I can’t remember a previous year when we had such a colorful and fall-like autumn. The leaves are yellow and red and they’re falling, just like they should. In a typical year, the leaves stay green or turn brown and cling to the trees through much of the winter. I know it’s winterish for most people, but we’ve been seeing temps in the seventies the past few days, so it truly does seem like fall.
I finished my Storytellers Unplugged essay. It will go live tomorrow morning. I also posted a new book review at Onyx: The Cut by George Pelecanos.
At first I wasn’t pleased when the newest update to Angry Birds Seasons would only let you play one new panel each day during December. However, I find that I’m more encouraged to maximize each entry and get all three stars this way, so maybe it’s not a bad thing. Astonishing how addictive that game is. I’m not a big gamer—I have no patience for sophisticated video games—but I find this hugely addictive.
Sorry to hear about Christopher Hitchens’ passing in the morning news. I wish I had discovered him earlier in life. I feel like I would have known more or been forced to think about more. I read his memoir, Hitch-22, earlier this year and while I didn’t agree with everything he said, I appreciated the zeal and the passion with which he defended his stances. And he could be silly, too, which added dimension.
We watched Never Let Me Go last night, the movie adaptation of the book by Kazuo Ishiguro who also wrote Remains of the Day. While the novel always felt futuristic, the movie is set in our past, although clearly in an alternate reality. The story focuses on three childhood friends (as adults played by Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightley and Andrew Mulligan) at a special school where they are guarded against all outside influence. In the novel, the purpose of these children is kept secret until the halfway point, but in the movie one of their teachers has the temerity to announce to the class that they are being raised to donate organs once they reach a certain age. They are clones of a sort, who believe that somewhere out there is their original, the one from whom they are derived. They also believe that if they can prove that they’ve fallen in love, the donor part of their existence will be delayed. Their school is the last of its type—most regular people think it’s a waste of resources to educate these future donors, given the fact that they’ll never get to be anything. However, much of this is in a way immaterial to the true story, which is a romantic triangle in which one girl (and later, woman) insinuates herself between a couple who seem destined to be together, essentially spoiling all chances of their natural relationship taking place. Only late in her abbreviated life does she apologize for her actions, and by then it’s pretty much too late. The movie’s theme seems to be that perhaps their experience wasn’t all that unique, that perhaps a lot of people never get to fulfill their purpose in life and do only what society has programmed them to do.
The night before we watched The Help, which is about a very white young woman, aspiring journalist, who decides to write a book that tells the story of the plight of black women in Mississippi during the late 50s and early 60s. Though the women know that they are taking a risk in telling their stories, the developing civil rights movement and the murder of Medgar Evars encourages them to come forth one at a time, though they remain anonymous. Sissy Spacek is hilarious in the film, and there are a number of other strong performances (acknowledged by the recent spate of nominations). Some hateful junior leaguers get their comeuppances one way or another.
We’re also halfway through the sixth series of Prime Suspect. Jane is back from Manchester, where she slept with her boss only to discover that he was doing things of questionable ethics. Now she’s facing retirement and acting toward her team members in exactly the same way her bosses used to act towards her, and reprimanding them for the same kinds of cavalier things she used to do. This installment focuses on people who emigrated to England (not always legally) to escape the Bosnian conflict.
My Friday Read is The Drop by Michael Connelly, the latest Harry Bosch book.
They did a good job of faking me out on Survivor this week. I was set for Edna to dethrone Ozzy at Redemption Island and, for a moment, it looked like she might. But all is still right with the world. And then Brandon won immunity just when the remaining five were plotting his demise. Crap, I thought. And then he did the unthinkable: he took off the necklace and handed it over during tribal. Those who cannot learn from history and all that. I hope hope hope that Ozzy cleans the floor with him. I’d hate for him to be the one that sends Ozzy home.
My 
Yesterday morning I was awakened at 4 am by what sounded like hail, as part of an impressive rainstorm that heralded a cold front coming through. If the rain had been snow instead, it would have been a blizzard. In fact, they did get snow in North Texas. I wouldn’t have minded seeing a few flurries, too, but no such luck. We’re destined for freezing weather overnight in the coming days, though.
After weeks of unseasonably warm weather, the temperatures plummeted this weekend and we were under a freeze warning last night and again tonight. We had a very nice rainstorm over the long weekend, too. Both the cool weather and the rain are appreciated.
There’s an old writing adage that says: Never begin with the weather. This isn’t fiction, so I’ll begin with the weather. Except, I’m not beginning with the weather, I’m beginning by writing about writing about the weather. I’m so confused.
It used to be that when I entered the company lottery for ham bones left over after our Thanksgiving lunch, I had a pretty good shot at winning one. If there were five available, usually eight or ten people entered the drawing. I enjoy homemade soups—especially turkey, but ham is good too. Didn’t win this year. Too much competition.
This month’s Storyteller’s Unplugged essay, 
My favorite character from Bloom County was Oliver Wendell Jones. He was the computer hacker who was always taking over corporate websites. He often dressed up like a pirate when he embarked on one of his missions. The predecessor to Anonymous, I guess.
Even a broken clock is right twice a day, they say. I don’t know why I repeat that old adage. It has nothing to do with today’s post. Not much, anyway. I realized this week that I seem to have decided to stop wearing a watch. It wasn’t a conscious decision. I just didn’t put mine one before I went to work one morning. It’s a little redundant, since I have a clock on the face of my cell phone, though there are additional steps involved. Take the phone out of my pocket. Click the button. We’ll see.