sundries

More fucking annoying rumours about Torchwood air dates in Britain. Can we just know already so we know when to plan our viewing parties/hiding from the Internet. I suppose sooner is better though. We'll know and we'll get on with things.

It's almost warm and sunny today. Let's see if it lasts. The plants are cranky. Also, something about the most recent additions (the two pepper plants) tips it all over from the sad little pots on our fire-escape to a real garden.

This morning I picked up the dry-cleaning:

- one vintage military coat
- one black three-piece suit

and dropped off the new dry-cleaning:

- 5 dress shirts: medium blue-grey, light blue, white with dark-blue pinstripes, white with light-blue pinstripes, white.
- one white silk aviator scarf (it was a gift, okay?!?!)
- one raw silk scarf from India.

Yes, my life is fucking ridiculous.

It occurs to me that I've never written a story about a tailor. This must be corrected as I have so many strong emotional resonances with the idea of bending over clothes. There is something of mourning in my mind in the tending of fabric. So yes, I think, I need to write a bunch of stories with various characters who tend to clothes. It is a good quiet thing.

Rhetorical device you can lose: "no offense meant." Because really, when said, how often is that true?

Iran Iran Iran. Please listen. Please witness. I am not sure there is anything else we can do. I follow it as I can on Twitter. Students locked into dorms as riot police come for them. Pictures of someone's friend beaten or shot -- there is too much blood in the twitpic to tell; they are not allowed to remove him to a hospital; no one knows much first aid; his friends update us on whether they think he is going to die.

Some good guidance on how you can help digitally is here: http://www.boingboing.net/2009/06/16/cyberwar-guide-for-i.html