Calling All Castaways

Or something. Various bits:

The Aviator is a damn good film. Probably it's better with the first reel, but the folks at the AMC City North clearly don't think so.

I got this nice reminder email today that it's time to sign up for a reading at WisCon, and I realized that I do not have A Group as of yet. Anyone else who's attending and cares to read with me, please email me. (I'm also looking for a roommate; I already have the room. Be warned that I snore.*)

I recently bought a guitar. Her name is June. She is very patient with me.

Johnny Cash's Americana albums are a bit odd. Good, but odd. F'r instance, "Ride This Train." You might think, from the title and the cover, that it was about trains. Or train robbin'. Turns out it's a travelogue, with Johnny narrating as the universal, Whitman-esque "I," taking on the personae of different folks all along the iron rails; lumberjacks, coal miners, doomed lovers, even a slave owner. He introduces their stories, then sings them, with a background of steam train sounds convincing enough that I can't decide if they're being made by Luther or not. Like I said, odd.

This upcoming weekend is the on-campus weekend for school, and I've got so much work to do that I'm tighter than the coils on an overwound clock. Next week I've got a bit of breathing room, so I'll post my mini-reviews of the YA reading I've been doing this semester. Try to be patient. See above.

*This is not a confession of guilt in the Farley matter. The bear cub was a friend of a friend.