Across this crooked land runs a crooked man...

Hmmm... Been in the office for an hour now and the temp has climbed from 63 to 65. This with the heat cranked.

I may have to make use of noradannan's space heater if I don't want to have to work all bundled up in my jacket. This wouldn't be so bad if I was actually moving around, but sitting still at a desk makes for a cold me :-/

I'd still be half of what you need...

There are authors that I never get tired of reading, no matter how small or large their catalog or how many times I've read a particular story by them. Robert E. Howard, H. Rider Haggard, Hunter S. Thompson, and a few others all fall into this category. Up until Tuesday, I would have had to say that William Gibson fell into that category as well, but... well, it looks like I've fallen out of love with him. I blame Spook Country. Okay, the problem I think began, really, sometime during the bridge trilogy, although I'd be hard pressed to explain exactly where things turned the corner. Starting with the cool trilogy or what ever this current run will be known as, Gibson's tendency to model all the female protagonists after Marley from Count Zero and derive plot from the sprawl trilogy is starting to hurt me the way the latter Pern novels did.

I'm kind of bummed out about this, actually. Quite probably more than I should be, really. Gibson's works really helped me get through the Robyn Years (as I've come to think of that time in my life) by providing a nice escape from the darker parts of that time period. But maybe I've grown beyond needing the comfort provided at this point - I've worked through about as much of my issues with my father as I probably ever will, and I'm no longer stupidly depressed like I was back then. It just feels, I dunno, odd, I guess to no longer want to read a series of novels that I've read at least once a year for the past 12 years. shrug I guess I'll get over it, but it just feels odd.