Posthuman Blues

When the hell is Morrissey coming out with a new record? It's been years!

More NPR listening today. Great driving material. Nukes in North Korea, heightened terror alerts, mystery tapes from quasi-mythical bad guys...and hysterically out-of-place commentary on books I'll never read and obscure restaurants. Quite the spectacle. The millennium didn't really begin on Jan. 1, 2001. It began on Sep. 11, 2001. The fall of the towers was a fittingly bleak celebration, ushering in a national paranoia worthy of Philip K. Dick.

Listening to Howard Shore's soundtrack for David Cronenberg's "Crash," based off J.G. Ballard's novel. This one really grows on you: mechanical yet lyrical and foreboding.

I bought new toy mice for my cat, Spook, the other day. She likes the ones with fur because she can sink her claws into them and really maul them.

Editorial deadline for Paraview Pocket Books less than a month away. In the meantime, a former Boeing employee has emailed me with plans for a private Mars mission. If he gets his way, I get to go.

No follow-up "phantom phone calls" or mystery beeps. In fact, the power in my apt. went off while I was away yesterday and the digital recording of the nine beeps (see earlier entry) was erased. Thankfully I'm not paranoid enough to attribute this to snooping ultaterrestrials.

I'm off to get a latte and read some Neal Stephenson.