I spent this morning catching up with American news, so I just found out Molly Ivins died.

Shit. We needed her.

Via A, behold Tales of the Plush Cthulhu!

However, if you find yourself in Piccadilly, do not attempt to buy a plush Cthulhu here:

It will only lead to embarrassing conversations about false advertising and what, exactly, constitutes a “toy”.

So I noticed print ads for the UK version of the Mac / PC campaign were up in a couple of Tube stations, and I gotta say, the UK Mac Guy looks capable of beating the crap out of PC Guy. Whereas the American Mac Guy looks capable of sleeping with PC Guy’s girlfriend.

Please watch this clip of Sir Ian McKellan and Ricky Gervais in Extras. What’s your motivation to watch? Because — say it with me — if you don’t I’ll kick your ass.

Found thanks to P, who sent me the Patrick Stewart clip.

Okay, I realize that despite my tiara lust, my odds on the John W. Campbell Award for the Best New Writer in Science Fiction are long. So I’d like to take a moment to put myself forward for an award I really do have a shot at: the Bruce Campbell Award for the Best New Zombie Killer in Science Fiction.

I had two eligible zombie kills last year: “Three-Day Decayed Accountant” killed in Parking Garage, and “Best Friend Just Infected” killed in Heartbreaking Decision. I think the second one really puts me over the top (thanks, zombie E!).

Anyway, if you’re an eligible zombie-making plague survivor, please consider nominating me. I would really like to win Bruce Campbell.

When you get an e-mail titled “ZaaRX” you can’t just assume it’s spam.

Oh. Oh, yes, please.

I’m still getting acquainted with the rituals around my new and lovely writing home, but apparently it’s the time of year when we F&SF writer types are supposed to announce which of our stories are eligible for a Hugo Award (I have no idea how you’d pimp for an Obie…make sure the theatre critics at the Village Voice are well watered, maybe?).

So, yeah, I have two Hugo eligible short stories: “Just Do It”, originally in the July 2006 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and “Mayfly”, published on Strange Horizons in September.

And since those are my first pro publications, I’m eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for the Best New Writer in Science Fiction.

The winner of the Campbell Award gets a neato tiara, which is why I got into science fiction. For the tiaras. I looked around and thought, “How can I get me a tiara?” and after Win Beauty Pageant was rejected on practical grounds (ass too big, hair too small) I went to the next item on my list: Write Science Fiction, Win Campbell Award.

Once my Campbell eligibility runs out in 2008, I will have no choice but to move on to the third option: Marry Royalty. So seriously, WorldCon ’06 and ’07 attendees — nominate me for a Campbell Award. The Royals have enough trouble as it is.

Also, please nominate me for a pony.

Okay, no update “tomorrow”, because I got home from work at 9:30 p.m., and I had to use up the last bits of consciousness and problem solving and word stringing on the novel.

It’s like February 2004 and November 2002 are trying to happen at the same time.

Warning: this entry is going to be randomomer than usual, because I have a chinchillaload of strays to set down. And not just a regular chinchilla, but a giant, atomically enhanced chinchilla, like the ones you used to find roaming around the Mojave Desert in ’50s. You know, the ones the government created to eat up those giant, atomically enhanced ants.

Yes, chinchillas do so eat ants. Do not kid yourself that your prized Caledonian show ants are safe in the company of chinchillas, my friend.

Okay, have I established a randomness baseline? Excellent. Moving on:

1. Here is my favorite bit from today’s application demo, spoken in reference to configurable graphical portlets and rendered by me into the poetical format it deserves:

   Some people work better with bars.
   Some people work better with pies.
   Some people work better with lists.

   Guess which kind of person I am. (See below. Hint: it’s not pie.)

2. My girl JD (aka DJ Cherrybomb) has been writing music reviews, and they are both lovely and, she warns, not safe for work. Her HalloQueen review is particularly delish, with tasty bits like this:
   

   For the record, Whiskey is never allowed in my mouth ever. If I see Whiskey again, I am punching him in the face.

   Which makes me squeeee! in delight, not just because I’m keen on the sentences, but because, you know, more for me.

   (Fun fact about JD: if you want to get to her attention at a noisy party, all you have to do is say — in your regular speaking voice, mind, and from an entirely different room — “The Clash are overrated” and trust me, she will find you. Just remember to duck when she does find you. I saw her supercool spouse DB actually use this summoning spell, and I can attest to its effectiveness. Hey, that gives me an idea…

   JD! I just stared into a mirror and said “The Clash are overrated” three times. I expect you to appear in my bathroom in London any minute now.)

3. Since the links above are NSFW (follow them from home or you’ll miss the picture of Hunter S. Thompson passed out under the bar with Ali G), I recommend three stories by the fabulous Cat Rambo for your work-surfing pleasure:
   

   “Magnificent Pigs” at Strange Horizons
   “Ten New Metaphors for Cyberspace” at Abyss and Apex,
   “The Dead Girl’s Wedding March” at Fantasy Magazine

   All as nifty as Cat herself, but I have an extra special warm and fuzzy for “The Dead Girl’s Wedding March”.

4. E sent me a link to this below the phrase “Oh Danny Boyle, sci-fi, sci-fi is callin’…” For which I expect to forgive him any day now. Although I do have to ask whether SF didn’t call in 28 Days Later, since those were rampaging virus zombies and not, say, demon-driven Necronomicon zombies.

   Speaking of which, behold! Evil Dead: the Musical. Groovy.

Out of time, more catching up tomorrow!