't play video games on it, because it would break that kind of television. Well, hell, the only reason I'd want their TV is to play Grand Theft Auto and Halo on, so no more envy for me. The company was great, too. I talked a lot with Jamais from WorldChanging.com. He's a science fiction fan, so we talked about books (and drank grapefruit-soda-and-tequilas), bitched about the vicissitudes of the writing life, etc. Good fun. Richard's meal was fan-freaking-tastic, one of the best Thanksgiving spreads I've ever had.

Since then, I've been drinking lots of orange juice and playing more than a little World of Warcraft. I finished reading Martin's A Feast for Crows, and now weep, gnash my teeth, and wail because I have to wait so long for the next volume. I'm well into London Revenant by Conrad Williams, and really digging it -- I should be reviewing it for the next issue of A Certain Magazine.

Last night I cooked a turkey breast, because Heather and I both love nibbling on turkey sandwiches and such after Thanksgiving. We had lots of pie, too, so we had a turkey-sandwiches-and-pie dinner while watching American Gothic. Only a few episodes of the show left. It's mostly better than I remembered, and it's nice to see all the episodes I missed (many of which only ever aired on the Sci Fi Channel, which I didn't have at the time). I have a deep intrinsic fondness for devil-in-the-South stories, I suppose.

Today we're feeling a little cooped-up and cabin-fevered. Heather's taking a bath to soothe her neck, and then we plan to amble up to Berkeley to try to unload some books at Half Price Books. Maybe we'll sit at a café, or get some gelato, or see a movie (something sweet like Shopgirl appeals at the moment), or just stroll. It looks like a beautiful cool blue day out there, and we want to be in it.

Obligatory Rangergirl portion of the journal entry.

Claude Lalumiere likes Rangergirl.

Tim Pratt's debut novel is thoroughly entertaining. The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl is a grand fantasy adventure featuring a young California cartoonist, primal gods, dead-on sexual politics, and loads of imagination. The characters are tons of fun, as is every single moment of the novel.

He might review it for his newspaper column, too, which would be nice. With all these good reviews coming in lately, I wish there was something other than the unfavorable PW review at the Amazon page for Rangergirl, but what're you gonna do? It doesn't do to dwell on these things.

(I feel kind of repetitive, the way I keep going on and on about Rangergirl. It goes on sale in a few days, so it's looming large in my mind at the moment, but I'm sure I'll get back to my regular mumblings about books and food and writing and art soon, soon, soon.)